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xjoonchildx · 2 years

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kanalia | jhs x reader |chapter four: good men and temptation

banner by the amazing @kth1

⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.

⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok

⚜️rating: mature, 18+

⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut, slow burn & pining

⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes.

⚜️word count: 10K

⚜️notes: thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has continued to follow this story. i went through a period of terrible writer's block and self-doubt over the course of this chapter and it would not be complete without my fic accountability coach and A1 since day one @hobi-gif. also a huge thank you to @yeoldontknow and the possums who lent me their amazing eyeballs and brains -- i love you guys so much @wwilloww @reliablemitten @miscelunaaa you guys aren't just amazing writers, you're amazing people. i hope you guys enjoy this chapter 💕

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There was a time when you’d been certain the thing you wanted most was for the King to suffer.

You would fantasize about it; spend your waking hours longing for it – certain the only thing that could bring you some semblance of peace was your husband’s utter distress. Certain that seeing him broken would be the only way to feel whole.

But it’s strange, isn’t it?

The heaviness with which he drops into the ornate wingback chair at your bedside does not make you feel any lighter. The sober expression on his face as he regards you does not make you feel in any way vindicated. Nor is there any triumph to be had in the guilt that seems to radiate from his every pore, subtle as a beacon.

“How are you feeling?”

You stifle a sigh. It’s the King’s second visit to your chamber today alone and by now there is little polite, meaningless conversation left to be had.

“Much the same as I felt two hours ago, Your Grace,” you answer, regretting the blunt edge to your words when his face falls. You’re careful to soften your tone as you add, “Which is to say much improved. Thank you.”

A heavy quiet falls over the chamber again. You can’t make out the sound of the maids walking the halls outside or the ever-present din of chattering footmen on the floors below. Even the motes of dust in the air seem suspended in place, hanging motionless in the shafts of sunlight that stream in from behind your heavy curtains.

“I’ve yet to leave this bed but I think I’m feeling a bit stronger today,” you offer feebly, speaking only when the King seems to have resigned himself to silence. “The doctor assures me this is a passing malaise, nothing more.”

Your husband nods, the corners of his mouth lifting in a weak attempt at a smile.

There was a time when you might have relished the melancholy on his face. Might have found the uncharacteristic slump of his shoulders gratifying. Or taken some sordid pleasure in the way he smooths his damp palms over the thick weave of his breeches, over and over again.

But it’s strange, isn’t it?

None of it brings you any satisfaction. Seeing the King wounded does not make you less wounded. And his unhappiness does not in any way alleviate your own.

“I’ll be sure to share the details of your recovery with the many people who’ve asked after you,” he says with a joyless chuckle. “I think they’ll have my head if I don’t bring them good news in short order.”

But is Lord Jung among them?

As they so often do, your thoughts wander from the man before you—your husband—to the enigmatic Royal Guardsman. You think back to the last time you saw him, to the way he’d taken the lead in seeing you cared for when you’d been burning with fever. You think of the quiet authority and reassurance in his voice as he’d helped you reach your chambers and bed. You think of the way that voice had hardened in the tense moments after Lord Jeon had confessed to not being able to find the King.

You think of that perplexing confrontation in the courtyard.

You’ve had little more to do than contemplate the circumstances of that exchange for days now, turning the strange scene over in your mind while confined to your sickbed. What you would give to have just an inkling of what transpired between those men that night, to have any small insight into the words spoken during that terse conversation. Though in truth, some part of you suspects you already know.

Certainly something is behind your husband’s sudden bout of attentiveness.

You roll your shoulders and knead at the stiff muscles of your neck, body strained and sore from days of idleness. The pillows pressed against your lower back have slipped just enough to cause discomfort and you reach behind yourself to rearrange them.

“I can do that for you,” the King says, rushing to his feet.

He is standing at your side before you have a chance to protest the matter, carefully slipping the pillows out from behind you, painstakingly fluffing the feathers inside them until he’s satisfied with their new shape. Then he leans over the bed, solid body hovering over yours as he replaces them. You will yourself not to stiffen at his nearness, but the truth is that you’re not accustomed to being this close to your husband. Physically or otherwise.

“How does that feel?” he asks, deep voice at your ear as he moulds the pillows to the curve of your back.

“Much better, thank you,” you murmur, feeling a ripple of tension work its way up your spine when Namjoon straightens and stands back to assess his work. Your husband holds your gaze for a few slow, tortuous seconds, lips parted as though he means to speak.

Then he seems to think better of it, clearing his throat instead and looking away.

You watch his eyes move to the table at your bedside, where a fine crystal vase houses what is sure to be the two most pitiful daisies in the entire Kingdom. Boram’s note had said that Yeona selected them for you herself, the evidence of her indelicate touch plain on the flowers’ bruised petals and flattened stems. You treasure the mangled blooms anyway.

“They’re a bit worse for the wear, I’m afraid,” you comment lightly, watching the King stroke a wilted white petal with his fingertip. “Yeona is still too young to understand that some things must be handled with care.”

“So it would seem,” he says, lips twitching with amusement.

But the humor in his expression falls away as his eyes move from the daisies to the tiny bauble seated beside the delicate crystal vase. He stares at it for a while before reaching for it, the small trinket dwarfed in the palm of his large hand. You study him as he studies it, expression somber as he strokes a thumb over the bird’s smooth green wings.

And for the very first time, you see it.

No. You allow yourself to see it.

The turmoil etched into the deep crease between your husband’s brows. The regret in the firm press of his lips and the embarrassment simmering in his eyes. The remorse that shrouds him like a dark halo, hovering over him like a storm cloud.

You see it quite clearly now, don’t you? As though you’ve been wearing your pride and resentment like a blindfold and it’s suddenly fallen away, allowing you to recognize what’s been in front of you all this time.

When the King flicks his weary, dark eyes to meet yours, you don’t see your philandering husband – though certainly he is that. You see a deeply conflicted man, fighting a war on two sides. Married to one woman and in love with another. Condemning both to a strange kind of half-life in which neither will ever truly be happy. Condemning himself, too.

“I should let you rest,” he says at last, setting the bird down and you nod, a sudden tightness in your throat.

“Yes,” you agree, voice thick. “I think that’s best.”

The King leans close to you again, this time to press a soft kiss to your cheek. His hands find yours on the duvet and he squeezes them tight, causing ludicrous tears to spring to your eyes. You lower them so as not to give yourself away.

It is only when he has gone, when the door to your chamber is firmly shut, that you finally allow yourself to breathe. And then you sit there for a while, stupefied.

There was a time when you’d thought you would never share anything with your husband. But you’d been wrong.

The two of you share the same muted misery, the same low thrum of sadness that taints all things, good and bad. You share the same bone-deep unhappiness borne from this arrangement and the same secret fury at being powerless to change it.

Husband and wife, bound to one another for life. Both damned to have happiness dangle at your fingertips, but never the ability to grasp it.

Till death do you part.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Though you feel remarkably improved after four days of confinement, Hyeri insists you stay in bed for an entire week.

The older woman has always fancied herself a bit of a mother hen, but since the onset of your illness she’s become more like a guard dog. She’s taken to sleeping on a cot in your chamber and keeping fastidious notes on your care and progress. And she’s safeguarded you like a sentry, allowing no one but the doctor and the King past the threshold to your private rooms.

You’ve taken great pains to endure her meddling with grace – in part because you’ve been in no position to fight such battles in your weakened state and in part because you understand that her coddling is rooted in genuine care and concern. Surely she must long for the children she raised and who’ve long since left her nest to start their own families. And so in their absence, you must do.

But that does not mean you intend to spend a single second longer than necessary trapped inside this chamber.

So you rise with the sun on the seventh day of your captivity, filled with a newfound determination. You are determined to leave the staid air of this chamber and breathe fresh air into your lungs. You are determined to stretch your sore muscles with a vigorous walk. And you are absolutely determined to put your foot down, lovingly, with your handmaid turned nursemaid turned jailer.

And you’ll not allow anything – certainly not the arrival of your monthly courses – to put a damper on this day.

“We’re going to have to take your gowns in,” Hyeri grumbles as her nimble fingers pull at the laces of your corset. She’d made an unhappy sound when you’d announced plans for a morning walk, but has thus far managed to refrain from voicing her discontent out loud. “Too many days without eating properly. You ought to take two servings at every meal until you’re filled out again.”

“I assure you, my appetite is fully restored along with my health,” you say, stomach rumbling beneath your skirts at the very mention of food. “I could probably take three servings in a sitting if I put my mind to it.”

“Very good then,” Hyeri chuckles, patting your back once the dress is fully secured. “I’ll have breakfast brought up at once.”

“No, you absolutely will not,” you protest, whirling on her. “I’ll go mad if I spend another minute locked away in this chamber. I’ll take my breakfast down in the kitchens, thank you very much.”

Hyeri huffs under her breath and you mimic the sound back. The older woman’s eyes narrow and you return that gesture as well, crossing your arms in challenge. The two of you stand there for a while, glowering at one another like petulant children until the sound of a singing kettle breaks the stalemate.

It’s been days since you’ve heard that sound, you realize. Days since Hyeri has set a steaming cup of that foul tea before you, only to watch you like a hawk until every last drop is gone. The shrill sound of that blasted kettle raises the hairs on the nape of your neck and sets your teeth on edge.

And it brings to mind something else you intend to put your foot down about today.

You clear your throat as Hyeri moves to see to the kettle.

“I won’t be taking the tea today, Hyeri,” you announce, straightening your spine as your brace for the argument that is sure to come. Hyeri turns away from the fire, kettle in hand, and levels you with a look.

“You’re rather spirited today, Your Grace. Do you intend to put more silver in my hair now that you are fully recovered?”

“No I do not,” you say hotly. “But I also do not intend to drink that tea. Today, tomorrow, or ever again.”

Hyeri’s rheumy eyes grow wide with shock. The playful arch of her brow falls and the teasing twist to her mouth slowly recedes. She stares at you as though she sees a stranger, not the young woman she’s come to know well after nearly one year in your service.

Maybe you are a stranger now. You certainly don’t feel like the same woman who’d fallen into that sickbed one week ago, burning with fever. Something inside of you feels like it’s shifted; like you’ve emerged from this illness stronger in ways that go beyond the physical.

“I understand that your courses have come, Your Grace, but these things take time,” she insists slowly, the paper-thin skin at the hollow of her throat wavering as she stops to swallow thickly. “I do not think now is the time to abandon this regimen. “This requires time and dedication. If you’ll just stay the course, you’ll see.”

Your bravado falters a bit at the wounded note in her voice, at the way her eyes start to pink around the rims. A tiny voice in your head warns not to press forward with the words that threaten to tumble out of your mouth but a louder voice urges you on, pushes you to make the cut as quick and clean as possible.

“Hyeri, I owe you only gratitude for the way you’ve treated me. And for your kindness in trying to help me conceive a child. But I’ve grown tired of pretending that this course of action will remedy my particular situation.” You allow yourself a deep breath before adding, “Or his.”

Hyeri blinks at you.

“I don’t understand what you mean, Your Grace.”

“Don’t you?”

You lift your chin to look Hyeri directly in the eyes, allowing your implication to hang in the air. Slowly, your nursemaid blanches, the color draining from her sweet face until all that remains are two spots of color on her cheeks. She takes a step towards the table and slowly sinks into the chair, face frozen in an expression of disbelief.

“You can’t –” the older woman starts and stops, looking bewildered. “– You can’t know that, Your Grace. You cannot be certain of such a thing.”

“You’re right,” you concede quietly, “I cannot. But there is ample reason to suspect it.”

You’re careful to temper your argument to Hyeri, though in truth you are quite convinced of your husband’s inability to produce a child. If nothing else, your last encounter with the King has only strengthened the idea in your mind. It’s the very first time in your young marriage that you’ve looked past your husband’s station and allowed yourself to see him as he truly is. His Grace – Kim Namjoon – is just a man. As fallible as any other.

But Hyeri has yet to come to any such realization. Her eyes shine bright with unshed tears from where she remains seated at the table, chin trembling.

You cross the room to go to her, carefully settling in the seat beside her and taking one of her hands into yours. You remind yourself that Hyeri has devoted years of her life to working in service of the King, that her deference for him and the very institution he represents is in her blood. That some part of her likely still thinks of Namjoon as the gangly boy she’d helped rear and not the grown man he is now.

And you remind yourself that despite her allegiance to your husband, she’s shown you nothing but kindness – and for that alone, she deserves your respect.

“Hyeri, please,” you whisper, squeezing her fingers gently. “Please know that I do not mean to upset you. I mean only to speak plainly, not to cause you any pain.”

“I had thought – I had thought there was some growth between the two of you, Your Grace. All those visits he’s made to your chamber while you’ve been ill. The way he’d fretted over your health and care. I thought – “ She pauses to shake her head as though chastising herself for entertaining such notions, “I thought that maybe something good could come of something bad.”

Your heart squeezes at Hyeri’s confession, at her well-meaning but poorly-placed idealism. You cannot fathom how despite everything she’s seen and heard, she can still hold onto the dream that what is broken between you and Namjoon can be fixed.

But you cannot fault her for it, either.

“Something good has come of it,” you say gently. “I’m not angry anymore. Not with the King and not with myself. It was weighing me down, Hyeri. As though I walked through this first year of my marriage with stones in my pockets.”

Hyeri dabs at the corners of her eyes with a sleeve.

“I know the King cares for me. I accept that.” You speak the words out loud and they strike a chord inside your chest. You know they ring true. “Just as I accept that at the very same time, he does not love me. And now I must accept that there may never be a child.”

“But there must be a child, Your Grace.” Hyeri sniffles under her breath as she wrenches her gaze from your joined hands to look you in the eye. “The future of the throne depends on it. What will come of the King’s line if he does not have an heir?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, thumb tracing an absentminded pattern over the soft, diaphanous skin of her knuckles. “Perhaps he will send me away.”

“He wouldn’t,” Hyeri protests, indignation flaring behind her muted dark eyes.

You suspect that Hyeri has the right of it. Namjoon does not strike you as the kind of man who’d want to court such a scandal, nor does he seem uncaring enough to want to cut you loose in such a humiliating fashion. And as many times as you’ve daydreamed about being freed from the shackles of this loveless marriage, the mere thought of returning home to your mother – of bringing your entire family that kind of shame – is devastating.

You’d sooner throw yourself from the carriage tasked with taking you home than endure that fate.

“I say these things not to upset you, Hyeri. Or to speak ill of the King. I say them only because if I’ve learned nothing else since coming here, I’ve learned to guard my heart. This is me guarding my heart.”

The tears gathered at the corners of Hyeri’s eyes spill over, though she does not make a sound. You dab at them with your own sleeve now, earning a sad smile from your handmaid.

“There could still be a child, Your Grace,” she says softly, “Some day. None of us know what’s written on the days that are yet to come.”

“You are right,” you concede with a sad smile. “And I would be very glad to be wrong.”

“So there is always hope,” Hyeri concludes, squaring her shoulders. Just speaking the words out loud seems to have reinforced her spirit. In this moment, she reminds you of the daisies at your bedside – battered but still bending towards the sunlight.

“Yes,” you agree, if only to bring her some solace. “There is always hope.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King calls for dinner to be held in the great hall to celebrate your return to good health.

He surprises you by seeing to many of the details himself, though you suspect Hyeri has played some part in bringing his vision to life. The generous spread wheeled out and served to the guests in attendance consists of only your most beloved dishes and desserts. And the hall is decorated in a bevy of cosmos flowers – the very kind that grow in abundance in Namjoon’s grand aviary.

It’s not all his doing, of course. It is the kitchen staff that spends hours preparing the food and the steward who sees to each plush flower centerpiece placed at the tables. But it is the King who directs their steps, and in doing so you cannot help but feel flattered by his consideration.

But you also cannot help but be flustered by his attention.

Whereas Namjoon would normally spend the lion’s share of his evening consorting with the assembled guests, tonight he has yet to stray more than an arm’s length from your side. You are keenly aware of his nearness as smiling people approach you from all sides, each expressing what seems to be genuine relief at news of your recovery.

It’s been months since the last communal dinner was held in this hall, and perhaps that is why it seems as though you could be swallowed whole in the sea of people gathered here tonight. Foreign and familiar faces alike swim by in all directions. Children cut narrow paths through the fray, darting between legs as they chase one another around, their laughter barely audible over the din of clinking cups and clattering dishes.

You do not know at what point you start searching each passing face for a pair of searing almond-shaped eyes and a heart-shaped mouth. But you do know at which point you realize it.

“You are not fatigued, are you?”

The sound of your husband’s deep baritone at the shell of your ear nearly makes you jump. You turn to him, careful to keep your eyes downcast. Certain that if you allow him too close a look he’ll recognize the guilt written all over your face.

Certainly he would know what it looks like.

“Not at all. Though I must admit to my feet being tired,” you sigh, gesturing to the beautiful calfskin boots that peek out from beneath your heavy skirts. “I’m afraid these are not quite broken in yet.”

“Then I’ll get you a chair,” the King says without hesitation, turning at once to make good on that promise. You stop him with one firm tug to his arm.

“Please no,” you protest, by now thoroughly unsettled by your husband’s careful oversight. “That’s not necessary, truly. I think I’ll walk around a bit and see if I can find Boram. I can rest my feet while we speak.”

“Very well,” Namjoon agrees, dark eyes boring into yours. “Send word immediately if you need me.”

You are bowing to him before the words are even fully out his mouth, quickling slipping away and into the current of moving bodies around you. You try not to call attention to yourself, but it cannot be helped. The crowds part to make way as you walk, people stopping to bow as you pass. You acknowledge each with an absentminded smile as you resume your search for those familiar dark eyes. You cannot find them.

“Your Grace!”

But it is only moments later that a familiar voice finds you. It breaks clear through the commotion and you turn toward it to find Boram waving at you from her seat at the longtable, sweet Yeona perched on her lap. The baby mimics her mother’s gesture, flapping her own hand wildly in greeting. The sight of them both is enough to make your heart burst.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you girls,” you sigh, surging forward to envelop both in an indelicate hug. You take a seat at Boram’s side and she proudly lifts Yeona to her feet. The baby plants them firmly on her mother’s lap, legs strong and steady beneath her.

“How is it possible she’s changed so much in little more than a week?” you wonder aloud, smiling in response to Yeona’s happy gurgle and wide grin. “She looks like a child ready to walk and not the little dumpling I saw last.”

“She really does,” Boram agrees with a wistful smile. “It’s all happening so fast. But you, My Grace, you look changed too! Even more vibrant than before. I would scarcely believe you’ve just emerged from your sickbed if I did not know it to be true.”

Your friend’s praise sends a pleasant heat to your cheeks.

“You flatter me,” you demur with a soft smile. “I’m so relieved to be free from confinement that I must be wearing my happiness for everyone to see, that’s all.”

“Well, it suits you,” Boram declares. “We were all quite worried about you. When Yoongi came home that day, he’d told me you were in a terrible state. I pestered him for news every day until he told me of your recovery.”

“I cannot recall ever feeling so ill,” you admit. “But I was well cared for, thankfully. And Yeona’s flowers were at my bedside to brighten my spirits. And I have yet to see Lord Min and thank him personally for helping me that day. Is he here tonight?”

“Somewhere,” Boram laughs. “Off with the men, I suppose. I’ve been waiting on him to return so that I might have an opportunity to stretch my legs and greet some of the old friends I’ve seen walking about.” She gestures to a tankard at the empty space beside her. “But he can’t have wandered too far if he’s left his ale behind.”

You laugh, reaching out to tickle Yeona’s belly and the baby squeals in response.

“Go on then,” you say, reaching for Yeona. She comes to you without hesitation, grin wide enough to bare the tiny teeth that have broken through her bottom gums. “I can sit with Yeona and you can have a few minutes to yourself. We’ll be right here when you return.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind? She’s dry and fed and I won’t be gone long.”

“I don’t mind at all,” you insist, bouncing Yeona on your knee and earning another squeal. “I’m happy to keep her any time you need a break.”

Boram’s smile is genuine and grateful. She puts a hand on your knee and squeezes it as she leans in to kiss her baby girl’s cheek.

“You are very kind, Your Grace. Thank you.”

You smile back, passing a hand over the soft hair at Yeona’s crown, smoothing down the tiny curls that have sprung up around her ears. “It’s no trouble at all.”

Boram casts a backward glance at you both as she leaves and you reassure her with a wave, which Yeona is quick to mimic.

“Such a smart girl, aren’t you?” you coo, pressing a kiss to her temple and inhaling her sweet scent. “Smartest girl in the entire kingdom. Perhaps some day you will be queen, hmm?”

“That would be an interesting turn of events,” a voice that is certainly not Yeona’s answers. The sound of it steals your breath and you turn towards it slowly, only to find Lord Jung standing before you. His dark eyes dance with amusement. “Although I think poor Yoongi would perish at the very notion of a royal bride price.”

It’s a wonder that Yeona does not fuss when your hold on her goes a bit tight in response to his sudden appearance. Your heart rattles inside your ribcage.

“My Lord,” you breathe, eyes wide as you watch him take a seat beside you. “Forgive me, I did not see you there.”

“Perhaps you ought to forgive me,” he says playfully, offering Yeona a finger that she immediately seizes with one chubby fist. “I did not announce myself.”

He smiles at Yeona then – full and brilliant – and she surprises you by turning coquettishly away to bury her face in the crook of your neck. Lord Jung chuckles and you find yourself staring at him, dazzled stupid by his beauty. Breath caught in your throat as your eyes sweep over his long, sooty lashes and sunkissed skin.

Has he always been this breathtaking?

Yeona lifts her head to peek at him once more. He reaches out to tickle her and then she’s hiding her face again, smothering her giggles against you.

“I think she fancies you,” you say at last, swallowing thickly when Lord Jung lifts his dark eyes to meet yours.

“I’m a bit too old for her, I’m afraid,” he teases, mouth curved into a soft smile. It slowly falls away as his expression grows more serious.

“It’s a relief to see you looking so well, Your Grace,” he murmurs. “Truly.”

There is a sincerity in that declaration that makes you feel warm and pliant inside. You shift Yeona on your lap so that you might have a plausible reason to look away, though truly it is only because looking him in the eye makes you feel vulnerable.

“It is a relief to be well,” you admit shyly. “And that is in large part due to you, My Lord. The other men, as well,” you add, almost as an afterthought. “I still shudder to think what might have happened that day had Lord Jeon not found me when he did.”

“Yes, I think we are all grateful for his vigilance. And I am glad that we were able to help,” Lord Jung says, watching you rub circles across Yeona’s back. The baby settles into your hold, soft cheek pressed to the juncture of your neck. “I hate to see anyone in that condition.”

You flick your eyes up at the note of melancholy in that statement. Surely he must be thinking of his late wife and her untimely death. To hear Boram tell it, the young woman passed nearly a year before your arrival here but something about his somber expression makes you wonder if that wound is still fresh. If you were a more courageous woman, you would ask.

But you are not.

“Well I am healthy now, My Lord,” you reassure him. “Fully recovered and feeling more like myself than I have in ages.”

He smiles as he reaches one hand out to stroke the soft curls at the base of Yeona’s neck. The baby sighs under her breath, but does not stir.

“I’m working at the stables this week,” he says after a moment. “Perhaps now that you feel – “

“There you are! I think I’ve walked nearly this entire hall looking for you.”

Both you and Lord Jung startle when the sound of a new voice joins the fray. You turn your head to find the King standing in front of you, eyes moving from you to the Royal Guardsman and back. And though there is a smile on his face, it does not quite reach his eyes.

“Your Grace.” Lord Jung quickly stands to his feet and bows in one fluid motion. You make no move to follow suit with Yeona in your arms, her breaths soft and slow and even at your ear. But you do manage a smile for the King, a weak one, even though both your heart and mind are racing. Even though in some way it feels as though he’s interrupted a moment of intimacy.

You wonder if the King feels it, too.

“I’ve not seen you all night, Jung,” Namjoon says pleasantly enough, clapping a hand over the Guardsman’s shoulder. Lord Jung returns Namjoon’s smile with an easy one of his own. You watch them both with careful curiosity, searching each man’s face for any sign of the tension you’d witnessed the other night in the courtyard. You find none, but you cannot be sure if that is because it no longer exists – or because both are accomplished in the art of diplomacy.

“I’ve been milling about,” Lord Jung explains, gesturing to you. “This is the first time I’ve seen the Queen since her confinement and I wanted to ask after her. I’m sure you both are quite glad of her recovery.”

“That we are,” the King says. He brushes past Lord Jung to take the man’s place on the bench beside you. “Though I suspect I’ve kept her out too late tonight and she’ll need her rest.”

You nearly open your mouth to protest but decide against it.

“Perhaps it’s time for me to retire as well,” Lord Jung says lightly. “I have an early morning ahead of me with the horses. It’s best I take my leave now and bid a good night to you both.”

He wastes no time in quickly bowing to you both before turning to leave.

You’re careful not to watch him go, though the King certainly does. Namjoon’s dark eyes follow Lord Jung’s steps until he is too far gone into the crowd to spot any longer. Your stomach churns at the expression on your husband’s face, at the dark curiosity in his narrowed eyes and arched brow.

“He’s restless of late,” the King says under his breath. Though you’ve heard him quite clearly, it seems safer somehow to pretend otherwise.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

“Lord Jung,” he clarifies, shifting his gaze back to you. “He’s not been himself these last months. Unsettled. Tense, perhaps.”

Your pulse leaps at your husband’s observation though you cannot be sure if the cause is excitement or fear. Yeona feels like a cinder in your arms now, her little body radiating an uncomfortable warmth against your already heated skin. You feel sweat start to bead at the back of your neck.

“I – do not know him as well as you do, Your Grace,” you say slowly, reaching for each word as carefully as fine crystal. “And therefore, I am in no position to say. But I trust that you have the right of it.”

The King strokes a soft hand down Yeona’s back and you hold perfectly still, as though you fear any sudden move will incite him. As though the reserved man you’ve been married to for all these months might spring on you like a bear trap if he’s managed to discern all the traitorous thoughts you’ve entertained.

But your husband does nothing of the sort.

His mouth tilts thoughtfully as he sits back to watch you, babe in arms. And in this picture of you and Yeona together, woman and child, he must see what he believes to be the solution to this dilemma concerning his lifelong friend. That can be the only explanation for what he says next.

“I think Hoseok is in need of a wife.”

You taste iron in your mouth.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

My Dearest Sister –

It has been some time since your last letter, but I have decided not to be cross. A forgiving spirit is but one of my enviable qualities and thus I have chosen to grant you a modicum of grace.

I write to you today with very exciting news. I’m in love!

His name is Chul and no, he is not of your acquaintance. It has been but three months since he and his father arrived in this village. He is frightfully handsome and best of all, prefers me to all the other young women who’ve been vying for his attention. I am the envy of the lot when we walk together in the evenings and always make sure to take the path closest to Park Myeong’s home because I know it vexes her to no end.

Dear Sister, he has asked me to marry him!

And while I suspect Father will be more than happy to see me married off in short order, I am quite certain that Mother will object. Chul is only yet a blacksmith’s apprentice but once he completes his training, he will be an expert. And I have no doubt of his ability to provide me with a comfortable life, though it will likely never meet our Mother’s exacting standards.

There is something else I must confess before I end this letter, something quite scandalous. And as I am unable to utter a word of this to anyone, I feel as though I might burst if I do not write it down.

A wondrous new world has been opened up to me!

I understand that the private delights enjoyed between a man and woman are nothing new to you, but this discovery has been a rather thrilling one for me. Chul and I are soon to be married and I cannot find good reason to forgo the heady pleasure of an afternoon spent with his hand up my skirts.

I will say no more, lest you faint dead away and someone find this letter next to your body.

I can barely contain my happiness. It feels as though I’m standing at the edge of my old life and preparing to dive into the new. The next time I write you, it will be to announce my formal betrothal and to share the happy news of my wedding plans.

With love,

Chaehee

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

You fold the paper in your hands and stare blankly into the fire in the hearth, watching the flames dance as you consider every startling revelation in your sister’s letter. At this very moment you should be seated at your desk, furiously scribbling a stern missive back to your wayward Chaehee and warning her of the ruin that almost certainly lies ahead. But you cannot. You sit in your plush chair immobilized, unable to move or act or think of anything beyond her words.

Happiness. Love. Pleasure.

Your poor sister would be aghast to discover that you know precisely nothing about any of them. That despite your status as a married woman – a Queen! – you are no more enlightened on these matters than she is. Probably less so now.

The flames in the hearth are dying by the time you finally manage to lift yourself out of that chair. You drop the letter onto the glowing embers below and watch as the paper burns bright orange and then black.

You watch until the edges curl into themselves and the pieces turn to ash and the fire consumes it whole.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Love, it would seem, is catching these days.

Your sister is hardly the only one to fall under its spell. Everywhere you look, you see it – in the kitchens where the cooks titter about their suitors, in the laundry where the washgirls trade heated glances with the butlers. In the halls where a footman and maid break apart when you turn a corner, cheeks flushed and breaths labored as you pass.

It’s as though love is a contagion being carried on the crisp fall air, infecting everyone who breathes it in.

Well, perhaps not everyone.

The King remains unaffected by whatever madness has come over his people. His peculiar interest in you proves to be a fleeting thing, one that wanes as life returns to routine in the days following your illness. You take up your daily morning walks and afternoon excursions to the aviary once again and the King resumes his own afternoon pursuits, vanishing at midday with such punctuality that you wonder if he’s actually being timed.

But you cannot find it in yourself to be surprised or even angry at this turn of events. In truth, there is a sense of relief that comes with the respite from your husband’s attentions. Too much time in the presence of the King muddies the waters. And in many ways you find that it is easier to live between clearly drawn lines.

But there are other lines, too. Ones that are far less clear.

Not unlike the neat line of stones that frame the path you are walking this morning. You round the curve that passes close to the stables with a basket in hand, stealing glances from beneath the brim of the hat Hyeri had insisted you wear today. Slowly, the horse pen comes into view.

He comes into view.

It is astonishing that the man can steal your breath like this. That just one glimpse of him – lean arms crossed over his chest, brow knit in concentration, dark hair falling into his eyes – is capable of making your pulse quicken.

You find yourself drifting off the neat stone path, body moving of its own volition in the direction of the stables. The ground beneath you, dusty and dry from weeks without rain, crunches loudly beneath your walking boots and Lord Jung turns at the sound.

The slow smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth is enough to make you lightheaded with excitement.

But the sensation vanishes nearly as quickly as it comes on.

“I think Hoseok is in need of a wife.”

The King’s words come back to you in that moment, ringing in your ears like the steady clang of a watchtower bell. How much longer will it be before Lord Jung succumbs to the madness that’s taken over this place? How much longer before he announces his betrothal? The man could be in the throes of a grand love affair at this very minute and you would be none the wiser.

The thought makes the blood in your veins turn to ice.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” he greets kindly from his side of the fence, paying his respects with a deep bow. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

A surprise to him perhaps, but not to you. In the days since Lord Jung declared his plans to work in the stables this week, you’ve been able to think of little else. And though you’d not been entirely certain of your intentions as you’d set out for this morning’s walk, you’d become quite certain of them as soon as you’d spotted his lithe frame in the distance.

“Good morning,” you breathe, damning the blasted hat that forces you to lift your chin in order to see him properly. You raise a hand to your brow to shield your eyes from the sunlight. “I hope you do not mind this disruption. I saw new horses in the pen and could not resist the urge to stop and admire them.”

It’s a half-truth, of course, though you must admit the horses are quite beautiful. You crane your neck to take a better look at them, a pair of pretty females with small statures and amber coats. One stands patiently still as a stablehand inspects its hooves, the other trots gentle circles around a second man.

“They’re good horses,” Lord Jung says. “Docile demeanors. Fast learners. Nothing like that hellion I worked with last.” He shakes his head at the memory and you cannot help but smile. “I don’t know that I’ll ever come across another animal quite like him.”

“Well, that’s probably for the best,” you laugh and he laughs too, the honeyed sound of it making your heart soar.

“Is this visit made in haste?” He motions to the basket in your hands and you blink down at it dumbly, as though you’d forgotten it was there at all. “Or do you have time to come in and see them for yourself?”

You drop your head a bit, just enough to allow the brim of your hat to conceal the way you flush with happiness at his invitation.

“I’m in no hurry. And I would like that very much.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

You stroke the horse’s muzzle with an open palm and the animal blinks its huge eyes, tail swaying back and forth in the wind.

She likes you – even without your knowledge of horses you’d be able to discern that from her relaxed stance and the happy sound of her nickering. She keeps her head dropped low and you reward her obedience with a firm scratch behind her ears.

Beside you, Lord Jung works a coarse-bristled brush through the horse’s mane, stroking through the strands until they shine. It’s mesmerizing to watch him work, to watch the tendons of his strong forearms strain and the muscles ripple beneath his golden skin.

“She’s comfortable with you.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the steady work of his hands, but your skin prickles with awareness at his casual observation. It makes you wonder what else he has taken note of when you’ve assumed his attention has been elsewhere.

“And I with her,” you return, patting the animal’s strong neck. “She reminds me of my mare back home.”

“Oh?”

“Not in her appearance exactly,” you explain, “But in her temperament. She has a very sweet spirit.”

“That she does,” Lord Jung agrees, dropping the brush into a bucket at his feet. He reaches into his pocket to produce a small oat cake, a reward for the animal’s obedience which the horse is quick to accept.

“What is her name?”

“She doesn’t have one,” he admits, lips pursing thoughtfully. “I don’t think the King intends to keep her. I expect that he will sell them both in order to acquire a more powerful horse. One better suited to heavy labor.”

“What a shame,” you say under your breath, hand coming to rest on the bridge of the horse’s nose. She nudges you with it, urging you to resume your attentions and you oblige with a sad smile. “Not fair is it, girl? Being cast aside like that.”

Lord Jung is quiet for a moment, long enough that you lift your head to search for him and find him already looking at you. There is something stormy swirling in his dark gaze. He quickly averts it to look away in the direction of the castle and you watch with careful curiosity as he drags a hand down his jaw before turning back to you.

“There’s a creek in the woods behind me. Do you know it?”

“I do,” you say slowly, uncertainty flooding your bloodstream.

“Do you know how to get to the mouth of it?”

“Yes,” you admit, heart starting to beat double-time. “I do.”

“Will you meet me there tomorrow? In the afternoon. At the time you would normally visit the aviary.”

At best, the proposition is improper – and at worst, scandalous. You know very well that no married woman of good standing should ever agree to a clandestine encounter with a man who is not her husband.

But still you answer without hesitation.

“Yes,” you whisper. “I will.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Try as you might, sleep will not come.

You lie in the dark for what feels like an eternity, imagining shapes in the shadows cast overhead. Your entire body tingles with a nervous energy that makes it impossible to lie still or allow your mind to rest. So you toss and turn – until your bedding becomes a mess and your sheets become impossibly tangled about your limbs. Until you have no choice but to abandon the endeavor entirely and decide to shake off your blankets and climb out of bed.

You grab your shawl and sink into the chair beside the fire, pensive as you watch the embers dim and cool.

Somewhere in the belly of the hearth at your feet lies the remnants of Chaehee’s letter. The pages are little more than ash and soot by now, surely, but the words inscribed on them remain seared into your heart and mind. Impulsive as she can be – reckless as she can be – your brave little sister has still managed to secure the things you covet most in this life.

Happiness. Love. Pleasure.

They all have it, don’t they? The cooks and the washgirls and the maids. They flit about this castle like doves, preening as they exchange knowing smiles. All partaking together in some grand shared secret while you remain grounded, tethered by decorum and duty.

Well, no more.

You’ll not spend one more moment sitting idly by as the women around you do exactly as they please, paying no mind to the rules that have dictated every circumstance in your life. You’ll not devote another ounce of your energy to resenting anyone fearless enough to do the things you’ve always been too timid to attempt.

So you tiptoe back to bed, as though any errant sound might bring every servant in the castle running to your chamber.

You peel back the duvet and burrow back into your bedding, heart pounding in your ears. And then you slide one unsteady hand beneath the gauzy material of your nightgown and down to the apex of your thighs. Then you touch yourself – there – with a light press of your open palm.

Nothing happens.

So you do it again – firmer – spreading your legs a bit wider and feeling for the hidden place that has produced an unexpected shock of sensation for you before.

Nothing happens.

But you keep pressing. Again and again and again until your hips start to move of their own accord. You keep pressing until you feel a strange pulse there, the steady motion earning you an enticing friction that comes each time you rock against the heel of your hand.

You keep pressing and rocking until the feeling becomes a pleasant ache between your thighs, as frustrating as it is fascinating. Because though you find the sensation agreeable, it is nothing like what Chaehee had described to you so long ago. And though you can feel it – the promise of something more – you have no idea how to harness it.

You have no understanding of what comes next or how to make it more.

Eventually you have no choice but to abandon that endeavor too, limbs and eyelids heavy when sleep finally comes for you. And when you submit to it, finally allow it to pull you under, your very last thought is that you will try again.

You must.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

“Is the meal not to your liking, Your Grace?”

Hyeri lifts one thin gray eyebrow as she fixes you with a strange look from across the table. She nudges the plate in front of you and you blink, rousing from your daze.

The food is perfectly to your liking actually, the smell of the sugared toast and eggs enticing enough to make your mouth water. But your stomach is wildly unsettled this morning, already roiling beneath your skirts at the thought of seeing Lord Jung and you fear partaking in more than just a few bites of food will cause you to retch.

“No, no, not at all,” you shake your head as you collect your thoughts. “It looks delicious. But my stomach feels a bit weak this morning and I would rather not test it.”

“You’re not feeling poorly again, are you?” Hyeri asks, frowning as she reaches for the glass jar of jam between you. “Perhaps you ought to stay in bed today, allow your body to rest.”

“No.” The word flies out of your mouth with much more force and much more volume than you’d intended. Hyeri’s eyes narrow as she nibbles at the corner of a toast point.

“There’s something curious about you this morning, Your Grace,” she says slyly. “You woke up with your head in the clouds and now you’re as skittish as a colt. Is there something afoot you need to tell me about?”

A self-conscious heat rises to your cheeks. “Of course not,” you sniff.

But the skeptical look on Hyeri’s face remains intact. “You look well,” she murmurs, as though assessing the veracity of your claim to good health. Her eyes rake down the pretty walking dress you’d selected for today, one of your best. “You look very well, actually.”

Oh, you must leave this chamber at once.

When Hyeri looks at you like this, you feel as transparent as a pane of glass. The porcelain plates and cups on top of the table rattle as you quickly get to your feet.

“You are far too kind to me, Hyeri,” you say, careful to avoid direct contact with her as you gather your shawl and basket. “Truly. And I think a morning walk is just the thing to improve my appetite.”

“But – ”

“ – I have a very busy day planned,” you say, ignoring Hyeri’s half-hearted objections as you hurry towards the chamber door. “And I may decide to visit with the Min girls, as well,” you lie, grateful to have your back turned towards your handmaid.

“But – ”

You fling the heavy door open and briefly turn in the threshold, just long enough to see Hyeri’s wide eyes and slack jaw.

“Don’t wait for me!” you insist, forcing a wide smile. “I’ll return before dinner tonight.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

You spend what remains of your morning in the aviary, alternating between attempting to read the book in your hands and staring up at the birds overhead, lost in thought.

What does Lord Jung want with you?

Contemplating the answer to that question is thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. You are in many ways – too many ways – still quite naive about the ways of men. Is he simply extending you a kindness or is there something more? The very prospect is fraught with danger.

But not even the risk of ruin is enough to stop you from seeking him out. And when the agreed-upon time for your rendezvous finally arrives, not even the threat of being discovered in a secret meeting with a man who is not your husband is enough to keep you away.

So you go to him – one careful step at a time, hiking your skirts to step over the roots dotted across the forest floor.

As you walk, a flash of movement catches your eye and you squint at it through the thinning trees. It starts to take shape as you near, the amber color of it sparking a realization in your mind.

A horse. No – horses.

Both animals come into view as you step into the clearing – the pretty mare from the stables secured to one tree and the King’s magnificent warhorse to another. Lord Jung stands at the warhorse’s side, his delicate mouth curved into a devastating smile.

“Your Grace.” He dips into his customary bow and you nod, incredulous as you take in the entire scene. “I thought you might like to go for a ride.”

Oh, but you would. In fact, your pulse leaps with excitement at the very suggestion. But you look down at your fine walking dress and sigh. “I would love to, truly. But I’m not dressed to ride.”

“If you think me capable of spiriting away both a pair of horses and a set of riding clothes, I’m afraid you’ve overestimated my abilities,” Lord Jung teases, causing heat to creep up the line of your back. “But the decision is entirely up to you.”

You silently scold yourself for voicing your hesitation out loud. This man has gone out of his way to offer you this opportunity, one you’ve craved since the moment you stepped foot on the King’s land.

You want to go. You will go.

“Well, I – “ you flush a bit as you gesture at the amber mare, then down to your long skirts. “-- I’ll need some help getting onto her, you see.”

Lord Jung’s dark eyes crinkle with amusement.

“Yes, of course.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The ride is glorious.

You’ll be saddle sore tomorrow, no doubt, but today you can only think of how free you feel riding on top of your amber mare. She’s an ideal mount for you, both in size and demeanor and you find that she follows your cues exceptionally well.

You follow Lord Jung’s lead through parts of the Kingdom you’ve never seen before — green hills and rolling fields dotted with wildflowers. And when you arrive at a particularly open stretch of land, you urge your mount to move faster and she complies, taking you from an easy trot to a gallop with surprising speed.

But soon – far too soon – it’s time to rest the horses.

Lord Jung helps you down from your mount, his hands firm about your waist as he carefully sets you on the ground. Surely it is only your imagination that he holds you just a bit too close and for just a bit too long. You breathe him in – take in his masculine scent of leather and sweat.

Being this close to the man scrambles your wits.

You let go of a breath when he breaks away from you to rifle through the contents of his bag. Within moments, he produces a skin of water and two apples, one of which you happily accept as the two of you sit down amongst the wildflowers to rest.

“This has been a wonderful afternoon, My Lord,” you say genuinely. “I hadn’t realized just how much I missed riding.”

“You’re good at it,” he compliments kindly, tipping his head back to take a drink. “And the two of you pair well together. She responds to you quite naturally.”

“Yes, I believe she does,” you agree, looking over your shoulder to where both horses are tethered. “And Jeonsa? He seems to do quite well with you. Is he biddable for the King, as well?”

Lord Jung puts on an amused expression and shakes his head.

“The relationship between horse and rider is a bit like courtship. Let’s just say the King has a bit more courting to do.”

The two of you share a laugh.

“Thank you My Lord,” you say after a while, “Truly, for all of this. I don’t know that anyone has ever gone to such trouble for me.”

Lord Jung’s dark eyes snap up to meet yours. There’s something puzzling about his gaze, something entirely at odds with your sincere statement of thanks.

“I wonder if I might ask you something of a personal nature, Your Grace.”

Your nails immediately curl into the fine material of your skirts, the pressure turning your knuckles white. But you are careful to keep your expression calm.

“Yes of course,” you say with a strained laugh. “Though I may decide not to divulge my answer.”

He looks away from you then, reaching for a long blade of grass at his feet. His expression inscrutable as he plucks it and begins to worry the blade between his fingers.

“Are you unhappy here?”

You take in a sharp breath. The question is far too personal, far too intimate to be proper in any way. But you find yourself answering it – truthfully – because he’s caught you so off guard you have no choice but to respond with candor.

“Some days,” you admit quietly. “But not today.”

Lord Jung says nothing for a while and the blade of grass between his fingers eventually breaks apart. He throws it down and reaches for another.

“The King is by no means perfect, Your Grace,” he starts, pausing as though he’s giving great thought to each word. “But he is a brother to me in all but blood. I’ve spent the better part of my life at his side. He’s a good man.”

The hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end.

Is this why he’s brought you here today? To make a case on behalf of the King? Your cheeks heat at the thought of every silly notion you’d entertained otherwise.

“Did he ask you to do this?” you demand, “Did he tell you to speak to me?”

“No.” His answer is firm, immediate. “No, I swear it. But I know that you have been unhappy since coming here and I just ask that you give His Grace a chance to make things right.”

You’ll hear none of it. The magic of the afternoon is gone now, the entire outing tainted by this tense exchange. By this reminder that Lord Jung’s loyalties lie with your husband, and that any kindness he’s shown you is little more than an extension of his service to the King.

What a fool you’ve been.

“You needn’t defend the King,” you say tightly, getting to your feet and dusting your hands off on your skirts. “I assure you, he has no shortage of people to come to his defense. And I think we should go now.”

“Your Grace, “ Lord Jung is on his feet now, too. “By no means would I ever want to upset you.”

It’s far too late for that, you think – the disappointment so acute it makes you want to double over. You turn your back to him and stalk off towards your mount, blinking back the angry tears that threaten.

“I’m not explaining myself well,” he insists, following you and taking firm hold of your arm. He turns you to face him. “I mean only to say that I know the King to be a good man. But even good men are weak to certain temptations.”

“And you, Lord Jung?”

You challenge him without thinking, the words flying out of your mouth before you can stop them. “What temptation are you weak to?”

The man’s dark eyes glint dangerously as he regards you for a moment, jaw tight.

“You’re right, Your Grace,” he says at last. “It’s time to go.”

thank you thank you thank you for reading this story. i'd love to hear what you thought and you can find me here 💕💕💕

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sparrow-stunned · 2 years

Text

seconds of infinity | yan xiao x reader

content warning: yandere behaviour. (very) brief mention of adepti art mind control. oblivious reader. author’s notes: pure self-indulgence featuring xiao’s intense, borderline creepy stare, xiao not fooling anyone except himself, in celebration of angsty boy finally coming home. may be a prologue of things to come depending on how thirsty I am for him (answer: extremely). word count: 2.5k reader discretion is advised.

The torment ate away at his heart like an insatiable wolf, and an infinite number of lifetimes could have done nothing to reduce it.

— Yakshas: The Guardian Adepti

ꕥ

In the end, Verr Goldet is the one to deliver the message.

Xiao scans the paper, bold ink brushstrokes penned upon luxurious white. He knows this elegant handwriting. The signature at the end merely confirms it: Zhongli, Consultant to Wangsheng Funeral Parlour.

He sighs and folds the paper, fingers swift yet careful as he tucks it into his sleeve with something akin to reverence. Xiao furrows his brows and considers Master Zhongli’s words. While he would not deny his sovereign’s request, how should he best resolve it? Such close contact with a mortal…

“Sir?” Verr Goldet prompts.

Preparations would be needed, he decides. The adeptus crosses his arms, resisting the urge to scowl. “…I understand. Let the mortal know I have received Master Zhongli’s words.”

ꕥ

(You should not have sought him out, you will come to learn, dread creeping into realization. Now, he will not relinquish you so easily.)

ꕥ

By the fifth night of your stay at Wangshu Inn, you are a mess. The adeptus you seek is a phantom. No one has seen hair or hide of the elusive young gentleman rumoured to frequent the roof of the inn. But finally, through Verr Goldet, Mr. Zhongli’s letter has arrived in the hands of its intended recipient.

You close your eyes, sending a short prayer to whichever deity was listening now that Rex Lapis has passed. You cannot live like this. The death of your younger brother had been enough, but the dreamless sleep afterward… You shake your head, trying to scatter the memories.

“May I ask… did he respond?” you finally say, nervously tapping the counter with half-bitten nails.

Verr Goldet looks at you with something akin to sympathy. Or was it pity? You must make quite a sight, having gone days without sleep. While you’ve tried to keep up some semblance of appearance, you’re sure the bloodshot eyes don’t help in that matter.

The innkeeper speaks, apologetic. “He said nothing of note—merely that he’s read it. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

“Is that a refusal then?” you say, confused. The adepti of old tales were renowned for their vague words, and it proves true in this case. “I don’t know what to do with that information.”

“I don’t think it’s a refusal. He seems to have plans of his own,” Verr Goldet soothes. “The gentleman will come when he is ready, esteemed guest.”

You sigh in half-formed relief. Until you meet him face-to-face, the worry won’t disappear. But her words help. The boss of Wangshu Inn was a sharp woman; whatever observation she has made of the man, you trust.

With a murmur of your thanks, you slowly make your way back into your room. The stairs beneath your feet creak with each step, but your tired mind barely takes notice. You open the door with trembling hands, staring blankly at the mussed sheets as you collapse into bed. The sigil in your breast pocket from Mr. Zhongli pulses, as if alive.

When you close your haggard eyes, the world blurs. Hazy colours condense into memories.

A cave entrance. Your hesitant steps toward the darkness, desperation overriding fear.

A misstep, despite your caution.

The sensation of falling, seized by terror as the darkness swallowed you. Even now, on firm ground, you still feel it. Your heart beating rabbit-fast, as if one beat quicker and it would explode. Wetness along your cheek.

A silent scream.

Then nothing.

Nothingness. That is all you remember.

When you awoke, there was pitch-black darkness, pierced by one single beam of light. Even though the fall had been an eternity, and the impact must have been great, you were not dead. You were alive.

And curled in your hand… it had felt like a plant. It must be the flower, you had thought frantically.

So you stumbled around the hole, crawling on palms and knees, creaking body refusing to cooperate. The damp soil under your fingernails as you dragged yourself toward the glow of sunlight, despair infused with hope. Frenzied prayers on your lips. The climb upward toward the light, bloodied fingers grasping onto rock, was an infinity you finally defeated when the world became bathed in light.

Collapsed into the grass, its green tips still fresh with morning due, you exhausted body felt as if it had just wakened from eternal sleep.

In some ways, you had—the villagers say you went missing for half a month.

And by then… it had been too late for your brother. You buried the flower with him. It had hurt too much to keep.

The flutter of the curtain by your window distracts you from your almost-dreams. It is what first alerts you to his presence. A solemn voice then slices through the silent air.

“Were you the one sent by Master Zhongli?”

ꕥ

Xiao slips through the open window, feet balanced on the windowsill before stepping inside. In the moonlight, the mortal startles awake, eyes flashing open. He glances at your face, noting the purple bruises underneath your eyes. The red veins across your sclera.

An exhausted mortal, he corrects in his mind. Weak. In curing the affliction, if my speculations are correct, you may unearth a beneficial surprise, Master Zhongli had said. How was a weak mortal was supposed to be helpful to an adeptus? A human’s life was already so fragile, but to deal with the added burden of a dead god… Well, he’s surprised you’re still breathing.

“Y-Yes, honoured adeptus,” you stutter, getting off the bed and greeting him with a stiff bow. “Mr. Zhongli told me—.”

“Master Zhongli,” he corrects, eyebrows furrowed. Rex Lapis is gone, but Xiao will not have anything less than the utmost respect for his current incarnation.

“Master Zhongli,” you immediately correct, biting your lip. “He said there was a gentleman at Wangshu Inn who could help me with my problem. Are you the Conqueror of Demons? The Vigilant Yaksha?”

Xiao does not see fit to answer the question. Instead, he asks, “Did you read the letter?”

“No, no,” you hurry to say, as if afraid of offending him. Mortals and their sensitivities. “How could I dare? I was just supposed to send it. Master Zhongli said you’ll explain it to me. ”

Xiao closes his eyes. This will make things more difficult. He is an adeptus of a few words for a reason. Still, if Master Zhongli said so, he will oblige.

“You said you were picking herbs in a cave?” he asks, reciting what he remembers from the letter. “And then you fell into some underground hollow.”

“Yes,” you say. “I was looking for the cave-dweller herb. My brother was sick, sir.”

Xiao raises an eyebrow. “You risked your life for a legend? Who even told you where it was?” Pilea cavernicola. Said in mortal tales to be a miracle cure for any disease. Of course, the adepti knew it to be true. A flower whose petals contained certain medicinal properties, but it only blooms once in a century. Its rarity meant its location was a well-guarded secret, even among immortals.

“A family secret, passed on from my great-grandmother to me. She had once unknowingly provided shelter to an adeptus. In turn, the adeptus told her where to find it. Everyone thought she was crazy when she told the story. After all, why would an adeptus come to a small farming village?” you say, voice cracking as you speak. “But I was desperate.”

“Hm.” It is believable. In recent times, few adepti wander from their abode; forays into the mortal realm became rarer and rarer, but mortals still received somewhat frequent visits a hundred years ago. Xiao wonders which one you were referring to in your story. It definitely was something more sociable adepti would do.

Contracts and equivalent exchange—it was the heart of Liyue. The essence of Rex Lapis’ rule. Honoured and sacred. You were not lying, he decides. Foolish, but not dishonest.

“You should have accepted your brother’s condition,” he finally says. “Death comes to all mortals. It is foolish to seek a mythical flower for aid.”

Your trembling stills. A fierce glare seeps into your eyes. “I will not have a stranger—even if they are adepti—dictate what I should or shouldn’t do when my brother was dying! You did not see him when he laid there, frail body shuddering with each bloody cough.” Your anger dies down into hollowness, mind lost in the past. “I would have… I would have done anything to save him.”

Your anger surprises him. You did not seem to have enough life for such an outburst. But still. “Your futile search—did it help?” he scoffs.

“I did find it,” you murmur in quiet protest. “…But it was too late.”

“And now, because of your foolish actions, you must come to me for help,” he summarizes. The lingering darkness hovering around you tells him more than enough. But something about your aura, even barring the miasma… A unique constitution, the letter had mentioned. The thought gets cut off when you speak.

“Yes.” You hang your head, rebuffed by his admonishment. “I’m sorry.”

“Your apology matters little to me,” Xiao says bluntly, crossing his arms. “I am only here because Master Zhongli requested it.”

“I understand,” you whisper. “Still, you have my thanks.”

Xiao shifts uncomfortably at the subtle tears gathering in your eyes. Perhaps he was being too harsh on you. “Tell me what happened after your search.”

“I went home to my brother, flower clutched in hand”—you choke on your words, and Xiao watches with golden eyes, a hawk patiently its prey—“but he was so still when I tried to wake him. So cold. So lifeless. He had already passed away. It appeared that I fell unconscious for two weeks.”

“The symptoms started after that?”

“Yes. The sleeplessness,” you say, wringing a helpless hand. “My heart won’t calm down. I went days without sleep, and when I finally collapsed into unconsciousness, it was always fitful. I had dreams, but no recollection of them. I only knew terror when I woke.” Your eyes shutter, body physically recoiling at the reminder. “Only the terror. I didn’t know what to do. It was a stroke of luck that Master Zhongli happened upon me in Liyue Harbour while I was there to search for a solution to this affliction—his eyes were keen enough to figure out something was wrong with my...aura? At least, that’s what he had told me.”

“You disturbed an ancient, fallen god when you picked that herb. It has invaded your dreams.” Xiao knows dreams. It was an unfortunate specialty, gained during his enslavement. That was probably why Master Zhongli sent you to him. The old gods will never die, and so too do their grudges survive.

Xiao sighs. While he has been snippy toward you, it is his personal failing that has led to your situation. Some remnants of the old gods must have festered deep underground, unknown until you stumbled into it. It is best to dissipate the aura as soon as possible, before it begins to taint the vicinity around you. The sigil Master Zhongli has given you is a temporary solution.

You shiver at his words. “Fallen god?” you croak. “What in the world…”

His eyes are piercing yellow in the darkness. “Yes. I will dispel it.”

“How will you—”

“Adepti arts,” he interrupts, ready to end the conversation. There were many ways to suppress the lingering hatred of the defeated gods. Rituals, adeptal arts, battle. Mostly through battle, but thankfully, this case did not need such… violent methods. Otherwise, the entire inn might be leveled in the process. “If you value your sanity, best not to know. Lie down.”

You close your mouth and obey, eyes wide as you stiffly rest your body on the bed.

He appears by your bedside in a flash of Anemo powers. Ignoring your breathless gasp, he says, “Close your eyes. Whatever you do, do not open them.”

When you do as he says without complaint or further questions—thankfully—he touches the diamond mark on his forehead with the index and middle finger. He recites a brief incantation and the adeptal energy gathers on his fingertips. It hums with excitement as Xiao brings it to your own forehead, just shy of touching.

The energy begins to penetrate through your flesh, burning away the fallen god’s presence, but then—

A burst of energy repels him. Runs through his veins, numbing nerves. Blooms on his tongue, like the bittersweet of almond tofu.

Xiao leaps back, gazing at his hand. Flexes it, once, twice, but there’s still a lingering sensation of the phantom energy. It is not the dark miasma manifested by fallen gods, for he is all too familiar with such matters—it is the exact opposite.

The burdensome karmic debt permeating his bones is unusually light. The insistent hatred that he must normally suppress is no longer so heavy. The screams no longer so loud. A unique constitution. His eyes widen, as the words of his lord return: In curing the affliction, you may unearth a surprise.

No wonder you had survived the invasion of divine hatred. Whereas normal mortals would have gone mad or perished, their very spirits overtaken by the rage of a fallen god, you were protected from such fallout.

The miasma had masked it from him, but with the influence half-gone, he felt it. The clarity battling against the darkness. Your soul was capable of purification. A mortal who dispels karmic debt. The curses of the dead, scattered before your aura.

Xiao stares at you in wonder. In all his millennia, only the flute of the Anemo Archon was capable of the same feat. Perhaps… if you were to remain at his side, it may ease his pain.

“Perhaps,” he murmurs. But the karmic debt should be his to bear, his rational mind argues. It is a result of his actions to protect Liyue. To seek relief is to dishonour those who perished in battle. It is deserved penance. And yet—

“Honoured adeptus?” you hesitantly ask, eyes still shut. You shift on the bed, hands clenched. “Are you finished?”

Xiao remembers where he is. He clears his throat, heart thumping in his ears. “Almost,” he lies. “Be still.”

But as his lips begin the incantation again, his thoughts race. As the anemo power under his fingertips burn away the miasma from your body, Xiao’s energy brushes up against the edges of your soul. It hums, pushing back playfully, soothing hurt and madness.

But once the ritual is finished, you would leave.

No. He cannot have that. He needs time. A few more seconds, minutes, hours of your time, so he can choose.

For how long, the back of his mind whispers insidiously. Forever? Master Zhongli must have sent the mortal here for more than just a fallen god’s hatred. It is a sign of his favour. All those years of madness and grief and pain, have you not suffered enough? Do not hold back. Just take.

He ignores it.

He wouldn’t keep you. Not permanently, he reasons. Just enough time to decide his next course of action. He would have to rid you of the miasma, that is true. Otherwise, it could taint those around you.

But there were always other methods. Ways to keep you here, under his watch. The adeptal arts did not only deal in protection.

As the last traces of divine hatred dissipate, leaving behind purity, you stir. “Honoured adeptus…” you yawn. “Are you done now? I’m… getting sleepy. S’rry.”

“Then sleep,” he says solemnly. “You will have no nightmares under my watch.”

“Thank…you…” you slur. A peaceful expression smoothens your face, and then you’re under the influence of dreams.

“We will have much to speak of, come tomorrow morning,” he says. Only silence greets him.

He glances at your unconscious body and wonders if touch is a better conduit for your powers. Resists the urge to trail his fingers along the vulnerable skin of your throat, to see if it is true.

A sudden breeze from your window flaps the curtains. The moonlight shines through, casting the shadows of a contemplating yaksha on the wooden floor. Xiao takes quick strides to shut the window, and then the curtains.

The wind dies down. The moonlight disappears. Now, it’s just you and him. A mortal and an adeptus.

His eyes return to your face. It’s just as well that adepti do not need sleep. It gives him more time to plan.

Thoughts you follow that are not your own. Nightmares that only he could alleviate. Unconscious desires. Unblinking loyalty. The list is never-ending. The adepti arts were so much more than for a mortal’s protection, he’s learned during the Archon Wars. It seems he’s finally found a reason to use them again.

Just a little more time, he repeats in his mind. Just enough time to choose.

(Just enough time to bind you to him. Just enough for forever.)

#yandere xiao x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere xiao #xiao #genshin impact #yandere #yandere x reader #psyche.writes

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lexxiie · 3 years

Note

Hi lexxiie, I love your fics so much. How about getting married to the BNHA boys (villains)?

Please and thanks.

When You Marry Them

afdskkjfskslk I can tRY. Listen, I can't picture any of the villains wanting to get married. Especially Touya and Kai, idk why. (I do know but I won't tell you). We can assume they found someone who is worth changing their ideals for, though. (thanks for the kind words, btw)

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Featuring: Dabi | Shigaraki | Overhaul | (bonus) Hawks.

TOMURA SHIGARAKI

He's a bit too anxious when the day arrives, to be honest.

He never saw himself getting married at all.

So this is kind of a surprise to him more than to anyone else.

He's quite worried about you, though.

What if he becomes a new version of his father? The thought makes him sick.

He has tried to be better ever since he met you.

But he still doesn't know if he's doing it right.

He kind of asked you to marry him out of impulse.

But when he dared to imagine his life without you, he realized he had made the right thing. It's still weird, though.

He can't see himself as someone who deserves all of this happiness, or a normal life with you. But he also doesn't want anything else.

I don't think he would want a huge event or anything of the sorts. He would prefer something private.

You see, to him, deciding to marry you means that he loves you and wants you by your side forever. Not a pretentious party.

If you do want a pretentious party, he could consider it, though.

Still, the fact that he wants something small doesn't mean he doesn't care. He cares a lot, that's why he wants this moment to be just for the two of you.

I imagine he would want to get married after beating AFO's ass, so he would not want you to take his last name. I don't think he'd want you to take Shimura either, to be honest.

He. Would. Cry.

He tries so hard not to.

But after so many years of being lonely, he can't believe he finally will have someone as his forever. The man is in love.

DABI | TOUYA TODOROKI

Another guy who thought he would never get married.

Actually, he thought he would be dead by now, how surprising, huh?

He's happy he's not dead, though. Otherwise, he wouldn't have met you.

He thought about proposing too many times, always deciding he wouldn't.

He's endeavor's son. He can't be a good husband, and he obviously isn't a good person. You can do better.

But the thought of you with someone else makes him light up in flames. Literally.

Remember I said Tomura proposed out of impusle? This man proposed out of impulse, impusle.

He was just staring at you one day and went like "Marry me." bRO??

No ring, no nothing. He did get a ring afterwards, though.

I picture this happening after little Shouto saves him, so Rei would demand a big wedding for her firstborn. If it was up to Touya, it would've been something small.

She thought her son was death and she'd never get to see him getting married, so having the opportunity makes her very emotional.

He wants to cry SO BAD when he sees you walking down the aisle, but he forces himself not to because he doesn't want to ruin the moment with blood coming out of his skin.

He looks so hot in a suit.

Listen, all of this isn't really his style, but he's willing to do it all for you. Pulling some semblance of a man is everything he had been doing since he met you.

He has no problem if you don't want to take his last name, but he would really like it if you did. It would boost his ego, besides, the idea of indroducing you as Ms. Todoroki makes this scary, dangerous man, feel butterflies in his stomach.

He is gonna do his best to be someone you deserve.

OVERHAUL | KAI CHISAKI

Listen, I feel like he's quite a traditional man.

He couldn't see himself getting married anytime soon, but he hoped he would one day.

When he realizes he loves you, he just knows it. He knows he wants to marry you.

He doesn't do many things out of impulse. Actually he rarely does things out of impulse.

He planned the proposal step by step.

I have mentioned this before, but even though I don't think he's a corny man, he is very romantic, like, in a formal way.

He wanted everything to go perfectly. Roses, a nice ring and a great speech. He never disappoints.

When it comes to the wedding, this man has a great taste. He would want a small, but very elegant event. Mostly because he wants an excuse to see you in a wedding dress. and then taking it off.

The thought of dancing with you is very important to him as well.

The last name. He won't force you to do anything you don't want to, but he will be extremely displeased if you don't take his last name. He is a bit possesive and would love to call you Ms. Chisaki.

He is a great husband. Seriously.

You are the most important person in his life. You are his priority.

Honor is a big deal to him, so his wedding vows are an oath he won't break. His word is his most valuable possession, and he gave you his word of loving you forever.

He just knows he found the best thing that'll ever happen to him, and he's not planning on letting go.

HAWKS | KEIGO TAKAMI

He always wanted to get married.

And he wanted to marry you since the moment he saw you.

He's a passionate guy, you know?

I feel like he would ask you to marry him multiple times and you'd say no each time.

You just felt like he wasn't being serious because of how casually he would ask.

But you also thought that even if he was serious, he probably wasn't thinking it through.

He did. Since the very first time. My man has perseverance. I would be lying if I told you it didn't hurt him every time you rejected him, but he had it clear in his mind that he only wanted to be with you. So he kept asking.

Until the marvelous day arrived. You finally said yes.

Keigo acts like a puppy whenever he gets excited, so imagine him jumping around and hugging you, and kissing you... He's very intense.

But you wouldn't want it any other way.

He wants a huge party.

He is proud of himself for getting you to say yes, he has to show his beautiful partner off.

This guy would definitely cry without even trying to hold back.

You don't have to, but please, please, pleaseee take his last name. You can put it after your own, he doesn't mind. He just wants you to have a piece of him with you.

He would definitely want to have a family with you, but the thing he cares the most about in his life, is you. If you don't want kids, he doesn't care. He only needs his wife to be happy.

He is such a considerate, loving man. Probably the best guy you could marry in the whole world.

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spacecowboyhotch · 2 years

Text

Seeing Him (5+1): For the First Time

summary: reader sees hotch in a different light for the first time and does nothing about it, take 1.

pairing: gn!reader x aaron hotchner

warnings: pining, angst

an: this was…supposed to be an exercise for myself to just write and put it out but then my brain said no <33. this feels a little weird for me and it’s my first ever 5+1, so i hope y’all likey. and thank you to my sweet @ssahotchie as always for betaing for me. icon is her’s as well!

word count: 1.7k

masterlist

part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

You’re content and that’s putting it mildly. The pace of the job, sweet solitude, and your found family do it for you. There are a lot of things that you could want for and so many things that society says you lack but your life is what it is. That’s enough for you.

Until it isn’t.

The case is frustrating, you’re getting nowhere with the unsub in custody and an entire family’s life is hanging in the balance. The team is on edge, but Hotch’s behavior beats everyone else’s out. He’s disheveled. When he’s not talking his tongue sticks out between his teeth, his eyes are dark and charged, his hand on his hip. The other hand runs through his hair as he paces back and forth, mouth moving rapidly like Reid’s when he’s trying to figure something out.

Everyone else is going about the job, spouting their own theories, bouncing ideas off of each other but you sit in your chair quietly, observing. In your 2 years on the team you’ve never seen him like this. It feels wrong, but you’re captivated, interest peaked in seeing him unravel and be human for just a moment.

“(Y/N)?” Blake’s hand comes down on your shoulder as she looks down at you in concern.

“What? What’d I miss?”

She ignores your question, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just…thinking.” You glance over at Hotch who’s brow is still furrowed, only now he’s staring at the case board with Dave, looking a little more put together.

Hotch turns to the team, his eyes still full of that spark of uncontrol. “Okay, let’s talk through victimology and m.o., again see if we’re missing anything.”

____

It isn’t until you’re on the jet home, the case solved that you let yourself think about what happened. Slipping in your headphones, you stare out the window so that you can have some semblance of solitude while thinking through your feelings. You liked seeing him like that. For the first time you see Hotch as something other than a leader, you see him as a man.

Just a man, one who’s wound a little too tight. One who needs to let himself go and to give himself not an inch, but a mile. One who’s attractive. One you’re attracted to? Yes. You fidget with your fingers as you admit that to yourself. It’s like opening Pandora’s box. You haven’t looked at someone the way you looked at Hotch in years, haven’t seen the point or the need.

You don’t get farther into your thoughts about being attracted to Hotch because someone’s pulling your headphones out, and plopping down in the seat next to you. You glare at the person sitting next to you.

Derek.

He leans over with a wide grin, “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing.” You say too quickly, snatching your headphones back from him.

“Don’t you ‘nothing’ me, I can hear the gears turning in your head.”

“It’s nothing Derek, really.”

You couldn’t tell him that you were seeing Hotch for the first time. Truly appreciating him for the man he is. It makes you realize that you were regarding him as something categorized as other. The rest are family, it’s always been easy to label them as that, but hotch has always been different. He can be put in a box, but only to a point. He’s predictable and structured, definable and yet…all you’ve ever been able to do is call him Hotch.

Hotch your boss. Hotch the leader. Hotch, the one who always knows what to do, the one you can count on to get shit done. You’ve avoided placing him anywhere else but there because of this. Have you always known? Has your subconscious been overriding?

“Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. It was a hard case for everyone, I’m just ready to be home and alone.”

“Well alright then.”

“You know I don’t mean it like that.”

“I know but I’ll leave you be.” He gives your hand a squeeze before returning to his spot across from JJ and Reid.

You try to get comfortable, putting on your sleep playlist and wrapping yourself in a blanket but it doesn’t work. For once, the entire jet is dim, not even Hotch’s light is on. He’s awake, typing quietly on his laptop. With a deep sigh you rise, heading to the small kitchenette to make yourself some tea.

You hear the curtain move but don’t look back. There’s only one person awake, you know exactly who it is.

“Everything alright?” His voice is hushed, infused with professionalism, dashed with concern.

“Everything’s fine, I wish all of you would stop asking me that.” You bite out, cursing yourself when your arms cross against your chest.

“Things don’t seem fine.”

“Do not profile me, Hotch. That’s crossing a line.” The electric kettle dings and you grab it hastily, filling your mug to the brim.

“If you don’t talk then that’s what I have to do.” He says unapologetically. He’s surprised that you’re talking to him this way. He’s always known you have it in you, but never thought it would be for him.

Turning around, you face him. “I did talk, I said that I’m fine.”

The look he gives you makes it clear that he’s not buying it but he doesn’t block your path or cage you in. He just stands there with a mixture of worry and exasperation painted on his features. The features you can’t help but call beautiful now as you stare at him.

“You know what, profile all you want but I’m not gonna stand here and listen.” You grasp your mug firmly, heading for the curtain. When you’re standing right next to him, he reaches out and places his hand on your arm to touch you. His fingers feel like a hot iron, heat seeping through your light weight long sleeve and melting your skin.

“What’s going on?” The tone in his voice is different, pleading almost and that mixed with the strong smell of him almost makes you give in. But you’ve gone a long time without feeling this way or needing someone.

Your chin juts up in defiance as your eyes meet his, “Nothing.”

Fast legs move you back to your seat in a blur. You set the tea down, unable to drink it now that your stomach is in knots. His touch, his smell, it’s overwhelmed you in the worst way. You put in your headphones once more, something loud and invasive to distract you, before curling up into a ball under your blanket. Your hand runs over the spot where his fingers laid, trying to get rid of that warm feeling. You continue to do it even though you already know you’ll never be able to forget it.

tagged: @ssahotchsbitch, @ssahotchie, @azenpal, @chelseyjoyce, @hotchwhore15, @dadbodhotch11, @ssamorganhotchner, @choppa-style, @kuolonsyoja, @heliotropehotch, @averyhotchner, @zetasaturno99, @art-and-thoughts, @g-l-pierce, @qtip-blog, @scuttling, @akira-155, @j-cat, @laurensprentiss, @ssa-montgomery, @thinking-bucky, @silvermercy, @lilacprentiss, @fightingdragonswithreid, @vintagesubmariner, @ashhotchner, @moonshine-evelyn, @emlynblack, @ssahotchnerxx, @sunshinexhotchner, @dindjarinneedsahug, @angelfxllcm, @ssahotchslover, @wheelsupkels, @multiverse-mxdness, @jaspxr , @gspenc, @sadgirlml, @hotchs-bitch, @lcvingprentjss

series tagged: @temilyrights

#gn reader x aaron hotchner #gn!reader x aaron hotchner #gender neutral reader x aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner/reader #reader x aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #arsonhotchnerwrites #seeing him series #arson writes

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buckydarlin · 2 years

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DRUNK PROCLAMATIONS ; bucky barnes

pairing: avenger!bucky barnes x avenger!female!reader

summary: a voicemail leaves many thoughts running through bucky’s head. his heart soars with happiness before it crashes back into reality - what if she didn’t mean what she said? bucky’s only solution is to avoid her like hell. he doesn’t want to hear the truth from her lips, ready to take back everything she said in her voicemail because he knows he’s not worth any of it.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: insecure bucky, mentions of drinking, swearing, angst with a happy ending

note: written as part of @pellucid-constellations‘s love letters writing challenge! i used the prompt “and i’ve never felt like that before, but something about you makes me want to feel like that”. i hope you enjoy!

Bucky can’t fall asleep.

This isn’t a shocking revelation, he’s had many nights where he would stare into the darkness for hours, preferring it to the images he would conjure up in his sleep. What’s shocking is the reason that is keeping him up this time. His phone lights up on the bedside table and his heart starts to race again, an automatic reaction no thanks to [Name].

His eyes fly over to his phone to find a notification asking him to update his phone software. Bucky supposes he’s glad for the dumb notification. If it was a text, or god forbid another voicemail, he might just have a heart attack. Yes, a voicemail is what’s gotten Bucky all worked up. He groans just at the thought, feeling like a love-sick high school boy.

Bucky closes his eyes, in a lame attempt to fall asleep but minutes pass by before they shoot open again and he reaches out to grab his phone and soon, he’s opening the voicemail from [Name] that he received hours ago. He’s glad that Sam taught him how to open his voicemails (though he could have gone without the ‘old man’ jokes).

‘Hey Bucky! Hope you’re doing alright back at the tower! We’re having a blast but I wish you were here right now’

He swallows the lump in his throat as he starts the voicemail. He assumes that she’s outside somewhere as he can hear muffled music in the background but for the most part, it’s quiet. Her words are slightly slurred and he knows it doesn’t take much for [Name] to get drunk.

[Name] had been the first person to try and become his friend ever since he arrived at the tower and through many trials and errors, she was finally able to break down the wall Bucky had carefully built around himself. [Name]’s friendship is now something that he holds dearly and somewhere along the way, he started to fall for her.

Initially, he chalked it up to [Name] being the first woman in decades to give him some semblance of attention that he started to mix friendly gestures with romantic ones but as time went by, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that his heart seemed to beat a little faster when she was around.

‘I know that you don’t really like big crowds so I’m not upset or anything. I know you try your best and it gets too much sometimes.’

It’s something that Bucky is insanely grateful for, how much she understands him. He was close to changing his mind about going out with the team after seeing [Name] in that little red dress but he just couldn’t deal with crowds tonight. Though she was disappointed about it, [Name] didn’t push him either.

‘I think it would have been more fun with you though. Well, doing anything with you is more fun! We can go somewhere more private next time! Just you and me?

I really like spending time with you Buck, so it doesn’t matter what we do. As long as I can be near you, I’d do anything really’

His hand starts to shake at her words, just as it did the first time he listened to the voicemail. And he can’t even bring himself to listen to her list out different things to do or places to go as he prepares his heart for what comes after.

There’s a pause in your words - only the muffled music in the background and his racing heart reaches his ears until-

‘I think I like you Bucky. No, I know I do. Friends don’t feel like this. Friends don’t say these things, do they? I don’t know, but I know what I feel for you is more that just a friendship. I might even love you and I’ve never felt like that before but there’s something about you that makes me want to feel like that. I don’t know, I think I’ve always felt the urge to gravitate towards you since we met, even if you were grumpy and closed off’

She giggles and Bucky relishes in it, her laughter is better than any music that’s been produced in this day and age. Hell, he’d listen to her laughter over his old 40′s records any day.

‘I wonder what it’s like to kiss you. I mean, I don’t want to overstep your boundaries but every time I watch you lick your lips, god Bucky, you don’t know what it does to me. I’d give you everything if you let me, Buck. You deserve it and a whole lot more. I-’

[Name]’s interrupted by someone, presumably Sam, who’s telling her to come back inside.

‘I gotta go for now, Bucky. I’ll see you when I get back at the tower, ‘kay?’

The voicemail closes as Bucky remains still, taking in her words. They come as much as a shock to him as it did the first time, no matter how many time he’s listened to it now.

Hours later, the team get back to the tower and Steve knocks on his door to make sure he’s alright. He can hear an intoxicated [Name] stumble through the corridors, wanting to do the same and he silently thanks Natasha when she steers [Name] into her own room, telling her that she can talk to Bucky sober in the morning, much to [Name]’s displeasure.

Bucky’s not sure if he’s ready to be confronted about the voicemail yet. Even if she boldly proclaimed her affections for him (albeit drunk), there’s a small voice that drips in the caverns of his mind. What if she didn’t mean it? Would she have meant them sober?

She doesn’t remember.

Bucky spent hours upon hours, bracing himself for the confrontation he was so sure would come up in the morning when she greets him in the kitchen, but there was nothing.

“How the hell are you so chipper?” Sam grumbles, rolling his eyes as [Name] sticks her tongue out at him, “You could barely hold yourself straight up not even twelve hours ago”

“I’m just built better than you,” She jokes, laughing when Sam groans and holds his head when she ‘accidentally’ closes the drawer a little too loud.

Steve chuckles and Natasha can’t hide her smirk at the comment, “She’s got a point Sam. I mean, we’re all doing okay”

“Steve, you’re a super soldier and Natasha, you’re an assassin. I don’t even want to hear it from the two of you,” Sam sighs before pointing to [Name], “But she’s normal, like me. Well, not like me because she doesn’t get hangovers even when she drinks her weight in alcohol! Which is weird! You’re not normal, [Name]!”

[Name] laughs, not even slightly deterred by his comments as he continues to rant about her abnormalities. When she looks over to see Bucky quietly entering the kitchen and sit next to Steve, her smile widens, “Good morning, Bucky!”

He nods at her cautiously, the voicemail lingers in his mind, “Mornin’. Have a good night?”

If she notices that something’s off with him, she doesn’t mention it.

“I’m sure I did,” [Name] jokes, “I don’t really remember much of anything last night, if I’m being honest”

And it’s something that should fill Bucky with relief, but it doesn’t. She doesn’t remember. The thought manifests into something bigger. Did it even matter to her, if it wasn’t even worth remembering? Something that is so inconsequential to her but kept him up for hours, hoping that she meant every word she said.

“I did miss you though,” [Name] adds, snapping him out of his tortuous thoughts.

He’s glad that he’s trained himself to remain passive Bucky doesn’t know if he can ever get used to hearing those sort of things from her. Even if they were only said platonically. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Sam interrupts, groaning loudly, “I already feel like throwing up without needing to see the two of you flirt!”

“Oh, stop it!” [Name] reprimands, playfully, “I’m not flirting with him!”

The comment hits his heart just a bit harder than it usually does (his previous thoughts didn’t exactly help either) and he feels the urge to be alone. So he abruptly stands up, interrupting the flow of conversation around the table and rushes back to his room for a moment of silence.

Bucky needs time to collect his thoughts, to stop making the voicemail more than what it is - a mistake. He should be grateful for her lack of memories. This means he can carry on as normal with her without making it weird or awkward for both parties. Because he’s sure that if she rejected him face to face, his heart would split open.

It’s a blessing in disguise. Something that he repeats to himself, in an attempt to convince himself that things are better the way it is. There were only two other outcomes - one which he’s sure would never happen - and Bucky doesn’t know how he would be able to be around her if he has to hear it from her.

A knock on his door brings him out of his trance and he hears [Name]’s soft and worrying voice through the wood.

“Bucky, is everything okay?”

A few seconds pass in silence as Bucky comes to terms with reality, to forget about the voicemail. He walks over to open his door, finding [Name] staring up at him with furrowed eyebrows. His hand twitches as he feels the urge to smooth out the wrinkles that appear due to her concern but he holds himself back.

“Yeah, sorry about that, I’m fine”

He’s not sure that she believes him, but she doesn’t push him for the truth either. As he follows her back into the kitchen, he lets out a sigh.

He can do this, pretend that he’s not head over heels in love with [Name], it’s something he’s done for months. Because he’d rather keep her as a friend than not have her at all.

He’s a coward.

The fact that [Name] doesn’t remember confessing to him hurts him more than it should have. Bucky knows he should be grateful, really, because this means he doesn’t need to listen to her take back everything she said in her voicemail and he can carry on their friendship as if it never happened in the first place, but he can’t forget it.

He tried to go through the days as normal, as he always had until that night, but a couple weeks pass by and Bucky isn’t so sure he can keep up the facade anymore. So he does the next best thing he can come up with - avoid the hell out of her.

It’s not a good idea, he knows that but that voicemail has given him too much false hope. He used to be fine standing beside her but now he finds himself inching his fingers closer to [Name]’s, gazing at her just a little longer. He feels like a love-sick puppy following its owner around.

Bucky feels guilty though, seeing the hurt and confusion on [Name]’s face when he starts hanging out with her less and less, but with her voicemail at the forefront of his mind and a confession of his own ready to spill from his lips, he figures this is the best move for some self-preservation. And to get rid of these feelings, he first needs to rid himself of her first, so he can come back a better man with no romantic feelings whatsoever (though that’s proving to be difficult regardless).

And despite knowing that something’s wrong, [Name] respects his boundaries, as she always did and gives him the space that he wants (though he doesn’t really want it). Which is why he doesn’t expect a confrontation.

There’s a loud knocking on the door and Bucky assumes it’s Steve checking up on him again. He’s been doing so the past few days as Bucky holes himself up in his room just as he did so when he first joined the team.

No matter how many times Bucky tells him he’s fine, Steve knows there’s no truth in his words at all. And while Bucky is grateful that his best friend cares deeply for him, it’s not really needed at the moment.

But it’s not Steve.

[Name] is able to push him back into his room as she’s caught him off guard. Her eyes gleam with determination and anger and Bucky knows that he might not be able to avoid this situation any longer.

“Bucky, I can’t do this anymore,” Her words are sharp and he winces at her tone. Yeah, she wasn’t happy with him in the slightest.

“Tell me, what the hell have I done to make you avoid me?” [Name] asks him, cutting him off effectively when she sees his mouth open, “And don’t give me that ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ bullshit”

He closes his mouth, unable to think up of any excuse that would deter [Name] from dropping the subject. The silence stretches between them as he does his best to avoid her piercing eyes.

[Name] scoffs, looking away and Bucky takes this time to look at her. She’s not as angry as she was when she stormed into his room. Rather, she looks tired and frustrated and incredibly hurt.

“If I did something to hurt you,” [Name] starts, slouching against his desk, “Then I’m sorry”

“You didn’t,” Bucky immediately clarifies, shaking his head, “God, [Name]. None of this is your fault”

“Then why are you avoiding me?” She questions, finally looking back at him. She looks as if she’s on the verge of crying and Bucky wants nothing more than to wrap her up in his arms, “One day we were fine and then suddenly we weren’t. I miss you, Buck”

He’s silent again, contemplating on whether to let the truth out or not as she stands up straight and suddenly, he’s in panic mode. [Name] looks like she’s about to walk out - maybe out of his life for good, tired of his shit. And he figures now is as good as any time to say everything that’s been on his mind. Because even if she might want space from him afterwards, if there’s even a slim chance that they can get back to their friendship, he’ll take it.

“That night,” His voice stops her from moving but he doesn’t look at her, “A couple of weeks ago where you and the rest went out. You left me a voicemail... telling me that you like me. Might love me, even”

And it’s [Name]’s turn to freeze up. He’s not sure what’s running through her head as he speaks and to be honest, he’s afraid to know.

“And...,” Bucky’s voice breaks slightly and he clears his throat, “I know that it was just a mistake on your part. You were drunk, you weren’t in your right mind and you didn’t mean what you said. I mean...” How could you love someone like me?

His heart constricts as the words get stuck in his throat so he moves on.

“You didn’t remember any of it the next morning and I saw it as a sign to pretend the voicemail never happened. But I can’t forget it, [Name]. I tried, I really did,” Bucky clenches his jaw, “I really wanted to, for the sake of our friendship but I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said to me that night. More than anything, I wanted it to be real.”

And there it was, he finally said it out loud.

“I like you, [Name]. No, I’m in love with you. And I know I’m not good enough for you, someone as broken as me, you deserve more than what I could ever give,” He lets out a self-deprecating laugh, “But I keep clinging onto that voicemail because even if you didn’t mean it, I’ve never wanted anything more”

He waits to allow his words to sink in for her and prepares his heart for her next action. He just hopes whatever the outcome is, no matter how much space she needs away from him, she’ll allow him to stand by her again eventually.

The sound of his phone ringing makes him jump and when he eyes his phone lying on the bed, he’s confused to see [Name]’s picture on his screen. His eyes, cautiously yet questioningly, look over to her as she walks over. He’s unsure what to do but she reaches out to grab his wrist when he reaches over in an attempt to grab his phone.

[Name] only lets him go when she hears his voicemail message, staring up at Bucky as she speaks.

“Hey Bucky, it’s [Name]. Though I’m sure you know that,” [Name] gives him a half-hearted smile, “Last time I left you a voicemail, I told you that I think I’m in love with you. I’m not really sure what I said and I guess I can’t blame you for thinking I didn’t mean it because I was drunk. But I’m sober now, so listen carefully, alright?”

At this, Bucky straightens up. His heart is pounding so loudly, he’s sure she can hear it as well but doing as he’s told, Bucky takes in your words.

“I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for a while and I suppose that’s why it hurt a lot when you suddenly began avoiding me. Though I wish you would’ve said something earlier because I could’ve loved you openly a whole lot earlier. I don’t want to hear that ‘I’m not good enough for you’ bullshit again, do you hear me? You are more than good enough, Bucky. And if you let me, I’ll love you in all the ways you deserve to be loved”

Bucky is stunned into silence. There’s various emotions running through him, confusion, surprise, doubt, but one feeling stands above all, an overwhelming happiness.

Bucky opens and closes his mouth several times, dumbfounded and at a loss of words. He’s so engulfed in his emotions, he’s not sure what to say.

“Really?”

And she laughs, covering her mouth in attempt to conceal her laughter, “Yes Bucky, really”

[Name] throws her phone on the bed and takes a step closer to him, slowly linking her fingers with his.

“I love you, Bucky,” She whispers, words meant only for his ears, “Will you love me back?”

“I already do, sweetheart,” Bucky grins widely, freeing one of his hands to reach up and cup her face, “I love you, so much. Fuck, this feels like a dream”

“It’s not, Buck. I promise you, it’s all real,” [Name] reaffirms, “Would you like me to write you a love letter to prove it? I’m sure that’s more your style, old man”

Bucky laughs, shaking his head, “This is better than any love letter I’ve ever received”

And he means it with all his heart. The dozens of love letters he received back in the day couldn’t hold a candle to her voicemail.

“I’m gonna kiss you now, Buck,” She tells him, her lips ghost over his, “I’m going to show you how much I love you and how much you mean to me, you hear?”

“Loud and clear, doll”

#loveletterswritingchallenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #— chloe writes ✍🏼#bucky barnes

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frannyzooey · 3 years

Text

The Storm

Ezra x Frankie Morales x Din Djarin x f!reader - The Cabin Universe

rating: explicit - foursome, cum play, possessive dirty talk, piv, oral (both m and f receiving), probably OOC everyone, based on the book “Credence” by Penelope Douglas. I literally have nothing to say for myself - this is pure, indulgent filth for my bestie.

a/n: this is dedicated to my whoreo @krissology for her birthday today! You are the literal best in so many ways and I know you have high hopes for this, so I hope it delivers! I love you!

You don’t even know how it started.

Well, that’s not true, you did.

You just never imagined you would ever find yourself in the middle of something like this - something so sinful, so filthy, so decedent. Like a fever dream or a late night fantasy, your fingers working your soaked clit under the sheets as you tried to cum to the image conjured by your hungry mind.

This wasn’t a dream - though the blurred outline of your thoughts right now made it feel like it, the sliding of your coherent mind into a deep pit of lust, your inhibitions lost in the darkness - this was real life.

A real cabin.

Real men.

Three, in fact.

You couldn’t sleep. An ache gnawing at your gut as you shifted restlessly in bed, one that had been ever present for weeks now since you moved into the cabin with them. It’s one you thought you’d just have to live with even if it would eventually drive you insane because how could you choose, especially between three brothers?

Ezra: the eldest of the three, taking you under his wing immediately upon seeing how unprepared you were for the harsh winter in your neighboring cabin and you had noticed immediately the way his eyes lingered on you while trying to keep his tone light and polite.

He’s been teaching you to fish, to hunt, to survive a winter as brutal and unforgiving as the one you are about to face and the heat between you has been building during each one of these lessons. He’s always so close, his soothing cadence right in your ear, his hands always guiding you, teaching you and you can tell he wants to succumb to the want pulling the two of you together but is torn between holding onto a semblance of responsibility, arguing with himself that it wouldn’t be right to take advantage of you like this while you’re stuck in their cabin.

He’s trying so hard to be a good man, but you wonder what it would be like if he just let go and took what he’s been wanting.

Frankie: your sunshine, your friend, the one you get along with the best. He’s been warm and welcoming from the beginning, even more so than his brother.

His sweet cheeked face with those loose curls drew you in, his teasing and his good nature pulling you closer and the way the crinkles around his eyes deepen when he smiles just for you makes you ache, the breadth of his shoulders and his scent when you tuck your face into the nape of his neck during snowmobile rides even more.

You know what he wants, have seen the way he looks at you when you borrow one of his shirts or when you slip out of the bathroom in just a towel, but you also know he’s waiting to hear you say it.

Din: you actually thought he hated you, with how he had treated you in the beginning. Sometimes indifferent, sometimes cold, sometimes bordering on resentment and disgust with the looks that flashed across his handsome, dark face but something about his looks lately had made you think differently.

He’s been watching you now with something akin to want, if you had to pin it down; a longing for...something, you aren’t quite sure what and if you peered into the deepest part of your soul, you’re pretty sure you would find that you wanted him the most. His intensity scares you though, makes you afraid for what he might do to you, what you might feel if you let yourself give in and so you’ve kept your distance, avoiding his gaze whenever it was (always) pinned on you.

These thoughts swirling in your head just like the snow outside, you had come downstairs to watch the storm through the picture window in the living room. Maybe drink some tea while you watched the fat, crystalized flakes drift lazily down through the air but were surprised when you saw them awake themselves, watching TV.

Frankie had made room for you on the couch, patting the cushion next to him with a friendly, tired smile as he took in your bare legs below your sleep shorts and when you sat down, you had let your gaze flit over to Din - the light of the TV illuminating his features as he watched you from a chair by the fire.

“Couldn’t sleep?”, Frankie had asked, turning his head to face you and when you looked at him, you could feel his warm breath skimming across your mouth, his eyes dropping down to look at it.

It had started just like that - an innocent question followed by a couple more, one of them “is this okay?” before he leaned forward to kiss you and even though Din was sitting right there in the room, you couldn’t help how you immediately gave into his warm, lush mouth.

You were so tired of fighting it, tired of hearing them bring other girls home to fuck in their rooms while you heard the moans through the walls, tired of how much you wished it were you and so you took that kiss. And another. Another.

Your hand rested on his cheek, pulling him closer as you shifted to face him and the soft sound in the back of your throat at how he tasted made him bolder, his hands gripping your hips to guide you onto your back into the couch.

His solid, firm body settling on top of yours with a weighted grind of his hips, he kissed a hot, open mouthed trail along the side of your neck to taste what he’s been wanting for weeks and your face tilted towards Din; the snow outside falling, falling, falling.

You could see how hard he was through his pants, his hand settling on top of his cock with a squeeze through the thin material while he watched the two of you on the couch and the lewd heft of it outlined in fabric made your mouth water, made your fingers itch to touch it.

You found yourself crooking your finger at him, beckoning him closer because even though Frankie had you pinned on the couch underneath him, you still couldn’t choose.

Din getting up to come closer, Frankie slipped his fingers between your bodies to cup you firmly between your legs, the thick digits digging hungrily into your pussy through your sleep shorts and when he felt the damp fabric slide under his hold, he whispered “show us something wet, baby.”

The words made you close your eyes with a moan, a rush of slick leaking as you fluttered around nothing and his fingers worked their way under the fabric, dipping the pads of them just inside you as he rested his nose against your chest with a groaned fuck.

They had peeled off your shorts together, Din helping you sit up so he could tug your shirt over your head and the way the two of them were moving together, it was almost like they were one unit. a shared mind; Frankie voicing din’s thoughts out loud.

“He wants a taste, baby”, Frankie told you, his hands pulling your thighs open while Din made his way between them. “Will you let him?”

Before you could answer, Din lowered his head to give your hip a kiss.

A delicate one, much softer than he looked like he would give before laving his tongue over the hardened bone and then he looked up at you and held your gaze before dragging his teeth over it, ending it with a sharp bite.

“Din!”, you cried out, reaching your hands down to stop him and Frankie caught them in his grip, gently pinning them above your head. Your soft sound of protest was caught by his mouth when he lowered it to you, his lips meeting yours the second Din’s met your cunt.

Your fingers curled above your head, holding tight onto nothing as Din parted you with his tongue and you rocked your hips into the wet heat of his mouth, seeking relief. He did it again, a slow, thick lick upwards to settle against your clit before circling it, another one just to make you whine into Frankie's mouth and you tensed your thighs around his cheeks, his sparse beard catching on the soft skin.

Frankie licked your mouth open, stealing the air from your lungs with how hard he was kissing you, his weight pushed into the hold of your wrists and when he pulled back to palm himself over his pants, he grinned at how dazed your eyes looked when they instantly dropped to watch.

Your lips were swollen and perfect, your gaze fixed on the thick ridge of his cock as he stroked it through his pants and you slid your tongue along your lower lip and moaned when you watched him slowly undo his belt buckle with one hand.

Working the button open of his jeans open and tugging the zipper down, he pulled himself out and his cock, heavy and hard between his thighs, was so much better than you had been dreaming about; Din’s mouth making you close your eyes on the perfect sight.

“Fuck his mouth”, Frankie ordered above you, his fingers gathering milky drips of precome before sliding his hold down the stiff length, fucking his fist inches from your mouth. His dark eyes took in your writhing body on the couch as you did what he said. “Fuck his mouth like I’m gonna fuck yours.”

Your eyes flew open, his hand releasing it’s hold on yours and when you reached to circle your fingers around him, he let out a deep groan of content, settling his hand over the top of it to help you stroke.

The weight of his cock fit your in your grip perfectly, your mouth watering with it so close to your lips right now and he sought the warmth of it out, pushing his hips forward to slide the thick tip of it along your bottom lip until you opened up.

You could barely concentrate on sucking it, your tongue smoothing over the underside, gliding a circle around the velvety, rounded head while Din’s tongue did the same to your clit and you when you moaned around Frankie's cock, he gave you a little more. And then a little more.

Inch by inch, a push forward before a pull back and you tried to work what you couldn’t fit in your mouth in your hand, rewarded with a salty spurt on the back of your tongue.

“You look so fucking good like this. I knew you would”, he groaned, his large hand cupping underneath your chin to help you open up wider and as he pushed deeper inside the wet cavern of your mouth, you gagged on the thickness of him, the stretch, the heavy weight.

“Take a little at a time, baby”, he murmured, brushing your hair back from your forehead as he let you pull off to catch your breath and glistening strings of saliva coated him, matching the one dripping down your chin right now.

“Fuck”, you strained breathlessly, arching off the worn couch into Din’s mouth as he spread you wider with his fingers before licking a wide stripe up through your soaked, sensitive folds and you could feel the way your cunt clenched around nothing, his tongue now tracing the hole of your entrance before pushing inside. “Keep -- please, yes.”

He had never been so hungry for a cunt in his life, never felt like he would die if he didn’t make it come right now on his face and the need for it only grew with how much you begged for it, your fingers sliding through his curls to tug him closer. He would happily die here, his mouth buried in your drenched center, his nose brushing over your clit as he nuzzled his face deeper and your moans were suddenly muted, the muffled sound covered by Frankie's deeper groan as he slid back into your mouth.

Din wanted to hear you, but he also knew that Frankie needed you just as much, so he splayed his hand open along the inside of your thigh and pushed - gently enough to open you up wider for him, but firm enough to keep you in place.

One hand on Frankie's ass, your fingers digging into the soft flesh to push him deeper into your mouth, the other hand buried in Din’s hair to pull him closer and you were gone - your body moving in tandem with them, mindless with pleasure.

They were gonna make you come - you didn’t know if it was more Din’s mouth or the weight of Frankie on your tongue or the idea of them both, having you like this and getting their fill - but you could feel it building in your core; slick dripping into Din’s eager mouth.

Your thighs started to tremble, your belly clenching, the peaks of your breasts hardened points with how much they ached to be touched and it’s like they could sense it because you suddenly felt the reassuring weight of their hands settle on you; one breast each with a possessive squeeze.

“You're ours”, Frankie chanted above you, the muscles of his ass tensing under your hold as his cock swelled in your mouth. “It’s gonna be like this all winter. Your pussy is ours to fuck. Your mouth, your ass --”

He knew Din wanted that last one, wanted to hear it too and the groan that crawled out of Din’s chest into his throat vibrated into your cunt, the feeling of it tipping you closer to the edge.

You sucked harder, your hold on Frankie's cock tightening along with your mouth and he curled over the top of you, his hand braced on the back of the couch as he started to come.

“Fuck -- you feel so fucking good. Keep going, baby. I’m gonna fill your mouth--”, the strained words slid into a deep groan as he did it, a thick spurt of cum splashing along the back of your tongue before quickly filling your mouth and the salty tang of it made you crave more, your hand pumping him to get every last drop.

You were so close, so goddamn close to coming you could taste it, Din’s tongue relentless against your clit right now with quick licks and when he started to suck on it, you tried to curl into the feeling, but Frankie held you down.

“Make her come, Din”, he said, his breathing still heavy above you, his cock softening on your tongue. “Make her cum so you can fuck her. I want to --”

“What is this?”

Ezra's voice startled you, Frankie sliding out of your mouth while Din ignored it and you watched Ezra come closer, Din shoving his pants down to free his cock.

“Birdie, look at you.” Ezra's voice was a reverential drawl, a hush that darkened as he slowly knelt next to the couch to drink you in and it’s like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to touch first, so he touched nothing.

His dark eyes roamed your nude body, the urge to cover yourself disappearing completely when you felt the blunt, rounded tip of Din’s cock sliding up through your soaked folds before he guided it down, down, down to rest against your tight ring of muscle.

“Don’t”, you frowned, wishing the word sounded more firm than it did. “I don’t want that - not yet. I --”

You didn’t have to explain yourself to him, though his stern expression told you what he wants will happen eventually and he positioned himself back at your entrance before sliding all the way in down to the base in one swift, filling push forward.

“Yes”, you breathed, your eyes slipping shut as Frankie shifted to kneel by your head, guiding your face to his. He kissed you just to taste himself thick on your tongue, Ezra's dam finally breaking as he ripped his pants open to pull himself out. He circled your wrist to bring your hand to his cock, wrapping your fingers around it and just like always, he showed you how to do it; his broad hand engulfing yours.

Din reached for your other hand, your thighs cradling his hips as he pushed into you over, over, over and your fingers entwined - something deeper felt in his hold; something he couldn’t say with words. It was like he was holding your hand to anchor you, but it was really more for himself - the firm squeeze a reminder that he is here with you, that you were his even though the three of them were with you.

You briefly wondered what you must look like from above, these three men possessively crouched over your body, devouring you, claiming you for themselves while you begged for it. Like predator and prey almost, or like demons and an angel, they had plucked you from your existence and pulled you down with them.

You were never going to make it out of this without being forever marked by them; something they were working hard to do now with the bruising grip they had on your skin, the way Din’s hands held you in place as fucked into you, the way Ezra filled your head with his soothing words, the way Frankie kissed you until you couldn’t think.

“Do you feel what you do to me, birdie? Do you feel how much I’ve wanted you?”, Ezra said above you, his head tipped back to the ceiling with a filthy groan while his hand worked yours faster under his grip. The words were a callback to the ones he uttered in the kitchen earlier that day, his lips brushing along the shell of your ear, his cock pressed against the curve of your ass before you were interrupted by Frankie.

“How much we all want you”, Frankie continued, his lips dragging against your temple, his broad hands splayed over your breasts, palming the weight of them with a squeeze. “We aren’t ever going to let you leave, baby. This is how it’s going to be every day.”

“Din”, you cried out, your ankles tightening over his lower back and his hand flexed in yours, a wordless I’m here, I’m here. “I’m gonna come, please --”

You knew the others were in the room, could feel them next to you, had felt them seeping into your being since the day you walked through that door, but with the way he was fucking you, Din was commanding all your attention, like he was the only one. You and him.

“Keep fucking her, keep fucking going, because Jesus --”, Ezra could barely get the words out before he came, ropes of cum splashing hot on your stomach, the milky liquid pooling on your skin.

He didn’t even give it time to cool before he swiped his fingers through it, immediately seeking out your clit where it was nestled just above the stretch of you around Din’s cock and the second he touched it, you were lost completely.

It’s too much - Frankie's mouth now on your neck, your face tilted to press into his soft curls with a broken moan, Ezra's skillful fingers working, working, working in slick circles while he sucks the peak of your breast into his mouth and Din’s hips pounding into yours, a soft grunt for every push inside.

You are going to come and you should be embarrassed about how open you are right now, how exposed, how filthy you must look with cum smeared on your chin and stomach, but you can’t -- not when they are making you feel this wanted, this adored. Not when you feel the hunger they have for you; the need.

Your body is buzzing, the tingling spreading through your hips and down, creeping up through your chest, hardening your nipples as Ezra twirls his tongue around one and strokes the other and you reach to grab onto anything; your restless fingers finding purchase on din’s thigh and Frankie's hair.

If they froze when you came you might have been able to take it, but they didn’t - your soaked cunt pulling Din deeper, your fingers digging into his thigh as your hips locked up with a stutter, your moan filling the high beamed room as the silent snow piled up outside and they still kept going, burying you deeper and deeper, just like the storm outside.

In a minute, Din will come inside you, staking a claim on your cunt for the others to see. He’ll pick your limp, sated, sleepy body up off the couch and carry you into the shower, where he’ll let you rest your cheek against his firm chest as his soapy hands caress your skin, washing away the way they marked you.

He’ll kiss you, his hand curled possessively around the nape of your neck as he guides you backwards into the cool tile, tugging your knee up around his hip, making sure you know you’re his and making sure the others know it too by the sounds he’ll pull out of you that will echo in the small stall.

But that’s in a minute.

Right now you’re still falling, buried under these men and this storm, suspended in this moment just like the swirling flakes of snow outside.

It’s going to be a long winter.

tagging CC: @highsviolets @javierpcna @javier-pena @charnelhouse @djarinsbeskar @astroboots @silksaddle @krissology @loversandantiheroes @thirstworldproblemss

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waywardsummoner46 · 2 years

Text

Secrets of the Chamber

Pairing: Dark!Tom Riddle x reader

Summary: You’d do anything to protect your brother. Even locking yourself in the Chamber of Secrets with Tom Riddle himself. Your defeat was inevitable but the news he carried was unexpected to say the least…

Word Count: 2865

Warnings: Death, violence, mind control

A/N: This is something a bit different I guess. I hope you guys like it! In this fic, I changed how the Imperius curse works so just a heads up in case anyone confused. Hope you’re all alright and let me know what you think!

______________________________

In the Chamber of Secrets lay a dead body. One belonging to Ginny Weasley.

The one responsible for her death was also in the Chamber.

The one who loves her was there too along with his older sister.

Tom Riddle had murdered her in cold blood; he’d been using and stealing her life source so that he himself could be free of that wretched diary of his. A sixteen year old version of himself, locked inside the book for sixty years just waiting for the right time to appear again.

You and Harry were crouched over Ginny’s pale and freezing form. Your hand shakily brushing the hairs from her Snow White forehead to behind her ears whilst Harry desperately tried to communicate with her. You didn’t have the heart to tell him she was already gone (and maybe you didn’t want to admit it to yourself either).

“It was inevitable, I suppose. Poor, poor Ginny. So naive. Desperate for any semblance of attention and affection that she’d so thoughtlessly accept it from a stranger,” the smug and victorious voice of Tom Riddle echoed through the Chamber. His posh accent billowing around you all and making it impossible to ignore it.

You shook with anger now and shut your eyes in attempt to control your rage. Harry noticed how erratic your shaking had become and, in attempt to stop the oncoming wrath of yours, he grasped your hand and squeezed it a couple of times to distract you.

Tom clearly had other plans though. He leant against the wall he was by and brought out the wand he’d stolen from Harry. Bringing up to his face, he continued, “You know what it’s like, don’t you (Y/N)? No parents, no friends and the chosen one for a brother. The attention would’ve been on him regardless as he did survive an encounter with Lord Voldemort.”

Harry glanced up at you to gauge your reaction and his face dropped when he noticed the murderous expression on your face. “(Y/N), no-“

You sprang your and cut him off. Aiming your wand at Tom, you shouted “Sectumsempra!” The spell your cast was one of dark magic. It could slice a man in two and cause him to bleed to death. Usually you would never be tempted to use something so violent yet Tom Riddle always pushed you over the edge every time you’d had the misfortune of seeing him in your dreams.

He straightened from the wall and brought out his own wand. With a simple swipe of it, the spell was ricocheted off to the side somewhere, wasted and insignificant. You stared at him in silent fear. The fact he’d blocked it didn’t bother you, no, how he did it was what terrified you.

He’d done it silently. And with ease. Silent magic is the hardest form of magic to master after Legilimency and if he can do that with ease then you dreaded what else he can do.

Silently you realised just how much danger you were in and your top priority became getting Harry out of there immediately. Clenching your jaw, you began formulating a plan in your head. You kept your wand aimed at Tom to make sure he knew you weren’t surrendering.

You backed towards Harry slowly and when you reached him, you grabbed his shoulder and hoisted him up. “What are you doing?” He asked.

Opting to remain silent and with your eyes watching Tom’s every move, you pushed him more forcefully. “Go, move! For Merlin’s sake Harry, shift it.”

He stumbled forward and towards the stairs leading back up to the school grounds. Before he began climbing them, he stopped in his tracks and glanced helplessly at Ginny. “But what about Ginny? We can’t just leave her!”

You took your eyes off of Tom for a second in order to grasp both of Harry’s shoulders. You stared intensely into his young eyes and tried to prevent your lip from trembling. “We’re not leaving her. You are. I’m staying here to give you time, you need to save everyone Harry,” you said and heard a faint chuckle in the background to which you gritted your teeth at.

Harry face looked crestfallen instantly and instead of giving him an opportunity to protest, you pushed him through the gate and slammed it shut with a, “Colloportus.”

He opened his mouth to speak but you interrupted him again with a hoarse cry. “Go! Please. I’ll come after you when I’m done, I swear.” Reluctantly he seemed to accept your answer. God forbid he ever would if he knew how hopeless your situation was but Dumbledore had told you to protect Harry at all costs, even if that included losing your life.

With a shaky smile, you pressed a kiss to his forehead where it was pressed up against the bar and pushed his shoulder, forcing him to put more distance between himself and the Chamber. “I love you, brother.”

“I love you too. I’ll be back, and I’ll save you,” he responded. You nodded just to put his mind at ease. Then he was off and he didn’t look back.

You took a breath to steady yourself and to prepare for the inevitable death that was coming your way. Before you could turn around however, a cold gust of wind ghosted across the side of your neck, causing you to jump and aim your wand at him… only to find him the same fifty yards away he’d been all along.

His head was tilted the side and his eyes studying you. “Sentimentality never ceases to amaze me. You’ve willingly placed yourself in a position with only one possible outcome; my victory. And yet you did this all in the name of love. It’s sickening and pathetic,” he stated distastefully yet keeping the composed posture he had.

Raising to your full height, you mirrored his scrutinising look and prepared for a duel. “All the more fun for you then, Riddle,” you said.

He hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose it will be. But not in the way you think,” he said cryptically and raised his wand at you too.

You tended and prepared yourself for him to make the first move. He didn’t. And it was silent for awhile. When you couldn’t take the tension any longer you began attacking.

Firing spell, “Expelliarmus.”

After spell, “Immobulus.” After spell, “Incendio.”

None of them worked. He kept silently deflecting them all and with each step he took forward, you took one backwards. You must’ve been on the twentieth spell now and your arms were getting weaker with the effort to keep him distracted and you were struggling to think of any attacking spells.

The thought of using the Unforgivables passed through your head but you shook that thought away immediately. Tom smirked at you and it was then that you remembered he’d mastered Legilimency and more dread was placed on your shoulders.

“Don’t hold back on my account, darling. Why not put your skills to the test? After all the progress you’ve made it’s be a waste not to use them now,” Tom taunted, looking as threatening as ever.

You exhaled exhaustedly. “You manipulated me. I never even had a choice! You forced that magic onto me and hid your true intentions!” You yelled back.

“Was it truly manipulation if you obliged willingly? If my observations are correct, which they undoubtedly are, then it seemed as though you accepted my offer to teach you the Dark Arts to help you feel significant again.”

Growling, you increased the speed and intensity of the spells you used. “I didn’t need to feel significant. I didn’t need anything. Especially not from you!” You fired an Evertestatum spell, hoping to catch him off guard and knock him to the floor but he deflected it and it counted back at you.

You flew back and landed on your back. Head having hit the floor, you blinked blearily in an attempt to quell the black spots that danced in your vision.

Tom walked calmly towards you. “Pathetic.”

You healed your wand tightly in your hand and stumbled to a stand up. You shook your head a few times for good measure and flared at Tom menacingly.

“You never stood a chance against me, (Y/N). Just like you never stood a chance against Ginny or Ron or Hermione. They all bested you in a way that was completely out of your control,” he smiled condescending at you. “We managed to find a place in Harry’s heart. What place do you hold?” He brought out Harry’s wand and regarded it with a scowl on his face.

“He left you. Just like your parents, just like your friends and just like everyone else who knew you.

“They left because they know exactly what you are: useless.”

That was when you lost it. Bringing your wand up high, you aimed it straight at Riddle and with all the hate you could muster you seethed, “Avada Kedavra!”

Green light shot from the end of your wand directly at Tom. For a brief second you felt satisfaction knowing your tormentor would finally be dead. But then he deflected it. As though it were any other spell.

A huge, evil grin spread across his face and his eyes sparkled with something akin to pride. He gestured his wand at you half heartedly and when you tried to move to deflect whatever spell was coming, you found yourself frozen on the spot.

The bastard had cast Immobulus on you.

He strided towards you with the most confidence you’d ever seen in a person. Once he’d reached you, he brought up a hand and cupped your chin with his fingers.

It was silent for all of a couple of seconds. In that time, you took the opportunity to examine his features. His deceptive brown eyes that matched his dark hair immensely. The deceiving soft lips that hid his silver tongue. The curls that rested angelically on his forehead.

He was taller than you as well. Understatement. He towered over you but you refused to let it faze you.

He tilted your face up to lock eyes with you. Staring into his eyes, you saw how truly sinister this boy was. Because that’s what he was. A boy.

“Your potential shines through at last,” he muttered, eternally pleased with himself.

When he got caught up in the silence once more, he seemed to catch himself and ripped his hand away from you. Leaving your proximity altogether actually.

“Do you know what a parseltongue is, (Y/N)?” He questioned.

“Someone who has the ability to speak to snakes,” you replied with an incredulous tone. Did he really think you were that stupid?

“Indeed. Do you know how to speak it?”

“Lemme think about that for a second. No. What kind of a question is that?” You were baffled as to why he was bringing this up.

“Then tell me how it is we are speaking it now.” He looked over at you and waited for an answer.

You merely chuckled in response (perhaps a bit insanely). You composed yourself when you noticed the serious expression he wore on his face. Correct you if you’re wrong but Tom Riddle doesn’t joke does he? Mouth agape you said, “You’re serious?”

He nodded indefinitely. Then he turned his attention to the huge Salazar Slytherin statue to your left and uttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “Hass-ayaeeh-ssssehhh-ssss,” that your brain translated into a simple “come”.

Eyes closed and brows furrowed, your thoughts were racing around in your head. Then a booming hissing noise was heard throughout the Chamber.

“No! You did not just summon the basilisk. I am not a parseltongue. You’re not even here and I’m dreaming in my bed,” you rambled to distract yourself.

The slithering sound came closer and closer until it was right in front of you. Your eyes were squeezed as tightly as you could get them and you were almost grateful for the fact you couldn’t move, lest you make any brash decisions.

“Open your eyes, girl,” the voice said. Reluctantly you peeled them open and found yourself looking directly into the eyes of the basilisk.

Stuttering you said, “H-how is this even possible? I should be dead!”

Tom cut in then and took his place by your side once more. He stood slightly behind you yet you could see him in your peripheral vision. Leaving in closely, he whispered into your ear. “You’re just like me. An heir of Salazar Slytherin destined to finish what he started.”

Shivering - due to the cold or Tom’s harsh whispers - you tensed up beside Tom. “I am nothing like you. Nothing. And I will never help you do anything that’ll harm others.”

Pulling back away from you, he signalled to the basilisk to leave the Chamber but to remain hidden until he needed her again.

He released the spell on you and the moment you had purchase your hand darted for your wand only to have it blasted from your hand.

Tom tucked your wand away into his robe pocket. He pulled you against him, your back flush to his chest and brought his wand up to your temple.

“You may think that now, but it’s our destiny. Your thoughts will change, my dear. Until that time comes however, I’m afraid this is necessary.” With a harsh whisper from him and frantic words from you, he touched your temple and uttered the second unforgivable curse used that day: “Imperio.”

Your eyelids fluttered and your thoughts left your head, leaving it empty and ready to be shaped. Tom span you around so that you were facing him and he couldn’t resist the victorious smile that spread across his face.

Then it slowly dissipated as resistance started to cloud your eyes. They moved frantically behind your eyelids and your breathing began to get faster.

Time was being wasted with this little rebellion of yours yet he found himself proud of your determination. He decided he’d have to go about this another way.

He cast the curse again and it granted him enough time to sit down and lay your head on his lap.

You blinked dazedly up at him and he brought his hands up to your face.

His fingers started skimming over your features, starting from your forehead and tracing down your nose and over your cheeks. He stroked the tears that had escaped your eyes away and uttered the curse again when you blinked heavily and seemed to regain a bit of clarity.

He began speaking in a hushed tone.

“Relax. Be calm. Focus on your breathing and your heartbeat. Feel the rhythm and start slowing them down.

“Take a deep breath in and reach out for the magic surrounding you.” He muttered the curse quietly under his breath then. “Feel it engulf you. Feel it surrounding you in a cocoon. Focus of how soft and safe it makes you feel.”

You murmured something incomprehensible then but your body slowly started to ebb away the tension. Your eyelids began to grow heavier and you felt the dark magic around you, protecting you.

“Listen to my voice and listen to what I’m saying. Don’t resist it, let it in. Let in take away your thoughts. Allow yourself to be loved and cared for. You’ve worked so hard, give up,” he said and when you inhaled sharply then went completely limp in his lap, he knew he’d got you.

The spell would’ve taken immoderate affect had it been anyone else yet you already shared somewhat of the same resistance Tom did to the curses. He’d already predicted how this was all going to happen but he couldn’t help but be slightly shocked by the power you showed.

He stood up with you in his arms and apparated away, with you in his arms and a smile on his face just as he heard the sounds of frantic professors make their way to the chamber.

Oh he had so many plans for you, his Dark Lady.

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #dark!tom riddle x reader #dark!tom riddle #harry potter x reader

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allegra-writes · 3 years

Note

Aleksander was afraid you were killed in combat but finds out you are fine and storms the tent where they have you recovering ✋🏼🥺

"Just Mortal”

MY MASTERLIST | BUY ME A COFFEE

"WHERE IS SHE?"

"Moi soverennyi! You can't walk in her-" A single stormy stare stopped the young healer in her tracks, shadows swimming inside the obsidian orbs of the black general, threatening her to dare telling him what he could and couldn't do again.

She didn't dare.

"I saw her fall, I know she was brought here" She didn't need to ask who he was referring to, she knew. They all knew. "So don't make me ask again"

Despite his composed tone, she could feel the undercurrent of desperation in his voice, feel his barely restrained fear, his pain, and something else, something deep and unfathomable, something not unlike devotion, greater than any flimsy imitation of love she could ever have felt of her own. Every grisha was connected and drawn to the Darkling, that was something the destruction of the fold, the rise of the soldat sol and the disappearance of the man himself could not change. She was loyal to the dragon queen, had been trained by her under the triumvirate, too young to remember the times the Black General had been a mentor to all grisha at the little palace, but in that moment, she knew she would have done anything he asked of her, and she would have done so gladly.

But stronger than his compulsion power, was the power of friendship, of family. Because that's what you were to her. Padruga. Sestra. A fellow Corporalki, even if you were the strongest of them all, the only one powerful enough to put the starless sain back together after decades (or centuries if she was to believe the rumors saying time passed differently in the void) of torture inside the thorn wood tree. And not only his body, but also the jagged fragments of his shattered mind.

Even his very soul.

Koroleva serdets, they called you, in whispers. The Queen of Hearts, the only one capable to soothe the Shadow King's pain.

Either way, there was no choice to be made. She balled inside her fist the note she had intended to send to the queen back in Os Alta. That night, it would feed the fire outside the grisha pavilion.

Zoya of the lost city might be the queen of Ravka, but out there, in the battle front, the second army had one king and one king only.

The girl bowed her head, and with a simple wave of her hand, the sea of red keftkas inside the medical tent parted in two.

That's when he saw you, pale and fragile looking on the cot they had placed you in, your own keftka draped over you like a blanket. Two, three long strides later and he was on you, grasping at your cold hand, the familiar surge of power blossoming at the contact, waking you up.

All the air inside his lungs left him in a relieved sigh as your pretty eyes fluttered open, brow furrowed in confusion for a few seconds until you seemed to get your bearings.

"Aleksander" You breathed out his name, and he almost broke right then and there, audience be damned.

You tried to sit up, but were still too weak to manage it by yourself, so he helped you.

"I'm sorry" He apologized hurriedly, "I should've bee here sooner, but I saw you go down and..." He didn't need to finish that sentence, you knew. Could picture it as if you were there: Whole battalions of enemy armies leveled, as far as the eye could reach, maybe even further, sliced cleanly in half by his cut.

A shiver ran down your spine and even if it wasn't because of the cold, you graciously accepted the wool shawl that Mila, the head healer, wrapped around your shoulders.

"Oh, Aleksander..." Your hand reached out for his face of it's own accord, cupping his cheek. He covered it completely with his much bigger one, keeping it there. Mila was polite enough to advert her eyes at the intimate display of affection, trying her best to give them some semblance of privacy.

"I will kill them all" He was all Darkling as he vowed, "I will annihilate every last one of them. No one shall dare to hurt you again."

"Sasha, I'm not hurt"

"Don't lie to me," He growled, "Not to protect them. They don't deserve your mercy, milaya. I saw you fall off your horse, under a hail of bullets"

"Sebastian was already slowing them down" You explained, referring to that squaller friend of yours, the one that always ran into battle (and into every little scheme your mischievous little brain seemed to concoct with the sole purpose of driving him crazy) by your side, "they never hit us harder than pebbles"

"Then why did you fall?" He inquired, sceptical, "And furthermore, why are you still here, surrounded by every healer and heartrender in your garrison?"

This time, it was Mila the one to reply,

"We are here for their protection. Healers to take care of them, and I must admit, a little bit out of medical curiosity. And the heartrenders seemed to have appointed themselves as their personal guard..."

Aleksander frowned in confusion,

"Their?"

"There are two heartbeats, sir"

You watched in amusement as the terrible, intimidating black general's jaw fell slack, midnight eyes big as platoons.

"I fell because I fainted. I didn't know, I swear, otherwise I wouldn't have fought today. I would nev-"

He cut you off with his lips on yours in a kiss far more passionate than was tasteful for a public display of affection, but neither of you cared. Someone in the background cleared their throat, but it only succeed in making Aleksander deepen the kiss even more, enveloping you in his arms and under his cape, as if wanting to hide you from the rest of the world, keep you only to himself.

And that was exactly what he wanted, even though he knew in practical terms it was impossible. But that word was losing his meaning more and more every minute he spent with you, wasn't it? He had thought impossible for him to survive the thorn wood tree, impossible to love again after the sunlight was stolen from him, had thought Alina was his only equal. But here you were, the mender of every fibre of his heart, literally and figuratively, a star of hope sparking up the long dark night of his existence. Hope because the mere fact that you had been able to conceive his child after over half a century of loneliness was a testament of you at least having the potential to be like him. And unlike Lizabeta, he actually loved you. And unlike Alina, you actually loved him back. And maybe he hadn't been wrong, maybe fate was real, cause he could feel you holding his in your dainty mortal hands.

What a capricious creature, fate was. Another healer, just mortal, just like Luda. Just like the cause of his greatest sin... And now, another healer was the bringer of his absolution.

Just mortal... He would fix that.

"I'll get you an amplifier. The most powerful of them all" He promised, when he finally released your lips, forehead resting against yours, "A Firebird, or a dragon-"

"You are not killing our queen just to get me an amplifier" You chuckled. But despite the joking tone of your words, Mila could see the speculative looks amongst the heartrenders. They had always been the most loyal to the Darkling.

But Aleksander chuckled too,

"Wouldn't dream of it. I make saints, milaya, I don't murder them" He was surprised by how true the words ringed in his ears. No, Sankta Soya could keep her throne, he was going to be too busy with his new family to run a kingdom anyway.

No, he had something far stronger in mind...

But, in the meantime,

"How many people know of this?" His voiced resonated through the tent with authority, and even though his eyes never left you, Mila knew he was talking to her.

"Only the people in this tent" They could keep the pregnancy hidden from the etheralki and the soldiers, but an extra heartbeat was a little hard to keep from a corporalki.

"Good, I want you and a female heartrender by her side at all times" That should help conceal the baby's heartbeat for a while, at least until you started to show, buy he hoped to have found the amplifier by then, "Spread word of her injury throughout the camp, and get my carriage ready, we'll head back to Os Alta for her recovery first thing in the morning."

In reality, he would procure an unremarkable, if fast, civilian carriage along with a handful of his most talented grisha and himself and you would be leaving for the palace before the night was over.

"Now, everybody out, I need a word alone with my fiancee"

That got you arching an eyebrow,

"Fiancee?"

Aleksander shrugged, affecting nonchalance,

"Marrying you was always the goal, I see no reason not to speed the plans now"

You rolled your eyes,

"Ever the romantic..."

Aleksander waited until he heard the last healer, Mila, leave the tent before softly pushing you back until you hit the thin mattress, immediately covering you with his body.

"I can be romantic for you, milaya. I can be anything for you" He proved it, placing delicate pecks on your forehead, your closed eyelids, the tip of your nose, your cheeks. They graduated to wet, open mouthed kisses as he rained them on your jawline, down your neck, your throat, right up to that spot above your pulse point that had you sighing, melting into him. "I can be your lover, your protector, your husband..."

"What about the king of my heart?" You breathed out, fingers tangling on his soft locks as his short beard scratched your collarbones, setting your skin on fire.

You felt his smile against your chest, hands on the sash that kept your chemise closed When had he gotten rid of your keftka?

"Yes," He promised, lips trailing down until they were set over your, still flat, stomach, "I can be that"

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #ben barnes #ben barnes x reader #shadow and bone #grishaverse #fluff

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ladystarks · 3 years

Text

kanej quotes that make me go mental

She’d often wished to chip away a bit of his arrogance, but she couldn’t bear the idea of seeing Kaz stripped of his pride.

One minute he made her blush and the next he made her want to commit murder.

What do you want, then?

The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie's voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared to life inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome. You, Inej. You.

Speak, she begged silently. Give me a reason to stay. For all his selfishness and cruelty, Kaz was still the boy who had saved her. She wanted to believe he was worth saving, too.

She would have her ship and he would have his city.

“I would have come for you. And if I could't walk, I'd crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we'd fight our way out together - knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that's what we do. We never stop fighting.”

“I can hear the change in Kaz's breathing when he looks at you."

"You... you can?"

"It catches every time, like he's never seen you before”

She'd laughed and if he could have bottled the sound and got drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him.

Kaz had taught her to crack a safe, pick a pocket, wield a knife. He'd gifted her with her first blade, the one she called Sankt Petyr - not as pretty as wild geraniums, but more practical, she supposed.

He needed to tell her... what? That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn't pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without meaning to, he'd begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near.

It was as if once Kaz had seen her, he’d understood how to keep seeing her.

#them #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #six of grows #shadow and bone #kanej #these idiots make me soft #mine #1k #2k

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pagesfromthevoid · 2 years

Note

saw the excerpt of the next chapter of false god and im ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ ARE WE GONNA KICK ASS /WITH/ ELEKTRA oh my god thats so hot

- 🌊

False God | m.m. | 22

Matt Murdock x Avenger!reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Language. Some angst but it’s not what you expect. Elektra needs a whole ass warning

Author’s Note: Slowly entering a new era

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me! | Buy me a coffee?

One would think that Matt would have been able to get it together after having Natasha Romanoff tell him off. And if that wasn’t the kick into gear he needed, having heard the woman he loved state in plain terms that it would always be him should have knocked some semblance of sense into the hero.

It did not.

Actually, for some reason, it made it even harder for Matt to figure out what he was going to do. Between his need to keep her out of his messy life and the war starting with the Hand and Elektra, Matt was running himself ragged. And it was starting to show in his personal life. Though, it was clearly showing prior to these events –Foggy and Karen were both getting angrier at him as time went on. Frank Castle’s trial only solidified that Nelson and Murdock were on the outs.

“I was relying on you!” Foggy yelled at him in the office. Matt hadn’t missed the entire trial; he was there for closing statements. But Elektra had intervened; she had bribed the doctor. “And you let this bullshit ruin the trial! You’re the one that made us even take it in the first place!”

“Foggy, I’m sorry –”

“No, you don’t get to keep apologizing. You need to explain what the hell is going on with you,” Foggy pointed at him, slamming his briefcase on Karen’s desk. Matt stood there helplessly.

“There’s nothing to explain –”

“Like hell there isn’t,” Foggy snapped, throwing his hands in the air now. “Let’s list it all. First, we get a massive deposit from some mystery woman, who you happened to have dated. Then you break up with someone who –out of all the people you know –probably understands your incessant need to get yourself beaten up every damn day better than anyone else. Which, by the way, you broke up with her —why even lie and say she did?” Matt shrugged, but Foggy continued. “You stopped showing up to work, you make us take on a psycho’s case then you don’t even help prep for it. You have so much to explain. Why don’t you pick where we start?”

Matt stared at Foggy for a long time, frowning deeply as he leaned his weight on his cane. Foggy had every right to be angry with him, and Matt knew that. Everyone had a right to be angry with him; he was letting everyone down but it was for the best. He knew that deep down. Even if he was still on the fence about going back to her, at least he knew she could handle it —well, he knew that now. Foggy and Karen weren’t heroes, however; they were normal. They had always known normal. Who was he to take that from them?

Foggy was about to continue when Matt put his hands up in surrender. “I…I did break up with her, yeah,” he finally admitted. Matt leaned against Karen’s desk, running a hand over his jaw. It ached from a hit he took the night before. “I…I let someone get in my head, convince me that she was in danger if she was with me —“

“She’s an Avenger —“

“I know that —“

“Are you sure you know that, Matt?” Foggy asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “She’s training Spider-Man.”

Matt nodded. “No, I know. I mean —I think I really know that now.”

“A bit late for that.”

But Matt chuckled at that, bitterly perhaps but it was still there. He shook his head. “I…I don’t think it is, honestly.”

Foggy narrowed his eyes, giving his friend a wary look. “What did you do?”

“Why do you assume I did something?”

“Should I assume you didn’t?”

Foggy had an excellent point. Matt took a breath, looking down for a moment. “We slept together the other day.”

“Matt, what the fuck —“

“But I left when she was sleeping —“

“Oh my god —“

“Foggy,” Matt scolded, looking up at his friend. “I went back but she was already up so I just…I followed her to the hotel she’s been staying at. I…I overheard her talking to her ex.”

“The Falcon? Buddy, if she’s back with her ex —“

“She’s not,” Matt quickly interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest now. “I heard her kiss him but —“

“You heard her kissing him?” Foggy gave him a weird look, trying to shake the uncomfortable feeling that gave him. Matt’s ability to hear the littlest things unnerved him.

“Foggy,” Matt repeated, looking at him pointedly now. Foggy put his hands up, telling him to go on. “She told him that she wished she could love someone like him, but…that it would always be me.”

“Shit,” Foggy let out a breath, it almost sounding like a surprised laugh. “And you haven’t…you haven’t talked to her still?”

Matt shook his head. “I…I want to. I don’t know what to say though.”

The two sat silently for a moment as both tried to determine what to say next. Truthfully, Matt wanted Foggy’s advice. Foggy was always the optimist. But his reaction told Matt a lot about how his partner felt about him currently. Footsteps picked up down the hall, and it was her perfume that hit him immediately. That familiar blackberry and basil mixture that she used for her body wash and the candles in the apartment; the ones he burned until they ran out.

The office door was cracked open, but she didn’t enter. Instead she stood there, heart racing as she caught glimpse of Matt against the desk. He almost told her to come in; it made the most sense to simply confess to her face that he loved her still. That he missed her. But he wasn’t…he wasn’t ready to face her.

“What should I do, Fog?” He asked, looking to his friend now.

Foggy scoffed. “You don’t listen to anything I tell you. Why would you listen to me now?”

“Because I don’t know what to do.”

They stared each other down for a moment. Matt listened to her breathing, uneven and erratic. As if she was scared of what she was listening to. He could feel Foggy’s eyes on him as his partner finally took a deep breath, huffing in frustration.

“You need to tell her, Matt,” he insisted. “If you love her…you need to remind her —I don’t think telling her is going to cut it this time. I think you’re going to have to prove it again.”

Foggy didn’t know the full story, as far as Matt was aware. The truth was that Karen had told Foggy the day she had run into Natasha and the hero at the coffee shop. Foggy knew Matt had Elektra in their bed. And Foggy wanted to give Matt the benefit of the doubt and think he didn’t cheat. She had said he hadn’t, after all. But Foggy had drawn his own conclusions.

“There are…so many lines that I’ve crossed; all of which have gone unforgiven,” Matt admitted, looking at the floor once more. Her breath hitched in her throat as he continued, “But when I’m with her…it’s like daylight, Foggy. She brightens everything around her without even trying. And if I have to spend the rest of my life proving that I do love her, I will.”

Her footsteps were retreating now, hurrying out of the building as he finally confessed how he felt. He had known the entire time he loved her. The moment she had left their apartment, he knew that he had messed up. But what he had realized while she was gone was that it was one thing to love her —it was a whole different phenomenon it be in love with her though. And maybe Matt hadn’t realized how truly in love with her he was until it was too late.

But every word he had said to Foggy was true. Even if he was really saying it to her, as she listened at the door.

“I don’t know how you’re going to do it,” Foggy admitted. “But I’ll wish you luck. Maybe once you figure that out —you can figure out how to be my friend again.”

Matt’s attention snapped back up to Foggy, and his own breath caught in his throat. “Foggy —“

“I’m glad you know what you need to do for her, Matt. I really am, because she’s the best thing to ever happen to you,” Foggy gathered his briefcase up, shaking his head. “But you still screwed me and Karen over. It wasn’t just your reputation on the line with Frank’s case —it was mine too.” Foggy looked around the office for a moment, then he looked back at Matt. “You need to handle whatever you have going on —with Elektra, with her. All of it. Then we can talk. But until then…”

Matt took a deep breath, swallowing hard now as he nodded slowly. “I…I understand. I’m sorry, Foggy. I really am.”

Foggy nodded once, looking around for a moment. Then he stepped towards the door. “Good luck, Matt. Try not to get yourself killed, though. That’s all I ask.”

Matt wanted to tell him there was no way he could promise that. But instead, he simply nodded again as Foggy walked out of the office, door slamming behind him. Matt stood there in the empty office for a long time, realizing that while he may have gotten the girl —he may have just lost his best friend instead.

Somehow that felt even worse than losing her.

*****

“You knew I was standing there,” she said, pulling herself up the fire escape. She dawned her mask and suit for the first time in weeks.

Matt stood on the edge of the building, scanning the city. Stick had been taken by the Hand —after Stick had attempted to kill Elektra. Matt’s day was only getting worse, honestly. While he had been able to confess how he felt for her indirectly, from there nothing went right for the vigilante. Elektra was hellbent on killing Stick in retaliation, but she was supposed to be on her way to help Matt save the old bastard.

He wasn’t expecting her to appear instead, though.

“I did,” he admitted, though he didn’t look back at her as he tried to listen for Elektra or Stick.

She stepped up on the edge beside him, looking out over the city. There wasn’t any further need to confirm what had been said by him. And with the tingle at the base of his skull, she was seeing that he had heard what she’d said to Sam. Neither of them made the next move, however.

After standing in silence for several moments, Matt turned to her. He went to reach out to her but she hopped off the edge of the roof suddenly, walking away from him. He turned back to the city, frowning deeply.

“A ninja attacked me on my way here,” she commented, hands resting on her hips as she spoke. “Care to explain why ninjas are trying to kill me suddenly?”

“It’s what I was trying to warn you about before,” he explained, keeping his eyes on the streets. “It’s part of this mythical society called the Hand —“

“Would you categorize the Hand as ‘wizards’?” She interrupted, looking up at him.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I wanna know if it’s part of the Big Three.”

“What are the ‘Big Three’?” He asked, looking down at her now with a deep frown.

“Aliens, androids and wizards,” she explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve fought aliens, I’ve fought androids. Technically, I’ve fought a wizard —I think Wanda counts as magic, right? —regardless. I need to know what we’re up against.”

“Wizards,” Elektra suddenly answered, landing on the rooftop behind them. “If you only have three categories.”

She turned, looking over at the assassin with a hesitant frown. “If you’re here to stab me again —“

“Not tonight, no. I have far better things to kill tonight.”

“We’re not killing anyone tonight,” Matt reminded Elektra, looking over his shoulder with a deep frown.

“I don’t know,” she countered, kicking a piece of gravel across the roof. “If these are wizard-ninjas, your whole ‘no killing’ rule might have to be thrown out the window.”

“Finally,” Elektra grinned, holding one of her sais out to the hero. “Something we can agree on.”

She hesitated before taking the weapon. Spinning it in her hand, she looked back to Elektra with a small grin. Matt suddenly didn’t want either of them anywhere near each other.

“What’s the plan then?” She asked, slipping the sai into her belt. Matt held out one of his batons to her, as if silently asking her to swap out the weapons. She batted it away however.

“We need to find Nobu,” Matt explained, placing his baton back on his belt. “The Hand already drained enough blood for their weapon —“

“Okay, hold on,” she quickly interrupted. “One, I thought you killed Nobu. And two, what do you mean ‘drained enough blood’ because I swear to god if there’s vampire ninjas —“

“He didn’t die,” Matt confirmed, frowning deeply. “But he does have Stick —“

“Good riddance,” she commented snidely.

“Another thing we agree on,” Elektra grinned, glancing at the hero. “And there is no such thing as vampire ninjas. The Hand uses blood for an ancient ritual, it seems. The children willingly left the hospital.”

“The more we talk about this, the worse it gets,” she admitted, frowning now as she looked back over the city.

“I warned you. This was the whole reason I —“ Matt started.

“You didn’t do shit,” she interrupted quickly, giving him a pointed look. Suddenly, he could see her again —mask, suit, everything. He looked around, looking to Elektra but she was still simply a silhouette of flames; a petty thing to do, but she continued. “And just because you tell Foggy you love me and you want to fix us doesn’t mean I’m going to just run back into your arms.”

“This isn’t the time for this —“

“I’m quite content listening to a lovers quarrel,” Elektra chimed in.

“Elektra, shut up,” Matt snapped, finally. The assassin rolled her eyes. He turned his attention back to the hero in front of him. “Please, can we talk about this later?”

“If we don’t die, yeah, sure.”

Maybe that moment was the best time to talk about it. Because their night only got worse from there.

———

Series Masterlist

———

Taglist (CLOSED): @thebisexual-disaster @chims-kookies @ferxaniti @heybabyshae @notalxx @gothicxbarbie @dark-night-sky-99 @blacxk-moony @celestialissues @pinkybee926 @bex-tk1 @jasontoddthezombie @killthebutt4fly @softieekayy @user897sblog @cbloodmarch @ammiddlechild @venusriver @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @yikes-buddy @buckyspetal @baconlover001 @flimsysquid @reh-llik @messagesinthesky @dreamypanda @happyfern2 @svft-cas @andiforgetaboutyoulongenoughh @deafeningnightcollection-things @milf-murdock

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #daredevil x reader

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thecrxwclub · 2 years

Text

please enjoy all my favorite quotes from six of crows compiled into one list (feel free to add on!!)

**my absolute favorites will be bolded

Jesper knocked his head against the hull and cast his eyes heavenward. “Fine. But if Pekka Rollins kills us all, I’m going to get Wylan’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.” Brekker’s lips quirked. “I’ll just hire Matthias’ ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.” “My ghost won’t associate with your ghost,” Matthias said primly, and then wondered if the sea air was rotting his brain.

Matthias knew monsters, and one glance at Kaz Brekker had told him this was a creature who had spent too long in the dark–he’d brought something back with him when he’d crawled into the light.

I don't want your prayers, he said. What do you want, then? The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie's voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared to life inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome. You, Inej. You.

“I’m a very valuable investment.” “Tell me he didn’t say that.” “Of course he did. Well, not the valuable part.” “Idiot.” “How’s Matthias?” “Also an idiot.”

There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken. No one knew who he was. No one knew where he came from. He'd become Kaz Brekker, cripple and confidence man, bastard of the Barrel.

What’s the easiest way to steal a man’s wallet?” “Knife to the throat?” asked Inej. “Gun to the back?” said Jesper. “Poison in his cup?” suggested Nina. “You’re all horrible,” said Matthias.

She smiled then, her eyes red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. It was a smile he thought he might die to earn again.

You know I can do it, Kaz, and you know I'm not going to refuse. So why ask?" "Because I've been looking for an excuse to talk to you for two days.

“Wylan,” Jesper said, giving him a little shake. “Maybe your tutors didn’t cover this lesson, but you do not argue with a man covered in blood and a knife up his sleeve.”

“The shout came from far below, and it took a moment for Jesper to realize it was Wylan calling to him. He tried to ignore him, taking aim again. “Jesper!” I’m going to kill that little idiot. “What do you want?” he shouted down. “Close your eyes!” “You can’t kiss me from down there, Wylan.” “Just do it!” “This better be good!” He shut his eyes. “Are they closed?” “Damn it, Wylan, yes, they’re—” There was a shrill, shrieking howl, and then bright light bloomed behind Jesper’s lids.”

“If only you could talk to girls in equations.” There was a long silence, and then, eyes trained on the notch they’d created in the link, Wylan said, “Just girls?” Jesper restrained a grin. “No. Not just girls.”

“I wish you could see what I do. I can hear every body on the ship, the blood rushing through their veins. I can hear the change in Kaz's breathing when he looks at you." "You... you can?" "It catches every time, like he's never seen you before”

“Everything is a negotiation with you, Brekker. You probably bartered your way out of the womb.”

He needed to tell her...what? That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn't pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without meaning to, he'd begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near. He needed to thank her for his new hat.

“I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all.”

“Who’d deny a poor cripple his cane?” “If the cripple is you, then any man with sense.”

“You came back for me.” “I protect my investments.” Investments. “I’m glad I’m bleeding all over your shirt.”

Nina just liked to flirt with everything. He’d once seen her make eyes at a pair of shoes she fancied in a shop window.

Inej turned to go. Kaz seized her hand, keeping it on the railing. He didn’t look at her. "Stay,” he said, his voice rough stone. “Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me.”

“You still may die in the Dregs." Inej's dark eyes had glinted. "I may. But I'll die on my feet with a knife in my hand.”

Kaz shrugged, unwilling to give her an answer. Inej was always trying to wring little bits of decency from him. "When everyone knows you're a monster, you needn't waste time doing every monstrous thing.”

“It was a calculated risk.” “It was cross-your-fingers-and-hope-for-the-best. Believe me, I know the difference.”

“Pekka Rollins couldn't count the threats he'd heard, the men he'd killed, or the men he'd seen die, but the look in Brekker's eye still sent a chill slithering up his spine. Some wrathful thing in this boy was beginning to get loose, and Rollin's didn't want to be around when it slipped its leash.”

“You've cheated death many times. Greed may do your bidding, but death serves no man.”

“Nina let out a victorious whoop as Matthias stared in disbelief. When Nina looked at Kaz, she couldn't quite believe her eyes. “Saints, Kaz, you actually look happy.” “Don't be ridiculous,” he snapped. But there was no mistaking it. Kaz Brekker was grinning like an idiot.”

“They fear you as I once feared you.” he said. “As you once feared me. We are all someone's monster, Nina.”

“I don't want to die.” “I'll do my best to make other arrangements for you.” She closed her eyes. “Keep talking, Wraith. Don't slip away from me.” “But it's what I do best.”

“What is he doing?” asked Matthias. “Performing an ancient Zemeni ritual,” Kaz said. “Really?” “No.”

“Speak”, she begged silently. Give me a reason to stay. For all his selfishness and cruelty, Kaz was still the boy who had saved her. She wanted to believe he was worth saving, too.”

She shoved one of the cakes from the coffee service into her mouth and mumbled, “What do you want, Kaz?” “You have crumbs on your cleavage.” “Don’t care,” she said, taking another bite of cake. “So hungry.” Kaz shook his head, amused and impressed at how quickly Nina dropped the wise Grisha priestess act. She’d missed her true calling on the stage.”

Kaz knew it, and for some reason he loved to rile her. He wished he could read her expression now. There was always something so satisfying about the little furrow between her black brows.

“(Tell me you know that). He needed her to say it. [...] He needed to know that she believed he could do this, [...] He needed to know she believed in him.”

“I’m a businessman,” he’d told her. “No more, no less.” “You’re a thief, Kaz.” “Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Inej was one of the best investments Kaz had ever made.”

“And Inej was wrong about one thing. He knew exactly what he intended to leave behind when he was gone. Damage.”

“It was as if once Kaz had seen her, he’d understood how to keep seeing her.”

“I wonder what Matthias would have to say about that outfit.” “He wouldn’t approve.” “He doesn’t approve of anything about you. But when you laugh, he perks up like a tulip in fresh water.” Nina snorted. “Matthias the tulip.” “The big, brooding, yellow tulip.”

“I’m going to get my money, Kaz vowed. And I’m going to get my girl.

He made himself refocus on Inej's feet. "Saints," he said. Inej grimaced. "That bad?" "No, you just have really ugly feet." "Ugly feet that got you on this roof.

“Okay, okay. When we’re back in Ketterdam, take me out for waffles.” Now Inej did laugh. She dropped her hands and appeared to speculate. “Dessert for a life? I’m not sure that seems equitable.” “I expect really good waffles.” “I know just the place,” said Jesper. “They have this apple syrup—” “You’re not invited.”

“Please, my darling Inej, treasure of my heart, won’t you do me the honor of acquiring me a new hat?”

For Saints’ sake, Inej thought as her cheeks heated. She’d lost most of her modesty during her time with the Menagerie, but really, there were limits. What would Kaz say if she suddenly stripped down and started washing herself in front of him? He’d probably tell me not to drip on the desk, she thought with a scowl.

“No mourners.” “No funerals.” they replied in unison. Even Matthias muttered the words softly. “If any of you survive, make sure I have an open casket,” Jesper said as he hefted two slender coils of rope over his shoulder and signaled for Wylan to follow him across the roof. “The world deserves a few more moments with this face.”

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arc-misadventures · 2 years

Note

So a little challenge for you if it's okay with you: Write a story where the following words are used at least 3 times. "fate" "revenge" "past" I hope to see that you will surprise me if you decide to accept this.

What Shall You do?

Jaune: Ha ha ha… Haha! Got ya!

Ambrosius: Well you have me, now what?

Jaune: You… Haa… Man, I’m tired… give me a moment.

Amdrosius: Take your time; I have suspended time so you literally have all the time in the world.

Jaune: Really…? Cool… Haa… Okay, I’m ready! What your regulations of use?

Ambrosius: Regulations of Use?

Jaune: Hey, your a giant magical… thingy!

Ambrosius: Rude.

Jaune: No way something like you wouldn’t exist without a rule book to go along with it!

Ambrosius: …

Ambrosius: There are several… Regulations of Use…

Jaune: Ha! Knew it…

Ambrosius: The rules are these: I cannot. Resurrect life, I cannot destroy it, but I can create life.

Jaune: Ahh… Can’t change the past, and being her back then… Makes sense… We’re in this whole mess because someone died, and tried to change his fate… what else is there?

Ambrosius: If you want me to create something, I need precise details on how it is built, and how it functions. For I will build it exactly as you describe it.

Jaune: Makes sense; as for a gun to commit revenge on those that wronged you, you need to specify if your asking for a high capacity sniper rifle, or a water gun.

Ambrosius: And, lastly; My creations can only exist one at any time.

Jaune: Only one? Is that why Atlas fell after you made, Penny a human body?

Ambrosius: Indeed.

Jaune: Well… Penny’s dead so we don’t have to worry about that… hehe…

Ambrosius: Indeed as well…

Jaune: Ha ha… So! What if I ask for an item that’s a one off?

Ambrosius: A one off?

Jaune: Yeah, say I ask for a bomb and blow up, a building, or something; If someone asks for an item afterwards would the effects of the bomb, the destroyed building just come back, or would it stay destroyed. I mean, It would follow your rule; That there can only be one, magical item.

Ambrosius: Hmm… I suppose that would work. The rules state that the item, whatever it may be, losses its power, if I create a new item later on. If the item you request was only for one use, then its effects would remain permanent.

Jaune: Yes! My brilliance once more astonishes me!

Ambrosius: So, have you decided what you want?

Jaune: Yes, but satiate my curiosity first please.

Ambrosius: What is it?

Jaune: Time machines…?!

Ambrosius: No.

Jaune: Why? Because, changing the past to prevent some cheesy revenge, fate plot thing, opens a can of worms no one can predict, and the time machine never stops excisting, so long as I never return to any moment after this, unless I left, and kept the relic with me for all time, and eternity giving the possibility to travel threw time, forever?!

Ambrosius: Yes… Pretty much exactly that… Honestly, you actually gave me a few more reasons why I shouldn’t allow it…

Jaune: Cool.

Ambrosius: So… What do you actually want? Nothing like that I hope…

Jaune: No, no no… What I really want is something far more simpler.

~~~

Ruby: Jaune! The staff!

Jaune: Huh? Oh yeah, this was happening.

Salem: Give me that staff, boy!

Jaune: Sorry! I’ve got more important things to do with it! Whoa?!

Jaune quickly ducked, and rolled as an eldritch blast of energy flew over his head. All around him a battle was waged between himself, and the members of team RWBY. The rest of his team were fighting the hordes of Grimm to buy them some time to finish off, Salem before she managed to summon the gods to destroy this world.

Jaune: Ruby, catch!

Jaune threw the Relic of Creation at, Ruby who caught it ease.

Ruby: Got it!

Jaune: Now keep running, and don’t stop until its over!

Ruby: I’m on it!

Ruby soon engaged her semblance, and a flurry of rose petals flew all over the battlefield, ducking, and weaving past the broken rubble of the landscape about hem as, Salem sent bolts of magic towards the, Red Reaper.

Salem: Stand still, and DIE!!!

Jaune soon scoured the battlefield, and saw a familiar plum of blonde hair hiding behind a pile of rubble.

Jaune: Yang! Yang, you alright?

Yang: Yeah… My aura is pretty banged up though… can you top me off?

Jaune: Yeah sure.

Yang: Ahh… That’s the st…?! Fucking hell?! She nearly took my head off with that one?!

Jaune: Don’t worry, your hair is still fine.

Yang: Oh, thanks…?! Wait, why the hell are you so calm?! We’re in a life, and death situation here! Why do you seem so cheerful?!

Jaune: Because I have a plan! One that will surely end this for sure!

Yang: Is that why you’re grinning like a maniac.

Jaune: I also got my revenge, and killed, Cinder; I’m running on one hell of a high here!

Yang: Disturbing… So, what’s the plan?

Jaune: One that will fix the mistakes of the past, and change the fate of the world!

Yang: Less speeches, more plans!

Jaune: Got it! When, Salem is facing away from us, throw me at her!

Yang: Throw you?! Are you mad, you want me to throw you at her?

Jaune: I need to get close to her for this to work! This is the quickest way I can get there without getting blasted! And, we have to do it now before, Ruby exhausts herself! So, are we doing this, or not?!

Yang: Grrr…! Fine! But, lose the armour, you’re heavy as is!

Jaune: On it!

Jaune, soon, quickly started to strip out of his armour as Ruby frantically ran around them, dodging Salem’s magic with a hairs breath at times.

Yang: You ready?!

Jaune: Ready!

Yang soon grabbed, Jaune by the back of his collar, lifting him up, and preparing to throw him at the immortal witch.

Jaune: Oh, Yang, one more thing.

Yang: Y-Yeah…?

Jaune: That last blast from, Salem; yeah she burnt your hair.

Yang’s eyes quickly widened in rage, as her whole aura exploded in a magnitude of pure wrath in fury, and a blotch thirst of revenge the was scarcely seen as she scream in rage, launching Jaune towards the, Grimm Queen.

Jaune: Hahaha! Here we gooooo!!!

~~~

Ruby was fast, faster than most with her semblance, she she could probably out run a train, she’s pretty sure when they took that train to, Argus she did. But, it doesn’t matter how fast you are, you can only run for so long.

Ruby cried out in pain as one of, Salem’s magical bolts hit her square in the back, sending her, and the Relic of Creation flying to the ground. Ruby, ground as she tried to drag herself to the staff. When the mad cackling of a witch stopped her as she rolled over to her back to see the Grimm Queen tower over her.

Salem: Now now now, are we done playing cat, and mouse~?

Ruby: Never! I may be down, but I can still fight!

Salem: And, how are you going to do that when…? W-What is that…?! Ahh?!!

A scream of rage echoed through the air as Jaune flew threw the air, landing, on pinning, Salem to the ground, with him ontop of her.

Jaune: Got ya!

Salem: What the hell are you doing?! Get off of me you pest!

Jaune: No! Now stop squirming so I can end this!

Salem: You bastard! You think you can kill me?!

Jaune: No, but I can change the fate of the past, and take revenge for those that have fallen! The Grimm Queen dies here!

Jaune wrapped his left arm around. Salem’s neck, pulling her to the side. Salems hands burst into flames, grabbing ahold of, Jaune’s arm, burning through his aura as he struggled to maintain its hold.

Ruby: JAUNE, NO!!!

Jaune howled in pain as he pulled out a silver canister with a blue button on top of it. He quickly clicked the button letting a silver needle emerge from the bottom of the cylinder. Jaune screamed in rage as he drove the needle strain home, right into, Salem’s exposed neck.

Salem: AHHHH!!!!

Ruby watched in horror as she saw, Salem writhed in pain as a clear liquid, that shimmered like ripples of water under sunlight. Soon, Salem’s cries died down as he cries became haggard breaths of air as he body slowly stop struggling underneath him.

Ruby: …?!

Ruby: I-Is she dead?! Did you kill, Salem?

Jaune: Yes… and no.

Before, Ruby could ask what he meant by that, she heard, Salem groan as she started to stand. Ruby, made to stand, to reach for her weapon, but she was too injured to reach for it. Salem’s tried to reach out, when she felt, her hand grab a hold of his, and rose her to her knees, where she soon battered his hand away.

Salem: Get your hand off… of me…?

Ruby: N-No way…

Salem started in shear astonished, and awe as she gazed at her skin. The grey corpse like skin, with black veins we’re gone, now replaced with perfect smooth, and soft pale white flesh.

Salem: M-My skin… W-What’s happened to me?! W-What did you do to me?

Jaune: Had a chat with the Relic of Creation over there. Interesting fellow. I asked if he could make me something, I we couldn’t kill you, but we could ‘kill you,’ so I asked him to make me a little something for you.

Salem: W-What did you do?!

Jaune: I killed, ‘Salem yhe Grimm Queen.’ Now…

Jaune reached for his scroll, and turned on the camera function. Pointing it towards, Salem so she could gaze upon a long forgotten face. Her Human face.

Salem: My Gods…

Jaune: Now, you’re just, Salem. Welcome back, Salem.

///

This was fun! However, for a better challenge, ask one to do a story with say ten specific words, instead of three words, appearing three times each. Why? Because it hampers the effect of the story, where I can say avenge, which works better with the overall flow of the story, instead of trying to get a third revenge in.

Which I don’t think I could put it in three times. That’s just my fault for how I wrote it. But it did hamper me a bit.

Enjoy~!

#rwby #jaune arc #yang xiao long #ruby rose #penny polendina #rwby salem

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itsapeterthing · 3 years

Note

maybe peter distancing himself from y/n because he thinks he'll danger her because of spiderman but y/n just thinks she did smthn wrong to make peter dislike her, extra extra angsty with a happy ending 💕💕

Distance Between Us || Peter Parker

a/n: if you enjoyed, replies and reblogs are super appreciated!

word count: 2.7k

warnings: accusations of cheating

masterlist || taglist

“I feel terrible about it, Ned.” Peter confessed to his friend, his chin in his hand as he watched you sit on the other side of the library. “This sucks.”

“You could always tell her about it.” Ned suggested. “I don’t think it’d be as bad-”

“Are you kidding me?” Peter cut off his friend. “I- I can’t tell her about it! If I tell her she might break up with me or something.”

“Peter,” Ned said, nudging his head in your direction. “If you keep avoiding her then she’ll definitely break up with you. Just tell her, man.”

Deep down Peter knew that Ned was right.

Being a superhero was far from easy, not only in trying to keep yourself alive to fight another day against the universe’s deadliest adversaries, but also in the way it affected life outside of heroic duties- including Peter’s love life.

About a month ago, while fighting a particularly difficult opponent, they had told Peter that they knew his identity, even going as far to say that if Peter were to find himself messing with their affairs again, that they wouldn’t hesitate to come after the people Peter cared about most- including his girlfriend.

This was shocking to Peter because even you didn’t know he was Spider-Man. He had kept it from you in hopes that it would lighten your load and make your life easier, but all it did was leave you defenseless. Rather than immediately confessing his identity to you after that interaction, however, Peter decided that the best decision would be to separate himself from you in hopes that maybe it would keep his opponent off your trail.

Peter lost too many people already. If saving you meant not being around you as much as he’d like to be then so be it.

Despite the best of Peter’s intentions, though, your boyfriend pulling away and becoming distant only left you feeling hurt, confused and alone.

“Hey,” Betty greeted you, pulling up a chair at your table.

Finally tearing your eyes from your boyfriend who sat on the other side of the room with his friend, you looked up at Betty with a sad smile.

“Hey Bett-“

“Not to be nosy or anything,” Betty began, setting her laptop on the table before nudging her head to where Peter and Ned sat. “But what’s up with you and Peter?”

Although you had noticed the shift in your relationship, there were times when you thought you may have been imagining the whole thing so it was both a relief and an unwelcome reminder that you weren’t the only one who felt Peter begin to stray.

“What do you mean?” You asked, playing dumb.

Glancing between Peter and you, she shrugged.

“I don’t know, I just don’t see you two together anymore.” Betty confessed. “Not that I watch you guys or anything because that would be totally weird, but even when I asked Ned about it he said that nothing was wrong and we both know Ned’s an awful liar.”

Suddenly you felt sick knowing that Ned knew more about what was going on in your relationship than you did.

This time when you glanced at where the two boys were sat, your eyes met Peter’s. When you threw him a soft smile, hoping to receive some semblance of an understanding in return, you felt your heart sink to your stomach when he only adverted his gaze and continued on his conversation with Ned.

“I don’t know.” You sighed, looking up at Betty. “He says that nothing’s wrong but he doesn’t want to hang out in person anymore and even when he does text me its like maybe three texts a day. I don’t know what I did.”

Without even realizing it, tears began to pool in your eyes as you sniffled and continued venting to your friend.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore.” You said, choking on a sob. “I have no idea what he’s doing or where his head’s at and I just feel like he wants absolutely nothing to do with me. I keep trying to think of something I did, but there’s nothing, Betty. I just don’t know what to do.”

Soon you felt your friend’s arms wrap around you, her hand running up and down your arm as you couldn’t help yourself from crying over the predicament you found yourself in. Even if it didn’t end the way you would like- all you wanted were some answers and with Peter avoiding you like the plague that didn’t seem like that would ever be the case. You felt as though you would never understand and just have to go on with your life knowing that your boyfriend just decided he no longer cared about you one day.

Across the library, Peter looked up as he felt Ned rapidly tapping his arm and when he did, he was met with the sight of Betty’s arm wrapped around you, guiding you out of the library.

“S-shit.” Peter cursed, pushing himself out of his seat as the door to the library shut behind the both of you.

Leaving everything of his at the table, Peter rushed towards the door of the library, only slowing to a “speed walk” when the librarian yelled at him to slow down. Flinging the doors of the library open, Peter ran into the hallway, looking in both directions, guessing where you and Betty had escaped to.

When his senses picked up the sound of you sniffling from the nearby bathroom, he felt his heart sink in his chest and made his way towards the women’s bathroom.

“Y/n?” Peter called, knocking on the door.

Rather than your voice, he heard Betty’s through the door.

“She’s not in here!”

Peter sighed before rapping on the door once again.

“Yes she is.” Peter argued. “I- I saw you guys come in here.”

“Oh so now you care?” Betty asked. “She doesn't want to see you, Peter.”

Peter thought that he had known guilt, but when he realized that you were not only upset, but upset at him… he wished he could take back all the times he had dodged you in the hallway or sent you half-assed texts the past month. He knew a part of him should have smartened up and realized that you would recognize and be affected by his actions, but he was so blinded by fear that it rarely crossed his mind.

Now he knew he had to clean up the mess he had made.

“Okay.” Peter conceded, leaning against the closed door. “Can you at least tell her that I’m sorry?”

After a moment of silence, Betty replied.

“And?”

“And I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to her.” Peter continued. “And if you just let me inside to talk to her then I’ll explain everything.”

As you sat on the counter in the bathroom, you watched as Betty turned towards you, asking wordlessly what you wanted her to do next. Though you were embarrassed by making such a scene in the library that even your boyfriend who had been determined to avoid you noticed, you had to admit that what mattered most to you was getting answers and finally digging yourself out of the whole you had fallen into.

“It’s okay, Betty.” You told her, wiping tears from your cheeks. “You can let him in.”

“You sure?” She asked.

“I’m sure.”

Only nodding her head and shining a sympathetic smile in your direction, Betty then turned towards the door and pulled it open harshly- Peter who had been leaning on it falling to the tiled floor of the women’s bathroom as she did.

As he scrambled to his feet, Betty only walked past him, slamming the door shut behind her.

“What do you want, Peter?” You asked as you crossed your arms and sniffled.

Gazing at your tearstained face, Peter swore he felt his heart shatter in his chest, knowing that he was the cause of your suffering- a pain that could’ve so easily been avoided had he just allowed his brain to take the lead rather than his fear.

“I just wanted to explain, Y/n.” Peter began, playing with the hem of his sweatshirt. “I don’t want you to think that it’s your fault.”

This was it. These were the words you had always feared Peter would say to you and you were living in the midst of them now. It felt as though all the nights he had promised that he would never leave you were just some twisted joke and all you could hear were those empty promises playing on a loop inside your head, knowing the words that you were about to hear next.

“Peter if you’re going to break up with me,” You said, shaking your head. “Then just do it already. I think you’ve dragged it on long enough.”

Though you had prepared yourself for the end, you hadn't prepared yourself to see Peter’s confused and horrified face staring back at you.

“What?”

Peter couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. He couldn’t possibly fathom how you believed that he would ever break up with you.

“Just do it, Peter.” You said. “Just break up with me or tell me who the girl is or whatever- but please just stop leaving me in the dark.”

“You... you think I cheated on you?” Peter asked in shock.

“I mean what else could it be, Peter?” You asked, throwing your hands in the air. “You’ve been so secretive. Never mind how much you’ve been avoiding me. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

Not being able to help himself, Peter strode across the bathroom over to the counter where you stood and rested his hands on either of your arms, looking you in the eyes.

“I would never cheat on you.” Peter said seriously. “I- I know I’ve been secretive but it’s something else-”

“What, Peter?” You asked, losing your patience. “Just tell me.”

Peter found himself unable to speak, his breath catching in his throat and every word he had ever learned slipping from his mind. He was stuck. He was stuck in the same position that he had been dozens of times before- telling himself that he was ready- that this was finally the day he would confess his true identity to you and open up about everything that he had been hiding, but just like every other time he found himself stuck and unable to confess to his crimes.

“I…” Peter said. “It’s complicated.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that left your throat. It was humorless, dry and lacked affection in every sense of the word.

“Great.” You said, shrugging off his hands and hopping of the counter. “Of course it is, Peter. You know, I would’ve thought after years of being together that you’d have more respect for me... but I guess not.”

Peter watched overwrought as you picked your backpack off of the floor, slipping its straps over your shoulders before heading towards the door.

He couldn't let you go. Not this time. Not without the truth. If you wanted to leave him after then so be it, but he couldn’t bare the idea of you walking out that door and thinking he had anything but love in his heart for you.

“Wait-”

Peter pleaded, but you had enough. Shaking your head, you reached for the door handle.

“I’m tired of waiting, Peter.”

His heart racing so fast Peter was sure it would beat through his chest, he frantically searched the room trying to find any reason or way to make you stay, and that’s when it hit him.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Just as you were about to pull the door open, you heard the sound of something being flung and the next second, the door stuck in its place, refusing to move with your efforts.

Looking up, you saw a large web holding the door shut and felt your heart stop.

Whipping around, you saw Peter standing under the flickering, fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, his arm raised and a web shooter sticking out of the sleeve of his shirt.

It couldn’t be. As much as you loved and admired your boyfriend and thought the world of him, you really couldn’t believe it.

“Peter...”

Your mouth agape and eyes blown wide, you were completely and utterly shocked.

Dropping his arm to his side, Peter rushed to your side and gripped either of your arms just as he did moments before.

“I know this is... it’s a lot.” Peter chuckled dryly, attempting to make light of the situation. “But I uh... I think you can guess why I’ve been so secretive.”

Suddenly it all clicked- the leaving early from date nights and parties, the having to cancel plans after school, the bruises he showed up with the next day- he was Spider-man. You should have known your boyfriend would have never cheated on you, but also the farthest thing from your mind was that Peter was a crime-fighting superhero.

“You’re Spider-man?” You whisper shouted, pulling on your boyfriend’s sweatshirt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Woah!” Peter exclaimed pulling your hands from his sweatshirt and holding them in his. “I’m sorry. I was just scared to tell you and thought... ya know... that it would make your life a little easier.”

You only stared at him blankly.

“You thought I wouldn’t want to know that my boyfriend was a literal superhero?”

“Well…” Peter said, scratching the back of his neck. “And to um… to protect you.”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

Peter took a deep breath before exhaling slowly, recalling the whole reason the two of you found yourselves in this predicament.

“This stuff- it’s dangerous, Y/n.” Peter said squeezing your hands. “About a month ago-”

“When you started being distant?”

“Yeah,” He replied before continuing. “About a month ago I went after this group of ya know- pretty bad guys- and they really messed me up, but before they knocked me out they told me that if I kept messing with them then... then they’d hurt the people I care about.”

You watched as the tone in Peter’s voice shifted, a crack breaking through his throat as he went on about your life being threatened.

“And I couldn’t lose you, Y/n.” He sighed. “I’ve already lost so much, I couldn’t lose you too. I thought if I separated myself from you for a little bit everything would be fine, but I’m so stupid because I should’ve known that it would hurt you too. I didn’t mean to, Y/n. I swear. You mean everything to me and I love you so, so much.”

Although the feelings that you you went through the past month couldn’t be washed away with a single apology, the explanation was enough to bring you peace in that moment. Although a flawed logic, you could understand why Peter did what he did and saw it as a viable solution. Despite the pain, all you wanted was to go back to the way things were your boyfriend- now, just with a better understanding of who and what he was.

“I forgive you, Peter.” You squeezed his hands back, giving him a soft smile. “It sucked, but I can see why you did it. Just promise you’ll be more honest next time?”

Shocked that you even gave him the light of day, Peter smiled and nodded eagerly, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tight towards him.

“I promise.” He whispered into you neck as he squeezed you even more. “I promise, I promise, I promise. And I swear I’ll protect you too, okay? I promise.”

“That’s a lot of promises, Pete.” You laughed.

Pulling away from you slightly and looking you in the eyes, Peter smiled back.

“And I mean them all, okay?” Peter said before leaning in and brushing his lips against yours. “I promise.”

Trusting him in every sense of the world, you couldn’t help the smile that reached your face as you met his lips.

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #peter parker fic #Peter Parker blurb #Peter Parker drabble #peter parker angst #peter parker x reader

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mishasminions · 4 years

Text

Here’s why the Supernatural Series Finale Sucked

(AND IT REALLY ISN’T JUST BECAUSE CAS/MISHA WASN’T IN IT)

First of all, I’d like to state, that this perspective is coming from someone who has watched, invested in, and dissected this show for 15 years. I’ve tried to rationalize and justify every single decision each of the main characters made throughout the years, and I’ve always tried to make sense of each of their story arcs from a “bigger picture” standpoint as each season progressed.

Anyway, before I can properly explain why the finale sucked, let me quickly take you through 15 seasons by segregating them into 3 eras, because you can’t really comprehend what Supernatural is about and what it’s become without going through how it tried to expand its universe.

SEASONS 1-5: THE KRIPKE ERA

Now, we all know that Kripke was always set in wrapping up Sam and Dean’s story in 5 seasons, and he did just that.

So, in this era, Supernatural is about two brothers who set out on a journey to fulfill “the family business”. They hunt mythical monsters that terrorize the world, while battling the monsters within themselves. Their ultimate “big bad” is an apocalypse.

Towards the end of this era, we find out that Sam and Dean are actually a parallel to Biblical characters who are brothers turned rivals. And that Sam and Dean’s destiny is to go up against each other.

However, as a dynamic, they have always been about making their own choices, choosing free will, and having a brotherly bond that can power through against any obstacle at any given day.

So, this era is neatly wrapped up with its finale. The characters grow, and get justified endings.

Dean, a man who thinks of himself as two things: 1. Sam’s older brother and protector; and 2. Daddy’s blunt little instrument.

He’s spent his whole life believing that that was his only purpose, and he knew that the only ending he’ll get would either be a bloody death fulfilling his duty to the family business; or laying his life on the line to save his brother.

Dean gets the ending he thought was never possible for him, something he thought he could never deserve. After years of living and dying for his family, he gets a shot at having an apple pie life--to settle down with a nice girl, raise a kid in a house with a white picket fence. With Sam gone, Dean’s responsibility now is to himself.

Sam, on the other hand, never wanted any part of it, because he wasn’t groomed the way Dean was, and because thanks to Dean, Sam wasn’t traumatized or forced into growing up too quickly the way Dean was.

So Sam aspires for a normal life, and works the cases with Dean so he can maybe get some semblance of it, when everything they set out to kill are laid to rest.

Ultimately, Sam performs a selfless act for his brother, who has given up everything for him, and for their cause--to save the world.

The journey is this: Dean sacrifices everything to save Sam, and Sam sacrifices himself so Dean could live.

Apart from being Dean’s “savior” and guardian angel, Castiel’s role in this era is to serve as a mirror to Dean’s journey. Castiel goes from being heaven’s foot soldier, following “God’s orders”; to an angel who learns to choose and feel for the first time in his existence.

After they realize that they’re both daddy’s blunt instruments, Dean starts choosing his own path for himself, and convinces Castiel to join him. Castiel stops following heaven, and starts following Dean.

In the end, with his newfound understanding of the world thanks to Dean, Castiel goes back to heaven to reform it.

We’ve resolved the biblical arc, and the character journeys.

SEASONS 6-10: THE SPIN-OFF ERA

So this is where the show realizes how vast its universe can be, so it tries to expand it by tapping into uncharted lands and experimenting with it.

They take on heaven, reform hell, explore purgatory, have the angels fall, turn Dean into a demon, and kill Death.

Dean and Sam recognize their codependency, and try to rise above it.

They go back and forth between which brother will risk it all for the greater good every other season.

Dean and Cas strengthen their relationship by recognizing the impact they have on each other’s lives.

Cas structures his life and decisions around Dean (Seasons 6-7), and Dean learns to trust and fight for Cas (Seasons 8-9).

Sam and Cas bond (mostly over Dean) because of their shared rationales in decision-making.

Dean, Sam, and even Cas also forge relationships with the people they work with. The concept of “found family” is introduced here.

This era was heavy on the plot while establishing, reinforcing, and solidifying relationships and dynamics.

At this point, it wasn’t just about the brothers anymore.

If Supernatural had ended in Season 10, the logical finale would’ve been Team Free Will, along with the family that they’ve found, going up against the latest big bad (Death or whoever). Maybe they lose them along the way, maybe they all make it out alive, or maybe they go down swinging, but at least the show recognizes and supports the message they keep saying, “Family don’t end with blood”

SEASONS 11-15: THE REWRITE ERA

This is where the show runs out of ideas and decides to invalidate the seasons that came before it.

From bringing Mary back (basically rendering their whole journey pointless because they’ve literally started hunting because of her death), to changing the stipulations in being Michael and Lucifer’s vessels (another character struggle rendered useless), to God himself breaking the fourth wall by saying that the Winchesters get away with everything because “they’re the main characters in his story and everything they’ve been through was just part of a badly written narrative”.

But what we’re getting from this era is that Sam and Dean, along with Cas (who has also deviated from the story) ARE trying to escape a badly written narrative.

That’s the “big bad” in this era. The writer.

At this point, the characters have picked up so many strays (including those from alternate universes), and have settled into their roles in their “found family”. Dean, Sam, and Cas all become surrogate dads and uncles.

They’ve also graduated from the whole “we’re on different sides” and “going behind each other’s backs” drama. And they just want the whole family together.

They’ve all resigned themselves to the cause, but they’re also tired. Dean allows himself to contemplate about wanting more out of life or at least getting a vacation. Sam, on the other hand, realizes his capabilities as an effective leader. Castiel learns to love another being that isn’t Dean (spoiler: it’s Jack).

However, they also realize that they’ve just been puppets on a string all this time.

So what they want now, is to write their own story, and make their own choices knowing that God/the writer isn’t the one fueling their narrative.

So here’s why the finale sucks:

Andrew Dabb, the current showrunner, said that there would be two finales.

15x19 - The finale to wrap up Season 15, and 15x20 - The finale to wrap up the series by “resolving the characters’ journey”

In 15x19 the boys find a way to de-power God/the writer. For the first time in their whole lives, they are free from the story. Their lives are completely theirs now. They can make their own decisions. There are no more “big bads” to fight

And here’s what happens in 15x20:

Immediately after being freed from their story arc, Dean and Sam go back to hunting the monster of the week.

Dean eats pie, gets nailed (literally), makes a 10-minute speech to Sam because he knows he’s dying, then he goes to heaven.

Dean is greeted by Bobby, his surrogate Dad who he hasn’t seen (fully alive) since Season 7. Bobby’s expository dialogue comprises of him explaining that he got out of heaven’s jail, that John and Mary are next door, and that Jack and Cas fixed the dynamics of heaven off-screen.

The first thing Dean decides to do is go for a long drive in his Impala (as if he hasn’t done enough of that already).

Meanwhile, Sam decides to stop hunting after Dean dies, he gets the apple pie life he hadn’t wanted since Season 8 (while Dean was in Purgatory), and names his kid “Dean” for effect. He grows old and dies.

Dean drove around in heaven for so long that Sam catches up to him.

They hug. The end.

Great, right?

After 15 years of struggling to battle their own respective destinies, going up against big bads and even bigger bads, then finally being able to take charge of their own stories, Dean and Sam regress to hunting the monster of the week, and get killed off by a nail and old age. Okay.

Sam gets to retire and have a family, sure, but they still focus on him and the kid he named after his dead brother. Still just “Sam and Dean” through and through. Nothing to do with found family. Just lineage. Just blood. And it ends there.

See, the problem here is that this ending would’ve been passable in The Kripke Era. But we’re 10 years down the road since, and while Sam and Dean are the original main characters, the show isn’t just about them and their codependent relationship anymore.

So you see, even if you take out the whole “Castiel deserves to be in the finale because he’s also a main character with an unfinished story arc” argument, the finale still does no justice to the series it tried to “wrap up”.

But anyway, now I’ll make the case for the problem with Castiel not being in the finale:

In 15x18, we get a 5-minute rushed confession from Castiel to Dean. The context of which are as follows:

1. Earlier in the episode, Dean had wounded Death with her scythe. We later find out that this wound is fatal.

2. Their friends start to “blip out” in a Thanos-like snap, and Dean thinks that Death is causing it, so Dean seeks her out, and Cas goes with him.

3. Dean and Cas anger Death, apparently for no reason because she didn’t even do the thing they thought she did. She chases them to try to kill them

4. Dean and Cas lock themselves in a room. Dean starts a pity party.

5. As Dean goes through hating himself out loud, Cas decides to inform Dean of the deal he made with The Empty. He then proceeds to explain the stipulation of the deal (that he would get taken once he experiences a moment of true happiness), then discusses his newfound happiness philosophy. Dean is getting whiplash.

6. Cas goes on to imply that the one thing that he wanted that he knew he couldn’t have is Dean Winchester reciprocating his romantic feelings for him. (Don’t even try to fight me on this because Cas already has Dean’s platonic love, and he knows that Dean thinks of him as a brother, so if he really meant this in a “familial” way, then why would he think that he couldn’t have the thing that would make him happy?) So Cas’ realization is that telling Dean about his feelings is enough to make him happy.

7. Cas tells Dean all the reasons why he loves him (thereby combating Dean’s self-deprecation tirade), and all the reasons why he’s worthy of his love. Meanwhile, Dean is still winded from the fact that Cas is about to sacrifice himself for him again.

8. Dean never gets to process anything, because Cas is shoving him out of the way, as he and Death (who busts through the door) get taken by The Empty.

After this episode, Dean never speaks of it. Misha Collins supposes that Dean doesn’t reciprocate. Jensen Ackles says that Dean didn’t really get to process it because it was too much, too fast, and that Dean, still dense as ever, thinks that Cas, a celestial being, doesn’t interpret human feelings the same way.

So what was the point of this confession?

Politics and sensitivities of a 2005 network television aside, what does this do for the story?

Cas proclaims his romantic feelings to Dean, but Dean never acknowledges it, doesn’t even give it a passing thought afterwards. So Cas’ big declaration goes unheard.

Cas cashes in on his Empty deal to kill Death (who was dying anyway), in order to save Dean who dies two episodes after.

Dean makes no effort to save Cas (despite being really broken up about his previous deaths, or even spending a whole year in Purgatory looking for him), even after they’ve beaten God, not even asking Jack (who has all the power in the universe) to bring him back (when Jack has already done it before, with less mojo).

Dean moves on to fight the monster of the week. Somewhere off-screen, Jack rescues Cas from The Empty, but Cas uncharacteristically doesn’t even bother to go to Dean? (Every single time he comes back, Dean’s always the first person he goes to)

And Cas, who apparently helped craft and reform the new heaven, isn’t the one who welcomes Dean and explains the new dynamics of it?

Sure, Jan.

Supernatural, you’ve created a finale that only your casual viewers and people who dipped out after Season 5 can appreciate.

Just goes to show how much you actually valued the people who actually invested in your story and characters, and consistently helped keep your show on the air.

[RT this on Twitter]

#SUPERNATURAL #DESTIEL #15X20 #I KNOW I SAID THAT MY LAST LONG POST WAS MY LAST ON EVER BUT I REALLY DIDN'T THINK THE FINALE WOULD BE WORSE THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE #INSIGHTFUL INSIGHTS #UNTAGGED #PERSONAL

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