#seething. he then grabs him and asks where his husband is

[dea-thynote]

Death note au idea where light just keeps time travelling back at random timelines and now he has to figure out how to get out of the loop(?) Before he goes insane.

Like the first time it happens, after he dies at the staircase, he wakes up and its the day he got the death note. At first he was confused and terrified, but still decides to use the death note since he believes that this might be a second chance for him. Now he plans to do it much more carefully. He was able to throw off L so many times by avoiding to make the mistakes, the slip ups, that he did on the previous timeline. The game of out witting each other. But he was caught again because he let raye penber and naomi misora live. He dies and wakes up again but at his classroom.

He wakes up disoriented, after all he got shot again but not by matsuda but by his father. He remembers the death note, looks around and doesn't see it fall. He thinks that maybe it's not the date yet when the death note falls. But when he hears the news about the killings. The heart attacks and thinks that someone else now has the death note and they're not just killing criminals but also innocent people. Eventually he teams up with L, to catch kira. They bond, often throwing theories at each other and fighting. Although, he slips up and mentions something that makes him look suspicious, L starts to get suspicious of him. I'm thinking he either gets executed or he dies because of the other kira.

Then he wakes up, and he's behind the prison bars, looking around he eventually realizes that he's at the time where he asked to be confined. He hears the speaker open, and it's L, asking him if he's alright. He glares at the camera, almost snarling before stopping himself. This isn't the L from the previous timeline. If he is kira in this timeline he doesn't want to dig his grave even further. He hears ryuk complaining and moaning about being bored and also apples. Should he risk it? He doesn't know if when he gives up the death note would he still remember the previous timelines but he doesn't, he might convict himself of being kira.

(Alright, my brain is fried, I have no clue how to continue this. But if u get the idea its probably a slow burn lawlight (or not?) Where after looping from different timelines, he slowly becomes crazy and for some reason L, despite not knowing about the looping, is the one that keeps him sane. The one that somehow changes their actions. Not predictable. That when he goes back from the timeline where he's dead, he couldn't even enjoy it. Even after beating near at his own game, he couldn't enjoy it. That's why when he goes back to the timeline where light stops mid speech of explaining the connection of kira killings to yotsuba, he just stares at L. In disbelief, and without hesitation, hugs him or something. )

That is all, thank you.

[entitled-fangirl]

When it matters most.

Cregan Stark x Targaryen!wife!reader

Summary: Aemond goes to Winterfell to recruit his sister and her dragon for the Greens. Cregan will not allow that.

A/n: based on an ask!

Masterlist

...........................................

"DRAGON!"

Y/n and Cregan make eye contact, immediately standing from their seats at the table. 

Y/n runs to the window, while Cregan makes quick work of tying his cloak and moving to the door. 

Vhagar. 

She rushes after her husband, not caring for the proper clothing to shield the cold. 

She makes quick work of falling in step with him, grabbing his arm. 

Cregan's jaw clenched, a fear evident in his eyes. "Stay indoors."

"No."

Cregan's eyes close and he stops walking. "I said. Stay. Here."

"It is my brother. I will not let you go alone."

He takes a long and steady breath as he turns to her. His hands cup her face, "My beautiful wife, I do not care if it is our fiercest enemy or our greatest ally, you will stay indoors until I deem it safe for you."

A defeated look came to her eyes as Cregan released her. He gave her a final look before continuing on his path.

She watched him go, her gut wrenching with each step that he took.

Cregan had declared the North an ally of the Blacks only two moons ago. It made no sense for Aemond to suddenly appear in enemy territory.

She moved back to the dining hall, watching with bated breath from the window. Though she could see nothing now, she hoped that perhaps she'd gain a glimpse of what was to happen.

Soon, a servant entered the room, "Princess, Prince Aemond is within the castle walls."

Her blood ran cold. She turned her head to the servant. "In… Indoors?"

"Yes, Princess."

"Where?"

"I do not know." "And Cregan?"

"I am unsure."

She rested a hand on her forehead. "Very well, thank you."

The servant left, shutting the large doors behind her. 

If something had happened to the Queen, Jace would have written to her. She was sure of it. Someone would have.

But to ride straight to Winterfell was bold of Aemond regardless.

Riding into any enemy territory was bold. 

"Where is she?" Aemond's voice echoed down the corridor. 

A shudder ran down her spine at the sound of him so near. 

She abandoned the window, moving to the door. 

Does she dare try to leave? Or would that place her right into his hands?

In the skies, she would never run. Even against Vhagar, Silverwing was quicker. More agile. She'd have a fighting chance. 

But in the halls of Winterfell? She had nothing. 

She moved away from the door, looking around in panic. 

Without thinking, she ducked under the table, pulling her legs to her chest in hopes that she'd go unseen.

Sure enough, Aemond threw open the doors to the dining hall. 

She could tell it was him by the pace of his stride alone. 

The clicking of his boots neared, and she found herself holding her breath. 

The boots came into her line of sight, pausing in front of her. 

She wanted to scream when his knee hit the floor and his eye was suddenly trained on her. 

"Sister," he hummed lightly.

"Aemond," she whispered.

"You must get better servants," he mused. "Yours sing like canaries."

"Where is my husband?" 

His brows shot up, "Dunno. I haven't seen him."

Where was Cregan?

"Come out from there, dear sister."

"No."

A hummed resonated in his throat before he spoke, "Still stubborn as before. I had thought the North would drive that out of you. C'mon."

She shook her head, anger rising her her. "Leave, Aemond."

He sighed, "Be difficult then."

His hand encased her ankle, dragging her out with ease. 

She let out a scream as she sat up and began to pry his hands from her. 

Aemond was used to combat and seemed completely unfazed by her fighting. "Listen to me, sister."

She continued to fight until he straddled her, holding her arms above her head.

"Why must you always fight me?" He seethed.

She stilled, a fire lit behind her eyes, "The North has only hardened my heart to you, brother."

"īlon share ānogar, mandia," he growled. (We share blood, sister.)

"Nyke northern." She whispered. (I am Northern.)

He grunted in frustration, pushing himself off of her and standing. He pinched the bridge of his nose in anger, "You fight against your family. Against me."

She sits up, brushing off her dress, "I fight for the true heir. You and I both know we were not made out of love. Father did not care for us. Rhaenyra is to be Queen. Not Aegon."

"Watch yourself-"

"Aegon did not wish for this!" She yelled. She then used the table to help her stand as a thought came to her. "You are only here for my dragon. I thought you'd come to fight for Aegon, but no." She neared him, daring him to do something. "You only fight for yourself."

A hand shot out, gripping her throat tightly as the other rested over the handle of his dagger. He spoke through gritted teeth, "Do not speak of what you do not know."

"Might I remind you of the same?" Cregan's voice suddenly chimed in. 

Behind Aemond stood Lord Stark, Ice poking into the Prince's back.

"Tell me why I should not spear this sword into you now and end this war entirely?" Cregan threatened.

Aemond's jaw clenched as he stared at his sister who remained motionless. 

Finally, he let her go, cursing himself lightly when she dropped to the ground and coughed. 

"Turn yourself around and face me properly," Stark commanded.

Aemond did so with a look in his eye that could kill. "You command your prince-"

"I command the Green traitor scum that dared invade my home and threaten my wife."

"I still hold the fiercest dragon in the Seven Kingdoms," Aemond taunted. "What will stop me from burning all of the North down?"

"Then your war will be lost before it even begins," Cregan said lowly. "For I will hunt you down. And where a Stark leads, the North follows."

When Aemond stepped forward towards the Northernman, the tip of Ice rested against his stomach, the threat still there. "I am only here to return my sister to King's Landing."

"You touch her, and you die by my hands, Prince."

Aemond's head tilted, "So scared you'll lose the war?"

"Hardly," Cregan reasoned. "You're just not touching my wife."

"She," the prince pointed, "Is a Princess and a dragon rider first. Not your little northern wife."

"And yet she didn't choose you, did she?" Cregan mocked softly, enjoying the anger radiating from the man. "She chose to stay."

"She has no choice," Aemond gritted his teeth.

"And still she didn't choose you," He smiled. He looked past the prince, "Alright, pretty girl?"

Y/n looked up at the two, her fingers massaging her neck where bruising had already begun to show, "'m fine."

Cregan took that for an answer enough before turning his attention back to Aemond, "Leave before I change my mind."

Though filled with hatred, Aemond had no defense. He stepped away, his eye not leaving the Lord. "You'll regret this." He turned to his sister, "You'll wish you'd chosen differently."

She spoke up, her voice hoarse, "I shall see for myself."

Trying to force a unbothered tone, Aemond hummed, "Very well."

He then turned back on his heel, retreating from the hall.

The moment he was gone, Cregan abandoned Ice, kneeling in front of his wife, "Gods, what did he do to you?"

She held his hands, keeping them from wandering over her is panic, "Just some bruises. I promise. I'm alright."

"Forgive me. He had snuck past us men entirely and through the doors before any of us had even spotted him."

She shrugged, "You came when it mattered most."

"Aye," he smiled. "I always will, my girl."

She leaned forward, connecting their lips gently.

He groaned against her. "I always will."

..............................................

Taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog

[auragasmics]

1:32 AM: A LOVE LETTER TO THE PRETTIEST GIRL!

spellbook intro! when Nanami takes a moment to study his wife after a date night, his heart pours out a soliloquy for the ages!

potion ingredients! 4.4k+, pwp(?), wife!reader x husband!nanami kento, fluff+ smut, fingering, clitslapping(1), cunnilingus, explict talk, mating press, grinding, allusions to sex (penetration), self-indulgent to the max ♥︎

note to casters! yeah, this is so indulgent. and i'm sorry i have to say this...p**** is pink :). grab a mirror and check for yourself.

Champagne. 

A drink known to be indulged during the most influential times of human history. It’s a famed tag that runs through nations upon nations, beloved by the heaven blend of Pinot, Meunier, and Chardonnay. It pulls the tongue into an envious ménage-à-trois between the rich taste and the cheeky spry bubbles seething one’s cheeks into a world of heat —all doomed to end once a swallow washes away all the bliss. 

From its days of ruling beside monarchy to its dwindled expression in the modern world, it has yet to lose its class. It still rules amongst those with exquisite, those who can handle the feverish rush of having rapture ruin all composure.  

It’s suitable for a man like Nanami to indulge in such refinement too, just a single sip from the tall slender glass seated beside his plate transports his mind into a place where the weight of a jewel-encrusted crown sits upon his head. And in this universe, he rules over a 64 square meter condo, a beloved lord sleeping in his king-sized bed, and a lawful husband to his queen. 

Another sip reminds him of the gracious air surrounding the night—a date night catered by a meal of shared efforts and a bottle of Nanami’s favorite champagne. It’s sweet like forbidden fruit, the heavenly delight soothing his woes. 

His gentle stare falls onto you, the infamous cinnamon fawning over how red complements your skin in that dress, over your delicate pout—no, obsessing over how your lips nurse the rim of the glass as if it were a kiss. As to how the heavens gifted a man such as he with one of their own angels, it’s a blessing he’s taken without a second thought. 

However, it’s a feeling that even after three years of marriage has yet to subdue. The riveting swell that throws his heart into turmoil whenever you giggle. The wash of goosebumps set to claim his skin when your hand simply grazes against his own. The trance your gentle coos lure him into, just like now.

“Kennnn, Baby? Are you okay?”

Flurries of mindless blinks brings Nanami back into the present, where he’s met with your own stare. Where silence settles comes the bustle of apologies and giggles, Nanami “Hm?—Oh! I’m fine, Honey. I’m so sorry—missed what you said there, can you repeat it?”

“Oh, it’s fine! I was asking what should we do about the dishes? All that cooking and I always seem to forget about cleaning.”

Nanami merely shrugs his shoulder, “I’ll wash them.”

“But aren’t you tired? We could just leave them to soak—”

The rambles of solutions come to a slamming shut as Nanami reaches over to your side of the square dining table, his fingers seamlessly knitting within your own.

“That was a really good steak. The garlic butter we made last weekend was a perfect touch. Oh, and the mashed potatoes, you always outdo yourself, Honey. All I did was peel the potatoes and help sear the steak, the least I can do is clean…right?”

A helpless sigh passes through your glossed lips, “You’re not getting me to agree, y’know. I still say we just go get ready for bed.”

Nanami calls his hand, his energy, even his presence over the table back to his side in trade for the back of his chair for asylum. He gives you a steady stare that pairs all too well with a grin and a pat on his lap. “Come here.”

There’s safety in being wrapped up in Nanami’s arms as you settle in his care, his muscle-ribbed arms thick arms lacing around your waist, his large hands draping off your hip, all while he keeps one leg bouncing to a steady rhythm. 

“Why do you worry your pretty little head off about the fine details, huh? That’s my job.” 

“I know, but…”

Weakness grows in your heart as you look down into his eyes—those tired eyes casted by an ardent glow. Exhaustion still can’t taint his heart, it can’t begin to ruin the tender nature he abides to you. You can’t help but soothe him, your hand racing to cup his cheek, the pad of your thumb skating along the curves of his bottom lip. 

“But you work so hard, Kento. You should come to bed with me, just leave all this for tomorrow.”

But you know him—he can’t leave any job with loose ends. Whether it’s at the office, small repairs around the house, or simply washing dishes, Nanami finds a sense of ease in the natural order of tasks from start to finish. And when some principle challenged his own, he had every reason set and ready to roll for an explanation.

Except for tonight.

Tonight, silence serves as Nanami’s winded explanation—and the kind pecks he pushes back against your touch. 

“Ken?”

“Mhm?”

“Aren’t you going to…say something…or anything?”

Patience gets the better of you as Nanami simply keeps himself entertained with your thumb. His kisses melt into you skin, his soft hums strike every fiber, and each pinch of his lips leaves you dangling at the end of your rope. Nanami stands from the chair, cradling you in his arms. His steps are guided by routine, up the stairs and through the first door to the right, straight into the bedroom.

Nanami drops you on the bed.

You can’t really pinpoint when the plush warmth of your bed welcomed you home, but with Nanami’s thick chest pinning you to the sheets, it’s a quick conclusion you push off rather quickly.

How could you focus on such fine details when he’s lathering the junctures of your collarbone in kisses, trailing back up to your awaiting lips.��

“Sweetheart.”

“Yes, Baby?” 

Nanami gives in to you with a kiss, his lips just barely sinking into yours before he’s hulling himself back onto his feet.

“Go get ready for bed and when you wake up, I’ll be right there next to you.”

Sleep is all Namai intended for you to have, he'd be damned if something so trivial as chores would prevent you from rest. And when Nanami did finish up with the last bowl, sleep fell heavy on his mind all the same.

It weighed heavy on his mind through a hot shower, through his nightly routine, even as he mindlessly slipped into a pair of briefs and beneath the bed sheets.

But…his tired eyes had to land on you—his precious angel.

Oh, his pretty wife who glows underneath the moon’s rays, laid on your side with the blanket tucked up to your chin. He’s eager to join you, sliding himself right beside your body—where nothing but a pair of panties hugs you. 

It certainly doesn’t help how you gravitate to Nanami, even while underneath sleep’s spell. Grinding the thick globes of your ass into his lap—and right where the head of his cock sits snug against the waistband of his briefs.

In a desperate search for a distraction, Nanami cranes his neck to greet the neon red digits bleeding through the face of his bedside clock—where the best joke known to man awaits him.

1:32 AM. 

Just an hour into the new day Nanami is met by pure mockery. Of course, his sweet wife all swept up in sleep makes for an even better punch line—-the growing bulge sinking between your ass. A quiet mind is all he wants, why he’s drowning his mind in those meditative mantras you’ve taught him when work becomes too much all at once.

But it’s a fleeting dream the moment those throbs ripple through the thick veins stretching over his cock. 

“Sweetheart, c’mon…give me a chance at least,” he’s muttering for his ears alone. 

Yet the only chance Nanami knows he has is to follow in your steed and sleep away his impending thoughts. He gently lifts the blanklet up to his shoulder, only for the chilling gush to fan across your body.

“Mmm, ‘m cold, Ken.”

“I know, I know, I’m gonna fix that right away, Sweetheart.”

Sunken beneath the heavy blanket, Nanami carves out every inch of your spine with his chest, slotting himself flush against you. His arms surge to envelop you, giving way for his hand to greedily cup the silky fat of your breast.

For a moment he’s sworn he’s beaten lust curse because well, cradling his sleeping beauty like this, allowing for his body, his warmth to sew his body to your own. 

“How’s that? Feels warmer now, Sweetheart?” His voice gently coos in your ear. 

He doesn’t expect much, a sheepish nod and a mumble thrillingly satisfies Nanami. He can’t explain it, but as he steals a glance over you, he finds his wretched mind delighted by mundane beauty.

A painting is known to capture a moment in time through the perspective of the artist—but what Nanami’s eye beholds before him is too good for any picture, any painting, for every medium of art would fail to capture the radiant glow the moon kisses upon your skin. It would fail to mimic the soft curl of your lips, free from control and lifted behind the pure rapture of your mind. It certainly couldn’t transcribe the very details consumed by Nanami. 

Maybe it’s due to the curse of the night overwhelming Nanami, but he simply can’t be alone right now, not while love has him spiraling down a self-induced hole. He can’t stop himself from taking to your shoulder, granting his lips the tactful satisfaction of littering kisses upon your skin.  

“Honey…are you really asleep?” He pouts, yet he immediately reflects on himself as he swipes yet another look at the clock. “

It’s what…1:40 now, I should be asleep too, however…” 

Breaking his trail of kisses, Nanami softly sighs as he gathers all his wayward thoughts, all for this moment only he’ll hold a record of.

“I can only say this while you sleep. It’s pathetic of me, but I haven’t gotten the confidence to face you as I should. I’m not one for many words, nor do I show all the emotion I hold inside of me. But, I hope that my love for you bleeds through every touch, every stare, every kiss, and every breath. I breathe for you. I live for you. And should it come to pass, I’d kill for you. I’ve never felt more endeared to anyone before but you…You give me all the strength I need to be a better man. I just hope to-"

“...Ken, Honey? Are you on a phone call?”

“Oh um…” His blood’s running cold through every vein in his body. Suddenly, he’s stricken dumb and frozen underneath the weight of speculation. But he is who he is—a calm man with logic on his sleeve. Pushing out a huff through his nose, Nanami finds himself at ease as he peers down at your hazy eyes.

“N-No, no…just…thinking aloud. Go back to sleep, okay?”

You muse him with a passing look over your shoulder. “Thinking aloud, hm? Tell me.”

Before Nanami can conjure up some excuse as his alibi, you’ve already to bury yourself within his chest. Your soft hands buff his nerves down to naught through lazy swipes across his taut pecs. In your care, his heart’s raging scream dwindles down to a tepid thump, his lungs spoiled with fulfilling breaths, and his mind’s calmer than the vast Pacific Ocean—all thanks to you. 

“You…really want to know?” 

“Yup,” your eyes flutter open to hang upon Nanami’s heavy lids. “Tell me anything and everything.”

Giving in, Nanami’s head falls into a gentle tilt, “Do you know how beautiful are you?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“You say it like that, but I don’t know if you really do…”

“You think so highly of me.”

“I have to, you’re the woman I’ve devoted my life to.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Regret?” Nanami has to echo. It’s just one of the words that have escaped his vocabulary in recent years. And a regret in your presence is something he knows he’ll never, ever know again. “Never. And even if I did, I’d do it all again just to be with you.”

Gently you bite into your bottom lip “Do you remember our wedding night?”

“Of course I do. I mean it was such a—-”

“I think tonight’s going to be a repeat of that. Or better.”

As your words break through the air, you’re given the honor of watching Nanami crumble underneath the heat of your advances. Blush breaks across his cheeks, his pupils blown wide by lust’s bite, and right beneath your hand his heart’s back to roaring its spirted song.

“Real—ahem—Really? And why’s that?”

“Welllll…” The soft drag of your coo lures Nanami into hypnosis. “I just think it is, Baby. How’s that sound to you?”

“Go—Good. I can’t ever say—” 

Nanami lets your lips swallow down the last of his words in your kiss. He lets you take his last breath, his last thoughts, and all the sanity he thought he relied upon. In trade of that, he’s given the chance to relinquish all control just to drink in your soft whimpers, to sate his whims with your kiss, to scour your soft skin with his rough hands. 

Reality sets in hard and heavy for Nanami. To think, just moments ago he was too absorbed in admiring you—his wife, his lady, his precious angel tucked beside him like any other night.

His precious angel who wears sleep with a plump pout and soft snores.

His precious angel clutching at the thick pillow beneath your head.

His precious angel who has sin creeping along your curves and slipping beneath a pair of lacy red panties.

“Mmm…Ken…” your voice quietly breaks against his puffy lips. Your hips flirt with Nanami’s feathering touch, winding along to his shy caress. “Hmph…right…right there…”

“Yeah?” He allows for a lone digit to greet your dormant clit, the warmth of his touch gently thumbing circles into your bundle of nerves. “It’s riiiight here, isn’t it pretty girl?”

He plays coy, letting honey drip from his lips and into your ear. “Tell me so I can make everything better, Sweetheart.”

“Fuck, Ken please—Harder, baby, Harder!”

Dumbfounded. A dumbfounded gawk is all Nanami can muster towards you—until the ends of his mouth curl up into a grin he buries along the pulse of your throat.

“Harder?” He mocks with a hiked brow. “I don’t think you can take that, Honey. No…but…since you asked so nicely…”

SLAP!

The loud clash of Nanami's palm against your splayed cunt rings in silence over the room, serving as the perfect beat for your body to comprehend the brash course your husband's veered the night into.

“Oh–Fuck!” Tossing your head back between your shoulders, you mewl as the heavy chimes around the room. “T-that’s too much, Ken!”

Nanami hides his chuckle behind a kiss he presses to your temple. “I Promise that’s the last time tonight.” His sights slip down between your legs, watching as his fingers work to soothe your poor clit from his torture. 

He feathers down to your slit, the tight pink ring suckling to Nanami’s familiar touch. His intentions you know are pure, even amidst such lust staining the air. He’s so gentle with you, having his digits complement the perky bud of your clit with sluggish strokes, teasing your hole with the sticky circles he draws. 

All for his digits to fall victim to your pussy.

“Oh, such a greedy baby,” Nanami gasps. He’s forced to ignore the heavy stains of precum ruining his briefs, but he simply can’t let you have your way. It’s enough that he’s curling those slender fingers within your heat, strumming along the gummy walls he’s planning on staining white.  “You can’t take me just playing with you, you need so much more.”

A slight curl to your lips spites him. “I guess you know me well, Honey. Your fault for spoiling me.”

“And? You know I don’t regret a moment of it.”

He’s so sweet with you, peppering kisses along your cheeks, filling your mind with saccharine hymns. Yet he’s incessant with his reach, sending his digits to know every inch of your pussy with each strike he drills into your sweet spot.

It's just like Nanami, once he’s found a goal, he’ll work and work until the logic runs dry in his mind. He’ll work a hellish job for the trade of money, he’ll risk his life for the trade of saving others, and he’ll work his hand to the raw nerve to turn your pussy into a sputtering mess. 

“Good girl, you’re making me so proud, Baby,” Nanami coos, his eyes glued between your twitching legs. “Oh, I wish you could see what I do.”

“A-and w..wha-at’s that?” 

Your stumbling words earn an esteemed chuckle from Nanami. “Well…I could always just describe it to you…But there’s something I need to do first...”

It isn’t like him to keep you puzzled, especially with words nonetheless. But Nanami’s a man of action, letting his body move to support his cause. His cause for tonight, however, called for his body to slip away from your warmth all for him to be planked between your thighs and his hands kneading at your plushy skin. 

“That’s even better. Now, where do I even begin…”

His thumb comes to peck at your bud, lazily scrolling at the perky pearl in swipes. “I’ve been thinking about it all day, counting the minutes until I’m back at your side…back between your legs…back to having this pussy drip bliss back into my poor soul.”

It isn’t enough to have you laid out on a silver platter where his tongue can lather at your honey for hours—Nanami needs you to know just how deep his depravity lies. He slowly drags his tongue to wet his plump lips, soothing the ravenous urge that boils to the forefront of his mind with dumb babbles. 

“Just so…pretty…and pink. So sweet, so soft. Honey, I can’t go a day without you, you’re my lifeline, every beat of my heart. I just…”

His touch gets the better of his coherency. He knows better than to find focus elsewhere when speaking, but in truth, Nanami did not—he should not have caught your slicked hole fluttering at the sound of his soliloquy. 

“Oh…Fuck me…”

He wants to be kind, he wants to be sweet, and Nanami wants to embody the very traits he’s fallen in love with.

But he can’t.

Nanami can’t play the nice guy when he greedily welcomes your pussy back into his salacious mouth with a gracious sigh, his jaw hungrily working to force that poor button into a pudgy bloat.

Cunnilingus. It’s an art he’s swiftly mastered after three years of marriage, learning every inch of your body like your own. He knows where exactly his tongue should flit, where his finger curls the best, and even how long it should take for your body to shatter at his hands.

But it’s an effortless art when mastered behind love, and it steals Nanami’s breath away every time he catches his breath. 

“Fuck,” his curse breaks through the air. His hands knead at the silky plush hidden underneath your thigh, leaving every curve of his fingerprint to sear into you—-to mark you as his own. He’s eager to catch your eyes, those adorable eyes that well up with the fattest tears whenever he pedals his tongue right against your clit.   

As the age-old game of cat and mouse welcomes itself onto the stage known as the bed, you unassumingly take up your role the second you jerk away from Nanami’s silent plea.

What he wants from you—time, affection, or maybe even an orgasm, every idea falls to the back burner the moment your hips mindlessly buck into his mouth. You could have sold him the story of it being an accident, but why ruin his fun where he’s so hellbent on this one night that your body’s finally taking offense?

Though, when the rare glow dots the eyes he shoots up at you, you swear you can see hearts in the distance of his blown pupils. 

“Oh, look at that,” Nanami almost humors himself as he takes another glance at your cunt.

A precarious man such as he can’t afford to miss any details. His eyes cling to the unfolding sight, how his thick digits bathe in your essence, carefully sketching his own path about your folds so rich with nerves. He’s shamelessly gawking at how the succulent hues of rose bodes well with his fair skin, each pass he bestows upon your cunt pulls him into a self-induced trance.

“Making such a mess just from me talking. What a dirty mind you’ve got, isn’t that right, Honey?” 

Right on the tip of your tongue, the words baste behind the sweetest rapport. You could let him have him, fill his ears with talk of how lechery paints his face like a mask. He is your husband, yet the side he’s letting out to roam tonight leaves your fuzzy mind combing with an answer—and fast. 

“W-Where is this co-comming f-from, Baby?” 

That’s what you say, but the moans slipping from your traitorous mouth when Nanami plants one last kiss to your folds tells him all that needs to be known.  

“What?” He chuckles to himself. The pads of his digits wade through the glassy web sewn between your delicate folds, “Can’t handle me talking about your pussy, Sweetheart? I’m sorry but you'll have to take it. And, speaking of taking it…you know what else I love about you?”

“What’s that?” Your voice trails out behind a whimper.

Just to catch your eye, Nanami allows for the single tug of his briefs to free him from hell reincarnated. With the gray waistband sitting underneath the heavy bloat of his balls, his hand hungrily grips the base of his cock. A hellish squeeze around his rippling veins has your eyes nearly crossing at the pearly tears spilling from his tip. 

With the thread of sanity left in your mind, your hands race to ball the blanket within your fists, for some kind of grounding. “Fuck! Please! Please, tell me, I can’t wait anymore, Baby!”

“Let me show you then,” Nanami hums as he cup at the back of your knees. “I love when I fold you in half…juuuust like this…”

His words speak for him, Nanami’s sheer strength working pin your poor, tired body into one of his favorite positions—a mating press.

“I can see just how hard you try to take every inch of me. Making your poor pussy stretch around my cock, you must really love me, don’t you Honey?”

It’s sinfully natural the way the fat blushing crown of Nanami’s cock sits upon your clit, a detail he’s made himself keen to. His thick bulb sobbing those white tears all because of badly he needed to have you. To have his fingers work at your gushing cunny is one thing, his cock on the other hand?

He’s on course to face ruin tonight.

He’s already planning the next position, the hour, the next day, all dedicated to keeping his fat length choked within your walls for as long as he could.

Why with such knowledge, it’s no wonder his hips fall into a languid toll, leaving the thick head to trace every curve of your cunt. He’s driving up against every nerve just to watch your face quiver, to see those tears he loves so much all from a little teasing. 

His head dips along the marked tract of your neck, a cowardly move to hide his own flush face. His hands clip to your waist, baring your body between the smothering warmth of his thick chest and bed—without an inch to spare. 

His muffled voice hums against your neck, “T-That feels good right?” 

“Fuh–it’s s’ good Ken. ‘m so close, Baby please!” 

“It’s too soon to cum, Sweetheart—you know that.” Nanami faces betrayal from his warning, his hips snapping against your own. “Just take it nice ‘nd eas–shit! Oh Honey, you feel so…so…fuck, that’s so good!”

“Kennnn! Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” You hysterically sob in his ear. It’s all for good reason as those ominous white stars begin to freckle your vision. The knot hasn’t even pulled taut shattered and yet you’re already a victim to its claim. The mind-altering high that rips you out of your body for nothing short of a few seconds.

“Hold it, you can’t yet, Sweetheart, not—”

Sending your grip to sink into the twitching muscle of his biceps, you whimpered out against Nanami’s wishes. “I can’t, Kento! It’s too much!” You knew all too well what was coming and as much as Nanami claims to know as well, he simply couldn’t have you reeling off something so mundane as humping. 

“Please Honey, hold it. Just a little—”

“Fuck! ‘m cumming!” 

The perilous yelp echoes around the room as the pure state of bliss paints itself white in your mind. All that pressure, the tensions, it all slips away from you through the harsh arch your spine fights beneath Nanami.

It’s futile to try and stop the inevitable, and the bliss that comes with surrender is all the more peaceful. When your body tingles with the aftershocks, your mind hazy from the stress and woes of the day, all of the negative can’t survive when a high like that comes crashing hard and heavy. 

Exhaustion houses itself in your body, accompanying weakness and the giddy smiles that you can’t hold back–until your body feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest.

“That…whew, that was so—Kento?”

Your spotty sights focus upon falling onto Nanami’s silhouette, his towering form resting back on his haunches. His hand’s fallen between your bodies, a loose fist drumming against your skin. He’s pummeling his cock beneath harsh strokes, forcing abstract thick ropes of white to dance along your puffy lips. 

“Ken, Baby?” You call out cautiously as his body collapses over yours. “It’s okay,”  we can call it an early night–”

“I can’t leave you unsatisfied, it was pathetic of me to let go right now,” He huffs,  We’ve got our routine—gonna fill this pretty pussy so fucking full just so I can clean you up. And I have to tell you something.”

Your eyes soften over Nanami, desperately watching as the man seeks redemption. He isn’t one to be a sore loser, but when it comes to you—he’ll work until he breaks just to know that he was behind your euphoria. 

All resolutions point to you supplying his motive with undying support, especially when your digits reach to strum at the sparse blond hairs along the nape of his neck. “Go ahead, tell me Ken.”

A wicked grin stretches onto Nanami’s features, only to hide behind a kiss within the valley of your breasts.

“Oh, I love you so much, Baby. Can’t wait to give all my love to the prettiest girl!”

[hihhasotherfixations]

This has been stuck in my head, and I gotta know your opinion. How do you think Price would react to reader showing him the cringe/perverted dms they’ve been getting from newer recruits?

You know, those, “your husband doesn’t doesn’t have to know, babygirl,” messages.

I imagine the reader being like, “haha look at these idiots,” and laughing about how cringe it is while Price is just like, “yeah haha…” while silently seething.

I really liked this so I couldn’t stop myself from writing a little drabble :3

Totally agree with you though

Word Count: 791

“John, look at this.” You chuckled as you leaned over on the couch, leaning onto his lap as you held up your phone for him.

On it, your messenger app sat open, a message from an unknown number, though given it was sent to your work phone, it was clear it was from someone on base.

Frowning, Price grabbed your phone, pulling it away from his face a bit so that he could actually read.

‘Hey sweetheart.

I’ve noticed you seem lonely during training. I can fix that, if you so wish ;)’

Instantly, Price’s brows furrowed deeper, his eyebrows tightening together as he read your reply.

‘I’m married, thank you.’

‘Your husband doesn’t have to know, sweetheart.

I know the old man can’t do what I can. Let me show you what you’ve been craving. You need someone young to satisfy your needs.’

Clenching his teeth, the captain tried to scroll to continue to read, but that’s where the chat ended - you hadn’t deemed the man with a reply.

“It’s ridiculous.” You chuckled. “The absolute gal of some guys, I mean come on.”

Blinking out of his thoughts, Price looked at you, sighing out a breath as he then gave your phone back. “Who is it?”

You took your phone back, placing it beside you on the couch as you shrugged. “Dunno, just some recruit. I got this after one of the skill tests. You were working with new sprouts while I was evaluating, remember?” You ask, turning and laying down with your head on his lap, your legs over the edge of the couch. “Think he saw me on the sidelines and made his own assumptions about my happiness.” You snorted.

Glancing down at you, Price took in a deep breath, his left hand moving to cradle the top of your head. His mind went back to training that morning, trying to recall the faces of all the men - because it was a man, obviously. A bad one at that.

Softly scratching your scalp to distract you, you went back to watching the television while Price stewed in his thoughts, replaying the messages.

Hell, it wasn’t even so much the blatant hitting on you - he trusted you implicitly so that was not an issue. He knew you were happy with him, he was confident in his abilities to care for you and all your needs, emotional and physical. No, it was the fucking petname.

The bastard had used one of his petnames for you.

Sweetheart. It was something he always called you. Be it to tease or genuine, there was always a good time to use it. But now, even thinking about the word left a vile taste in his mouth.

Sitting in silence for a little while, you were just enjoying Price’s ministrations when he suddenly spoke up.

“You think I’m old?”

“Older than that guy, sure, but definitely not old.” You chuckled, glancing up, seeing the frown that had appeared on his brow as you showed him the messages hadn’t left. “Oh, John.” You coo’ed softly and he blinked, looking down.

“What?” Confused, he stopped scratching your head, just holding as he looked at you, then watching you slowly sit up, turning to him as you shuffled closer until your hip was pushed against his thigh, with you facing him.

“You grumpy from the message?” You teased softly and the captain scowled.

“Fuck no. Just thinking about the training for tomorrow.”

Grinning, you placed your hand on his cheek. “You gonna punish all the recruits just for the actions of one?”

“No.” Price countered, though it wasn’t incredibly strong, with him instead just wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

“You’re adorable.” You smiled, leaning in and starting to press sweet kisses all across his face, a little hum leaving the man until you kissed him on the lips.

Instantly he responded, his hand moving up to cradle the back of your head as he then pulled you into his lap, deepening the kiss.

Smiling into it, you pulled away after a moment. “See? Adorable.”

Huffing a little chuckle, Price dropped his hand to your neck, brushing the back of his fingers across your skin. “In your eyes maybe. But you on the other hand need to stop being so damn desirable, sweetheart. Lest I need to set up a fortress to keep others out.”

At that, you threw your head back and laughed, a proud grin spreading on Price’s face as he held your waist to keep you steady while you did.

He knew you were his. And that was never going to change.

He was still intensifying the training for tomorrow though. You know, as a reply message for the recruit. And a warning.

[starcrossed-lov3rz]

The Vow Spoken Through Time - Part 11

Daemon x Rhaenyra x Wife!Reader

Series: Series Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI, yelling, plot

Tags: marriage, poly relationship, Daemon being hopelessly in love with his wives, Queen!Rhaenyra

Words: 1.2K

Description: Y/N is having a rough morning. She's fired. She's hungover. She's in a stranger's bed. She's waking up in a new world? She's married?!

Rhaenyra and Daemon's day started normal. Waking up next to their darling wife before tending to their duties. The difference? Their wife is speaking in riddles and has no memories of them.

Check out more works in my Masterlist!

The tree behind you is identical to the heart tree in the keep. But as you look out, you and Daemon are clearly standing in the middle of a city park. The street and cars are visible from your position. 

“We’re in my world now.”

You walk around, trying to get your bearings. 

“Where are you going? We need to get back!” Daemon caught up to you. 

“No, Daemon, I spent months letting you and Rhaenyra try to convince me that my life wasn’t real.” You continue walking until you hit a road. Looking at the name, you sigh in relief. That witch outdid herself. Not only are you back in your world, you’re in the same city and just a few blocks from your apartment. 

“What do you want me to say, y/n? That I’m sorry?”

You scoffed, “actually that would be a lovely start.” Speedwalking down the sidewalk, you try not to think about all the weird stares you’re both getting. 

“Y/n,” Daemon grabs your arm to stop you. 

“Hey man, leave her alone!” A passerby stops, grabbing Daemon’s arm in an attempt to pull him away.

“If you wish to keep that hand, you will remove it at once,” Daemon growls.

“It’s okay! No one is going to hurt anyone!” you jump in. “Thank you for stopping, but I promise everything is fine. My husband is just in the dog house at the moment.” The stranger’s brows furrow, but he releases Daemon’s arm. He’s openly staring at Dark Sister on Daemon’s hip. “Oh Jesus H. Christ,” you sigh, rubbing your forehead. “We are….uh…cosplayers. Yeah, my husband and I cosplay, and this was for a photo shoot.”

“No we-”

“Yep, we are just big fans of that medieval times shit!” 

The stranger nods slowly, clearly regretting his choice to stop. “Well, um, have fun with that? Sorry, I just saw this dude manhandling-”

“No worries,” you say, pulling Daemon to walk away with you. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

Daemon is seething as you walk away, his hand drifting down towards Dark Sister’s hilt. “Why did you interfere? I had that handled!”

You don’t even try to bite back the laugh. “Really? You had it handled? What were you going to do, cut off his hand?”

“Yes!”

“Welcome to 2024,” you snort. “Even if you did, someone would have called the cops on the lunatic running around with a sword.”

“I am the Prince Consort-”

“I promise you no one here cares,” you groan. “We don’t really do all that here.”

You drag Daemon into your apartment building’s entry, running into one of your downstairs neighbors. “Hey Dani!” you say, “Going for a beach day?”

“You know it girl,” she grins, hoisting her tote bag up. “Gotta get some use out of the bikini and find myself a sugar daddy.”

“Where are we, and why is that woman in her small clothes?” Daemon asks, not bothering to lower his voice. 

Dani glares, pulling her coverup closed. You’re shocked, but you elbow Daemon. “I am so sorry for him,” you stumble over yourself. “He’s….he’s amish. They don’t have bikinis….or apartments?”

She nods and leaves, clearly upset. 

“Daemon what the fuck? You can’t just say tha-”

He doesn’t even have the decency to look apologetic, merely looking down at you with a grin. “Do you have a bikini as well?”

You groan, hitting the button for the elevator. “You’re something else, you know that? I have half a mind to leave you alone so I can sulk in peace.” You hop on the elevator, and Daemon follows warily. He looks very unsure of the device. “You’re lucky I love you,” you sigh.

“What’s stopping you from abandoning me in this world?” Daemon asks. “You were clearly ready to cut all ties to us.”

“It’s complicated,” you say. “I was upset and needed space. But I could never just abandon you here, you wouldn’t last a day and I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

“Does this mean you’re coming home?” 

You step off the elevator, ignoring his question in favor of rummaging under your front door’s welcome mat for a spare key. 

“My love, I’m sorry for not believing you,” Daemon begins. “Nyra is going to be worried sick, please just come back with me.”

“Daemon, I love you but I need time.” You sigh, looking around your apartment for your phone. It was still plugged in next to your bed. Picking it up, you saw the date. “That’s weird,” you murmur, “no time has passed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Today is the same day I woke up as her.”

“You’ve been with us for months though,” Daemon whispered. 

“I guess time works differently when you’re traveling worlds.” You shuck off your dress and rummage through your drawers to find a bra. “I never thought I’d say it, but damn I miss bras.” You slip into a tshirt and jeans before trying to find something for Daemon to wear. 

“My love, are you sure that is appropriate to be outside in?”

You groan, finding a pair of your ex’s jeans and a baggy shirt. “These should fit, just put them on and try to keep your opinions to yourself.”

“But y/-”

“No buts, do you want food or not?”

Daemon nodded, changing in silence as his eyes flickered around the room. “What is this?” he asked, gesturing towards your phone.

“It’s a cellphone. Think of it like a raven, I guess,” you say. “I can use it to write or talk to anyone in the world right now.”

“That’s impossible,” Daemon snorted. “Not even the fastest raven cou-”

You roll your eyes, dialing up your favorite pizza joint and putting them on speakerphone. “Hey, can I order pickup? A  large pepperoni pizza and garlic knots for y/n.”

“20 minutes.”

Daemon stood, mouth agape as he heard the voice come through the other side of the line. You smirked, hanging up the phone. “Just wait until you find out about TV.”

“What is pizza?” 

“The greatest thing since sliced bread.”

“What’s sliced bre-”

NOTE: It's me againnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. Not gonna bore ya'll with the life drama, but damn life is crazy. Anyway, here's a chapter PLUS no spoilers but later today I'm dropping the first chapter to a new fic and the main love interest is *drum roll* WOLVERINE BB. As always - some ppl I can’t tag, so if you’re listed on the tag list and not receiving notifications, please check that your settings are on “allow this blog to appear in search results” or message me if I messed up the spelling! ~ Lacie <3

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[sanemistar]

Hi! Would you write a one shot with Obanai x wife!reader but he sees her sparing with Sanemi and gets the wrong idea? He’s been watching them for a while, he thinks there’s something going on but he’s not sure (there’s not) but he finally snaps when Sanemi ends up on top of her (innocently) whilst sparring and she’s laughing so he confronts both of them. Turns out she was just talking with Sanemi so much to get closer to him because she knows how much obanai respects him. Flufff at the end pls and thank yoooou

one and only | obanai iguro

pairing: obanai x wife!reader

genre: fluff

wc: 1.2k+

warnings: heavy fluff lol, slightly suggestive at some part if you squint your eyes really hard but dw nothing too crazy

a/n: thank you for requesting <3 i had a lot of fun writing jealous obanai and i hope u enjoy it too !!

it was no secret to everyone in the demon slayer corps that obanai was overly jealous and overprotective of you, especially after your marriage. when it came down to you, his wife, he lost all his rationality, everyone knew that he was crazy over you from the moment you stepped foot into the corps. he’d hardly allow you to be near any other male, and would threaten them to stay away from you, he'd put a hand around your waist almost all the time, showing them that you had already been taken by him. you two had been married for quite a while, and his jealousy never really bothered you, actually, you felt happy whenever he expressed it.

the only exception to his jealousy was none other than the wind hashira, his best friend, sanemi, whom he trusted the most out of all the male hashiras. obanai introduced you to him on your wedding day and the two of you had become good friends ever since, although he didn't seem that friendly at first due to his angry face and harsh demeanor. you’d occasionally enjoy having small conversations with him here and there, most of them were about your husband, though. since he didn't talk much about himself, and you wanted to know more about him in hopes of getting even closer to him. you were fully aware of how much obanai respected him, so sanemi was your go to person.

obanai took notice of you spending more time with sanemi than he thought you would, and he noticed that you were always laughing and giggling around him more than you should, which wasn’t really to his liking. your beautiful smile should be reserved to him only, he knew that neither of you would never cross any lines, yet he had a slight suspension that there was something going on between the two of you. however, he kept his mouth shut and left things the way they were.

that was, until one day sanemi saw asked if you could spar with him for practice purposes, to which you agreed. he was getting ready for a long mission, so he wanted to be sure he was fully prepared to fight, and you were happy to help. you told your husband about it, and he felt hesitant at first. knowing how sanemi could be rough and harsh when it came to sparring with strong opponents no matter their gender, but eventually he agreed. it was going to be just a normal sparring session between two strong hashiras, nothing to worry about, or so he thought.

it was when he saw sanemi right on top of you, cornering your small body with his big arms. your faces and bodies were so alarmingly close, and you were giggling beneath him. the unpleasant sight made obanai’s stomach turn upside down as he was seething in sheer anger. that was his breaking point. he couldn’t take it anymore, he finally reached his limit. all the negative thoughts furiously raced inside his head, why were you laughing like that around sanemi and not him, what if you got tired of him, what if you no longer loved him and were planning to leave. his mind was going crazy.

the serpent hashira couldn't stand still and watch the two of you in this position any longer, so he automatically rushed to where you both were and had pushed sanemi on the soft grass before he grabbed your hand and pulled you back up with one swift move.

“care to explain what happened here? and how you two ended up like that?” obanai confronted both of you, his tone was firm and demanding for answers as his gaze on both you and sanemi fell sharp, so sharp that it made your heart clench painfully, your heart was beating so fast you felt as if it was about to jump out of your ribcage, and words stuck in your throat as if they were forming a big lump that kept you from talking. you were used to his jealousy by now, but this time was different.

on the other hand, sanemi felt a little frantic. he never wanted obanai to get the wrong idea when all you two had been doing was just friendly sparring and it was all an accident on his part, so he quickly began explaining what happened in detail to your angry husband.

"we were sparrin' as usual when i lost my balance and fell on top of y/n. i'm tellin' the truth, i swear!" obanai knew sanemi was never one to lie, but he still couldn't help get rid of that irritating feeling in his chest. he turned his gaze from sanemi and solely focused it on you, waiting to hear your side of the story. you took a deep breath and began to explain.

"yes, what shinazugawa-kun was true. we were just sparring. nothing more, nothing less." you confirmed sanemi's statement, and you felt him begin to cool off a little as the tense look on his face became more relaxed, but a part of you felt like that wasn't the end of it.

"and what about all the laughing and talking with shinazugawa, hm? what the hell do you talk about that makes you spend so much time with him?" you had a feeling obanai was going to bring this topic up eventually. in fact, you were surprised he managed to stay quiet about it for that long. you wanted to clear the tension in the air, so you decided to mess around with him a little.

"hmm.. we do talk about a very interesting person, who happens to also be my husband.” you playfully teased the serpent hashira with a silly grin spread across your face as you placed a hand around his arm.

"what the heck? you really thought there was somethin' going on between me and your wife? dude, she's head over heels for you." you couldn't help but blush upon hearing sanemi's announcement out loud, as it came very unexpectedly.

you weren't the only one blushing though, obanai was also blushing and it was so obvious that you could see it underneath his mask. he hated to admit, but he was so jealous of sanemi at that very particular moment, but thankfully that turned out to be just a misunderstanding.

you were very happy that the issue was solved quickly and began to giggle loudly, the sound of your laughter rang in the serpent hashira's ears like a sweet melody. making him entirely forget about his anger from earlier, he smiled softly while admiring your beautiful face.

"i love you, obanai-kun." you softly whispered in his ears, and now the top of his ears were burning red thanks to your sudden love confession.

"i love you too, my dear." obanai replied and took your hand, placing gentle kisses onto it. you felt your heart melting the moment his lips met your skin, it was as if you were falling for him all over again. the two of you were all lovey-dovey with each other, almost completely forgetting that sanemi was still standing there.

"go get a room, yeah?" sanemi suggested sarcastically which had earned him a smack from obanai before he disappeared from your line of sight, leaving you and your husband all alone.

"you heard shinazugawa, shall we go home and pick up from where we left?" his words took you by surprise and now you were completely flustered, but no objections were heard from you. you could never say no to some quality time with your husband. obanai grabbed your hand and the two of you walked away, heading back to his estate.

your husband's jealousy was strong and fierce, but you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world, he was the one and only one for you.

[paleprincessturtle]

i heard you’re taking requests for harvey specter and angst with him would be so good !!!! i just finished reading the sorrow of tomorrow and you write him so well like i can’t wait for the next part, your writing is awesome. so i was wondering if you could write some sort of angst with a happy ending with him, like maybe they get into an argument and harvey being harvey says something to take it too far but they make up later somehow. just a suggestion, u don’t need to write it if you don’t want to!!

Thank you so much for the kind words and the request! Hope you enjoy this one 😊 And bear with me, this is a looooong one. I seriously got carried away writing this.

GETAWAY HOUSE

She marched towards Harvey's office, her face red with anger. "Mike, get out," she ordered a visibly surprised Mike. "But we are in the middle of..." she lifted her hand, "in the middle of a meeting, I know. But please, get out. I need to speak with Harvey." She looked at Harvey, and the two stared at each other. Mike left the room after realizing the obvious tension in the room and not wanting to stand in the way of a woman who looked like she might breathe fire.

She looked over her shoulder until she was sure that Mike had closed the door. "I will give you a good 5 minutes to explain why the hell is Pharma Pro insisting on settling," she folded both arms in front of her. Harvey didn't even look at her. He looked busy writing something on a paper in front of him. "You tell me, they're your client," Harvey gave her a quick glance before he looked back down at the paper. "Don't give me that shit, Harvey. They received a memo. It was signed "Specter" on the memo. I never signed my name like that on a memo. The only Specter who knows this case is you." Harvey put down his pen and said, "You are another Specter who not only knows but is handling this case." She gaped. "Harvey, I have to spend my morning explaining why there is a memo under my surname that they have to settle after just yesterday I told them to go to court." Harvey watched her for a few seconds. She looked pissed, and most of all, there was betrayal in the eyes he loved the most. "Yes, it was me." She took a sharp breath and sat in front of him. "Why?" she asked quietly, her eyes glued to the black desk in front of her. "You won't win in court," Harvey said simply. She heard no trace of guilt or remorse in the voice she knew very well. "You don't trust me?" Her voice was just above a whisper. She was on the verge of crying. The thought of her own husband not trusting her judgment in her own case... And he had to interfere. Basically, embarrassing her in front of her biggest client. "We just got this firm back on its feet, and I am the new managing partner. If you lose Pharma Pro, it won't look good on us. I don't trust your call, so I had to step up," Harvey said as his voice softened at the sight of his wife, who looked like she was about to burst into tears. Harvey knew she had been through a lot to be where she was right now, but not once did Harvey ever see her cry, at least not over some work. "But you could've come to me and discussed it with me. You are my husband, yes. But I will never overrule you here in the office." Harvey scoffed. "If we discuss this, you will still proceed to court." She pulled her hand out of Harvey's grasp. "Yes! Because they are my client, and I know them better than you." She stood so fast that she almost knocked over the chair she was sitting on. Harvey looked up at her wife, seething with anger. Harvey's jaw tightened. "You think you would still sign with Pharma Pro if it weren't for my last name being yours?" She gasped as both her hands flew to cover her mouth. She grabbed the edge of the chair; she felt like Harvey had just slapped her. The second the words got out of his mouth, he knew it was a total mistake. "Sunny, I..." she interrupted him by lifting her hand. She took a deep breath and tried so hard to compose herself. "You know what, Harvey? I thought I would bring this secret to the grave, but three months before we got married, I got a senior partner offer from Skadden. Skadden, Harvey. Not just any firm. Skadden. No, I wasn't using your name then. I turned them down because I love this firm. And the thought of working side by side with my husband was so heavenly back then. The thought of how we could always support each other..." She trailed off, her voice shaking. "I turned that offer down even though I knew Jessica wouldn't mind. And you know what they said after I turned them down? They said the offer will firmly stand if I want to take it in the future. But again, Harvey, I think you know me better than whoever it was at Skadden. And no, it wasn't your name that got me to sign Pharma Pro. I slept with Russell Whitmore. Is that the truth you want to hear?" Her words cut through Harvey, even though he knew she was lying. She stormed out of his office as he tried to catch up with her. He grabbed his arm, and she sharply looked back at him and said, "Don't you fucking dare follow me, Harvey." Harvey stood there, frozen in place, as he saw his wife fade away from view.

It was 15 minutes before midnight. Harvey stood at the doorway to Mike's office. Harvey didn't go after his wife earlier today. But when he (most definitely on purpose) walked past his wife's office, he found it empty. And it wasn't even 5. "Are you just going to stand there, Harvey? You creep me out," Mike said as he flipped over a file. Harvey snapped out of it. "I want to ask if you know where my wife is," Harvey asked carefully. "I don't know, Harvey. She's your wife," Mike shrugged. "Didn't Rachel tell you if she was with her?" Mike finally looked at Harvey. Mike has to admit that Harvey looked very stressed. "Again. I don't know, Harvey. Maybe if you stopped being a certified douchebag, you would know the whereabouts of your wife." Mike looked sharply at Harvey, whose shoulders slumped at Mike's answer. As much as Mike wanted to help Harvey out, it wasn't his place. "I took it you heard about the fight?" Mike let out a sarcastic laugh. "Donna saw your wife crying in the toilet. Donna told Rachel, and Rachel told me. In the process of Rachel telling me, Louis heard. Yeah, everyone knew. And before you asked, yes, everyone sided with your wife." Harvey let out a defeated sigh as he rubbed his forehead. "Give her time, Harvey." Harvey nodded at Mike's advice before going back to his office.

Harvey was deep in thought, listening to his father's record while nursing a glass of whisky. "I very much don't want to see your face, but Gretchen already went home, and I need you to sign this fast." Harvey closed his eyes at the voice of Louis. The last thing he needs now is Louis chewing on his ass. "What is it, Louis?" Harvey turned away from the window as he walked to his desk. Louis didn't say a thing; he just pointed at the document he brought. Harvey nodded as he sat down and started skimming the document. "If I didn't promise your wife I wouldn't beat the shit out of you, I would've beaten the shit out of you," Louis said quickly, his face red. Harvey looked up slowly at Louis for the sudden outburst. "When she got married to you, she asked me to walk her down the aisle. We aren't even related, but she chose to come to me. She is like a ..." Louis choked on his own words. "She is like a daughter to me. And what you said to her, Harvey... And if you don't make this right, I swear to God, Harvey, I will make your life a living hell. I would gladly be her attorney if she chose to divorce." Harvey nodded as he handed Louis the document.

Harvey got home just a little after 3. After he made sure that his wife wasn't home, he chose not to be home at any cost. But at the same time, he longed to be home. Harvey poured himself another glass of whisky. He watched the fire as he laughed to himself. His wife would've scolded him if she knew he poured himself yet another glass of whisky at this hour. But his wife wasn't here, and his heart heaved. He checked his phone. Nothing. He left him 7 voicemails and more than 10 texts; all of them sat cold. Then he realized that he hadn't seen Donna all day in the office today. He quickly grabbed his phone and called Donna. She didn't pick up, considering the time, but he tried again. "Harvey, if the firm isn't on fire, I would hang up right now," came Donna's hoarse voice at the other line. "Donna, I'm sorry; please don't hang up. Is my wife there?" Harvey asked, a glimmer of hope apparent in his voice. Silent. "Donna?" Another silent. Harvey checked his phone just in case the phone abruptly ended. "She is here." Harvey sighed in relief. "Okay, I'm going there now," Harvey said as he stood up. "Harvey, no," Donna said firmly. "No?" Harvey stopped in his tracks. "Give her time, Harvey. You really hurt her." Harvey's turned to stay silent. "Harvey, remember how many times she got to cut you some slacks? How many times has she stood by your side, no matter what? How many times did she get back to you after you hurt her and you only gave her a simple apology? How many times, Harvey?" Harvey bit his lip, forcing him to hold a sob. "Will she come back, Donna? I'll give her all the time in the world; just tell me, Donna. Will she come back?" Donna closed her eyes as she heard the hoarseness of Harvey's voice. "I don't know, Harvey. I don't know," Donna said truthfully.

Harvey didn't sleep that night. He got back to the office early in the morning. He saw Donna, who smiled curtly at him. He didn't expect to see his wife in her office when he walked past her office. She wasn't there. But to Harvey's surprise, there she was. Sat gracefully in the conference room, holding a meeting with Pharma Pro's execs. He caught her eye. Before he got the chance to smile at her, she turned her focus back to Russel Whitmore, the CEO of Pharma Pro. Harvey sighed and headed to the elevator. He himself had a meeting to attend.

Harvey got back to the office around 5. When he passed her wife's office, he saw her there. Her back faced him. A few folders opened in front of her. As much as Harvey wanted to go in and hold her, he knew he had to give her some time. He got to his office and fired up his laptop.

A few hours later, Harvey almost lost his mind. His wife was just a few offices away, yet he couldn't do anything. He brought some papers and stood up to leave his office. He prayed so hard so that her wife would still be in her office. An office before his wife's, Harvey stopped himself. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves. He couldn't remember the last time he was this nervous. He was nervous when his wife told him that he should talk to Louis for her hand in marriage. They were close. Really close. She was so close that she considered Louis her own family. Since she had no immediate family. But this is different. He felt like his marriage was on the edge. And it was all because of him. He took another deep breath and finally knocked on his wife's door before opening the door. Harvey sighed a breath of relief. His wife was still there, buried in a lot of files. "Hey," Harvey said softly as he entered her office. "Hey," she answered shortly, not knowing what to do. She wanted to yell at Harvey and slap him. But dear God, the look on his face. She knew he hadn't slept. "Can I?" Harvey referred to the chair across from her. She only nodded. "I've been making this whole speech since last night about what I would say when we met. But seeing your face..." Harvey stopped himself. His hand itched to touch his wife. "I took you for granted. And I'm sorry, I really am." His wife looked at him stoically. "Here," Harvey showed her the papers he brought with him.

"A house in.. Hamptons? This is your way of saying sorry? Oh yeah, right. I couldn't afford a house in the Hamptons since I'm a low-degree lawyer." She scoffed, and Harvey shook his head. "Remember the second day of our honeymoon?" Harvey asked. How could she forget? They stayed in a beautiful villa in Como.

"We should buy a villa here," she said as she climbed on top of Harvey. Both of them were in bed, with the vast view of Lake Como at their disposal. Nothing was between them but a thin layer of white sheet. She propped herself up; they were face-to-face. "And why is that?" Harvey asked, smirking at his wife. "So whenever we are tired, we can always come here and get away from the world." Harvey marveled at the look of wonder in his wife's eyes. "In here, it's just us. You," she kissed his lips, "and me." Harvey caressed his wife's bare back. "You do realize we are in Italy, right?" She giggled at the fact that they were indeed a 10-hour flight away from home. "Then at the Hamptons! It wasn't far," she said excitedly. "I don't need a getaway house. I have my wife and my job all in one place; I wouldn't need anything else." She wanted to argue, but Harvey turned them over as she squealed.

"I told you I don't need a getaway house. I don't need to be away from all this," Harvey said as he gestured to whatever was around them. "But all this without you? The stress of this place has led me astray from you. I hurt you. If I could do anything to even just lessen the pain I caused you, I would do it. I won't waste another word saying how much I'm sorry, but I will make it up to you." Harvey took his wife's hands in his, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "If you let me, I will take you to our new house." Harvey's voice was laced with questions. "I know it is not Como. And we can always cancel this house if you don't want it. We could go there, and you can pick it yourself," Harvey rambled. Harvey stood up and moved his chair next to hers. "Please come with me. Let me fix this for us." Harvey put his hand on her cheek as she leaned into his warm hand. "Harvey, it's only Tuesday. I have my week full," she said, shaking her head. "If you agree, we can just leave first thing in the morning. I've cleared everything with Louis and Donna. Rachel and Mike will take on your clients. Just say yes," he said, closing the gap between them. His lips hovered over hers. She closed her eyes. "I'm still mad at you," she whispered. "I know, but let me prove to you that I want to be better; I'll make it up to you. Please, Sunny. This is my last chance, I swear to you. I love you more than life," he said, running his thumb across her lips. "I will drop everything here if that's what you nee..." Harvey didn't get the chance to finish his sentence. Harvey closed his eyes as he felt his wife's lips on his. He wanted to cry, for he thought he would never be this close again with his wife. He held his wife close. She broke the kiss, their foreheads touched. "Take me home, Harvey."

MASTERLIST

[yuff7e]

hey! You could make a male reader x Bakugou where they have an argument and their marriage is no longer the best, so Reader asks for a divorce and Bakugou regrets it and tries everything to achieve it not happen? (with a happy ending, please!)

˗ˏˋ you’re the only thing i want. ´ˎ˗ violence / angst / fluff

male reader (could be gender neutral)

hi h0osyy !! i’ll totally write this for you !! i love me some bakugo brainrot … jejwjwjr he js such a baby !! he got that sweet baby boy syndrome he js has a hard time expressing it guys trust he’s the best he js needs all ur love !! (╥﹏╥)

the cuties song -> www.spotify.com

“okay and what the fuck do you want me to do?!” katsuki yells at you from across the room, he’s thrown about items and was seething with anger. you just stare at him, it was never supposed to get this bad. you knew he had issues, you thought he was starting to get better.. but you were wrong.

you’ve begun to fear for your life as he punched walls a little too close to you, threw utensils that would fall not that far from your head, etc. you feared your own husband was going to hurt you.

that’s when you knew you had to get out.

as you stare at him his anger rises, “speak will you?!” he screams, taking a hand and grabbing his face - clenching his jaw. “why do you never fucking speak?!” this was another one of your arguments, another scary, loud, argument.

“katsuki stop.” you cross your arms, stiffly standing against the door - he just looks at you. “you want me to fucking stop? are you serious? you’re the one that started this you bitch!” he seethes, clasping both of his hands to his sides - “you make me feel like this!”

your eyes were filled with tears at this point, when you two would have these arguments you’d have flashbacks to when you were teenagers - how he would hold you as you walked through festivals, keeping you close. smiling in your ear and kissing your cheek every so often, telling you happy he was with you, how he’d never hurt you.

now look at where this has put you both, “i thought you got better, i guess i was wrong.” you blink a few tears away, them sliding down your cheeks. “oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” he bangs his fist down on the drawer beside him as he stand next to the bed you both share, you haven’t slept in the same bed for a whole week now.

you couldn’t even look at him as you gulp, your hands shaky and sweaty, your heart racing. you were scared, you knew this isn’t how a marriage is supposed to be. the more you think about the relationship you two share, the more you realize how abusive and unstable it’s become.

you’re a firm believer of stable, safe relationships. and this wasn’t one of them, you tried to say the words - but they just wouldn’t come out. you grip your arms tightly, your heart was beating so fast but you knew you had to get out of.. whatever this was.

“i want a divorce.” you croak, hot tears staining your face as you bring up a hand to wipe them away - you realized you hadn’t been wearing your wedding ring. katsuki turned around to face you, a hand on his mouth - rubbing his chin.

“yeah sure, go take a fuckin walk.” he laughs and shakes his head, putting his hands on his hips and turning away from you again. “im serious katsuki, im scared. you scare me, i.. i need out.” you confess, you were literally about to vomit.

katsuki stopped for a second, looking at the ground. he turned to you again, a more serious look on his face. “what?” “you heard what i said.” he stared, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “you really mean that?” he sounds a little panicked now, and he begins to walk toward you.

“yes and… please keep your distance.” he stops at your words, his hands had fallen to his sides and he looks absolutely crushed. he loved you so much, you really think he scares you? “what do you mean i scare you?”

“you just do, the way you act, the things you say. katsuki im fucking tired.” you sigh, you can hear him get choked up and you look at him. “what the fuck? no i.. i would never hurt you. i married you for a reason [name]. i want to be with you. i’m just.. tired too.” he admits, slowly walking towards you again.

you don’t stop him this time, he places his hands on your arms and you tense up. “please.. please god.. please don’t be scared of me.” he pleads, his hands began to shake.

you look at his hands and then into his eyes, he was looking down at your body - he couldn’t bare to look you in the face. you take a hand and place it on his and he breaks down, leaning into you. you break down as well, clutching onto each other in a desperate attempt to not run anyway from one another.

“i don’t want to leave you katsuki, you’re the only good thing i have in my life.. i fucking love you. i wouldn’t want to leave you but i fear i need to because of how aggressive you’ve been lately.” - “please don’t say that, you know id never hurt you. fuck [name] i’m just scared.. everything i’ve ever wanted has come true and im so used to everything failing on me.. i don’t want this to fail and… fuck..”

he grabs onto you tighter, burying his face in your neck - squeezing his eyes shut. “you’re the only thing i want, [name].” he sobs into you and you cradle him, hearing you being afraid of him is one of the things he never wanted to hear. “i want to work this out with you, im just…” you trail off, caressing the back of his head. he pulls away from your touch and looks you in the face, his eyes red and puffy, cheeks stained with tears. “im so sorry.”

you apologize and he touches your face with one of his hands, you don’t pull away or flinch you just stare at him. he leans in to kiss you and you hesitate, he waits - and you lean in too. he puts his hand behind your neck gently, holding you like glass in fear you might break under his touch.

“don’t apologize [name], this is my fault. i’ve been treating you horribly, i’ve been.. scaring you. that isn’t what a husband should do. i’m going to start treating you better from here on out - i promise, [name].” you look into his red eyes, and he looks back into yours. “i’ve wanted to be with you since the first day i saw you in that academy katsuki, and now that i finally have you i want this to work… so bad.” “i know, i know.” that comforting tone of his makes you tear up again, but he wipes the tears away.

“no more cryin’ .. we’re going to work this out.” you go in for another kiss and this one is longer, knocking the breath out of you both for a moment. you chuckle and he does too, “now you need to clean this damn room.” he blinks at you and looks behind himself, realizing how much of a mess he made. “right.” he looks back at you, “i love you.”

“i love you too, katsuki.”

—

REQUESTS : OPEN

[cambion-companion]

Saw the piggyback ask and I remembered this scene in fifty shades where Christian is carrying Ana over his shoulder and they pass one of the house employees on the way to the 'playroom'...

And now I'm thinking of Aemond doing that with his wife - not because she's drunk, she was extra bratty (on purpose) so he just slung her over his shoulder and now he's taking her to their chambers to teach her a little lesson🤭

Alicent and Criston Cole appear from around the corner just in time to catch a glimpse of Aemond entering your chambers with you over his shoulder and there's this brief moment where you make eye contact with your mother-in-law who knows full well her son is going to rail you in about two minutes...

Gods be good🤣

hahaha I absolutely adore both of these ideas guys!

Prepare for another drabble!

Aemond x reader | domestic shenanigans | mention of his brothel experience | reader goes a little feral | Aemond has to reign her back | part two? | mild smut nothing explicit | sorry I am a tease for the ending I KNOW

“You looked for Aegon where?”  You closed the book you had been reading, placing it upon your knee, looking up at Aemond’s disheveled appearance.

“The brothel, The Blooming Rose, as it were.”  Aemond removed his cloak, hanging it by the oaken door before turning back to where you sat.  “He took me there when I was thirteen.”  He hesitated. “The…madam recognized me.”

The discomfort in your husband’s voice caused you to rise to your feet, the forgotten book tumbling to the ground. “Was she indeed?”

Aemond’s violet eye looked everywhere but into your face. “She seemed pleased to see me.”

His hands clenched at his sides, you reached forward but he shied away from your touch, turning away, his posture rigid.

“I’ll be back.”  You said, striding with purpose to the door, yanking it open and making your way down the corridor.  

Your blood was boiling, the expression on Aemond’s face had caused your heart to clench.

“Y/N, wait!”  Aemond caught your elbow, spinning you to face him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to have some words with this Madam of the Blooming Rose.”  You pried yourself free of his grip, walking away from him once more.

“No, you’re not.”  Aemond touched your waist as he kept pace with you, watching your fury unfold with something akin to awe.  “You will not put yourself willfully in harm’s way.”

“I am harm and she is in my way.”  With each step, you became angrier, the image of your husband’s fear fresh in your mind’s eye.  

“Wife.” Aemond stopped you once again, his fingers locking securely around your wrist. “Charging into a brothel with the intent to cause chaos is not something I will allow you to do.”

“Allow me?”  You seethed, trying to yank your hand away from his iron grasp. “Just try and stop me!”

You freed yourself, only for Aemond to grab you roughly around your waist, lifting you up and over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

You hit his back with your hands. “Let me down you ruffian!”

“I’m the ruffian?”  Aemond chuckled and your attempts to get down, his hands probing mischievously against your skirts. “You’re the aspiring assassin, storming off to do gods know what with no plan or backup.  Now stay still.”

You did not obey, squirming atop Aemond’s shoulder, causing him to grunt and almost lose his footing more than once as he carried you back down the empty hallway.  He smacked your backside sharply after one particularly strong bout of flailing.

You gasped at the impact, stilling momentarily in your shock. “Did you just-?”

“Yes, and I will do it again if you don’t stop.”  

“How dare you?”

“That’s right, direct your anger towards me instead. The better to keep you safe.”

You ceased your wiggling, hanging loosely over Aemond’s shoulder, your arms dangling down his back.  With a smirk you raised a hand, bringing it down swiftly against Aemond’s backside in retribution. He started, almost dropping you. “You are a feral wildcat, Y/N!”  

“What does that make you?”

“Someone who is going to fuck you thoroughly when we get back to our chambers.”

You gripped the waist of Aemond’s tunic, his long hair tickling your nose as it swayed with his movements.  His words quite distracted you, sending a pool of molten need flooding your abdomen.

“No witty retort?”  You could hear the smirk in Aemond’s low voice as he shifted you more securely into his arms.  

“Give me a moment.”  You growled. “I’m recovering.”

He laughed, a lovely genuine sound.

The two of you had almost made it undetected to your rooms, when the door at the far end of the hallway opened.  Alicent, Cole and Otto strode through it, noticing you almost immediately.  You lowered your head, wishing to disappear as Aemond passed them.  Otto and Cole diligently strode forward, their backs to you, but Alicent turned, following her son’s progress with raised eyebrows.  She made eye contact with you briefly, the flicker of a smile passing over her lips, before looking up to the back of her son’s head. “Don’t forget the welcome dinner we have for the Redwyne’s tonight, Aemond.”

“We won’t, mother.”  

Aemond rounded the corner and into the privacy of your spacious warm chambers, tossing you onto the mattress of the large bed where you bounced several times before he crawled on top of you.  He traced the curves of your face, his fingers trailing a path down along the contours of your neck.  His expression close to reverence as he gazed down at you, a curtain of silver hair framing your face. His exploratory hand ran the length of your body, curling under your skirts and caressing your trembling thighs.  He nibbled a kiss to your parted lips. “Spread your legs for me.”

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Haunted

Mark Sloan x Reader

Summary: Mark Sloan finally finds where his wife had been hiding

Warnings: Angst, cheating, mild smut, Addison has poison oak, medical talk, death

Word Count: 5.7K

Masterlist

I sat in the foyer of the beautiful brownstone Mark has bought us, seething. I had arrived home after a long 30-hour shift, just wanting to relax with my husband but I had instead received a call from Derek delivering the worst news of my life.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, Derek, everything okay?” I asked, concerned at his strained voice.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

My heart crawled into my throat. What could have possibly happened to warrant this much concern from him? Has Addison been hurt? Had Mark? “What? Derek, you’re scaring me.”

After a pause, he spoke again. “I just found Mark in bed with Addison.” My entire body felt like it had filled with ice. I knew Addison and Derek had been on the rocks for a while but I thought Mark and I were solid. “I’m leaving, tonight, for Seattle. I have an old friend out there who’s gonna make me the head of neurosurgery. I know it’s sudden and you’re dealing with a lot right now but I’m happy to bring you out there.”

Tears pricked in my eyes, I felt so helpless. “Derek, I’m a second year resident, I can’t just up and move to a different program.”

“Richard, the chief of surgery at Seattle Grace, will help you. You may be set back a year but what’s the alternative?”

I thought for a second. I could stay here and try to work things out with Mark but I knew I’d never be able to look at or trust him again. I could break up with him and stay here but knowing him he’d never leave me in peace. My best option would be to flee. “You’re right. I’ll meet you at the Starbucks across from JFK?”

“I’ll see you there. And Y/N? I really am sorry that this happened to you.”

“I’m sorry it happened to you too.”

I had packed only the essentials into a duffle bag that sat next to me as I waited for Mark to get back to his home. My beautiful rings sat on the coffee table between me and the door, clearly visible from the doorway.

Mark had a devastated look on his face even before he opened the door. His face dropped even further when he saw my expression along with my rings on the table. “Y/N-”

“Don’t,” I interrupted. “I want a divorce,” I asked calmly, picking up my bag to walk out.

But Mark stood his ground, continuing to stand in front of the doorway. “Can we at least talk about this?”

“Why? Nothing you could possibly say could make this better or make me not hate you. You hurt your best friend and your wife,” the tears were falling now. “You threw away our entire relationship for what? So you could hurt Derek? You just had to have Addison? You wanted to hurt me?”

“No, no,” Mark protested, his own voice cracking. “Addison wanted to hurt Derek and well… I wasn’t thinking.”

“‘I wasn’t thinking?’ That’s a pathetic excuse.” I moved to walk past him but he grabbed my arm, yanking me back in front of him, moving to further block the door.

“You promised to love me for better or worse, Y/N Sloan. Well, this is worse. You made a vow.”

“You also vowed to love and honor me,” I threw back.

His grip slackened enough for me to remove my arm from his grip so I continued towards the door. But before I could step out into the night, Mark spoke again. “At least tell me where you’re going?”

I sighed. “Derek and I are getting hotel rooms for a little while,” I lied. Not wanting him to ask me anymore, I slammed the door shut, quickly hailing a taxi.

~

I stood at the nurses’ station, filling out charts when Alex came up next to me, grabbing a chart from one of the nurses. “Your patient in 402 is demanding your presence,” I told him.

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “She’s been demanding ridiculous things all day. I’ve got a surgery I need to study for.”

“Oh yeah? Tell you what, I’ll take this patient off your hands if you take my ruptured abscess.”

Alex stopped to think for a second before reaching his hand out. “Deal.” I smiled, eager to switch when suddenly a fist came out of nowhere, hitting Karev in the face. I whipped my head around, horrified to see Mark.

“What are you doing with my wife?” he yelled down at a still slightly dazed Alex.

“Mark! What the hell?” I demanded.

But before Mark could speak, Alex was up and lunging at Mark. Noticing him, I stepped between the two men, stupidly, getting myself tackled into Mark’s chest in the process. The rest of the hospital had finally realized what was going on as they pulled Alex away, Izzie trying to calm him down.

Realizing I was still in my ex-husband's arms, I pulled myself away from him. “What the fuck are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“Addison told me.”

I rolled my eyes. “You know of all the ways you could’ve found me, that is the last one I would have wanted to hear.”

“Y/N, please, just hear me out,” he begged.

I sighed, “Fine. But after I listen and make a decision, I want you out of my life forever.” Mark looked like he wanted to argue but nodded nonetheless. So I led him to an on-call room for privacy. He smiled upon entering the room. “I remember these from my residency. Or when I’d have a surgery with you at New York Presbyterian,” he flirted, stepping closer to me.

I pressed my hand against his chest, pushing him away. “Don’t. Just say what you need to say.”

He looked disappointed at my rejection but spoke anyways. “First, I want to apologize. What I did was unforgivable and it was just a moment of weakness. I love you, I always have and I always will. These past few months have been hell and everyone refused to tell me where you were.” He paused, waiting for my response but I just quirked an eyebrow at him, urging him to continue. “Look, I want you back. I’ve been wanting you back ever since… well Addison and I… anyways. Please, I can’t do this without you, come home.” He then pulled out my engagement and wedding rings and I noticed for the first time he was still wearing his ring. “You’re still my wife, Y/N Sloan.”

I took a shaky breath. “My name is L/N and the only reason we’re not legally divorced is because I didn’t want you to know where I was. But I guess that doesn’t matter now.”

“Babe, please-”

“Don’t call me babe. I have work I have to do.” I went to move past him but he grabbed my arm again, just like he did all those months ago.

“No, we’re gonna makeup,” he insisted. He pulled me in front of him again, peering down at my face. “God, you’re more beautiful than I remembered.” I remembered lines like that from early on in our relationship. They used to make me melt… I shook off any feelings from the past, trying to steel myself against my husband’s charms that would make me putty in his hand in an instant. His hand slipped under my jaw, cupping my face, fitting perfectly just like back when I thought we were made for each other. And then his lips found mine and I was gone.

I felt his other arm slip around my waist and he pulled me closer to him. Feeling my resolve slip, I brought my hands to my husband’s face and neck, kissing him back. Noticing my reciprocity, Mark lifted me slightly, bringing me to the bed. He laid me down gently, careful to not put too much weight on me. With practiced hands, he went straight for my scrub pants. Neither of us were strangers to hookups in on-call rooms. Mark and Derek had their own practice back in New York but he’d have to come to my hospital for the ORs and he’d always drag me into the on-call rooms before surgery and sometimes after.

I made no moves to undress him, a quiet voice in my mind screaming for me to stop but I ignored it. Mark didn’t seem to mind though as he pulled down his own pants and moved his lips down to my neck. It took everything in me not to moan as he hit the parts of my body that made my toes curl.

He groaned when he finally sheathed himself inside of me. “Oh my god, you’re so perfect,” he groaned, gripping the sheets next to my head. “You haven’t been with anyone else?”

“No,” I answered, fighting out pleased sounds. Truthfully I was still in love with Mark and I didn’t want to hurt him, especially the way he had hurt me. Even though I had proclaimed that we were over, sleeping with someone else would still feel like cheating. “Have you?”

“No, no of course not. It’s you, it’s always been you, it will always be you,” he professed, continuing to thrust in and out of me. He was cupping my face again and trying to look deeply into my eyes but I refused to meet his gaze. Instead just looking up at the bunk above us, focusing on making it seem like I wasn’t enjoying this. Fortunately, he gave me the decency of nuzzling his face into my neck so I wouldn’t have to avoid his gaze.

He continued pumping in and out deep, and slowly, his fingers nestled against my clit, moving in the way he knew I liked. I was gone in about two minutes, embarrassment creeping up my neck and face at being at Mark’s mercy. I could feel him smirk into my throat as he chased his own release, finishing shortly after me.

The second he did, I was pushing him off of me, hiking my pants back up around my hips. “Babe,” he protested as I headed for the door.

“I have work to do,” I explained, not even sparing him a glance. “And don’t call me babe.”

I rushed out of the on-call room, intent on finding Alex’s whiny patient but I ran into Derek first. “Y/N, I heard about Mark, are you okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m fine. Told him to fuck off,” I rushed out.

“Why’d he punch Karev?”

“I think he thought we were flirting or something. I don’t know, didn’t bother to ask.” I tried to move past him but the sound of the door I just came through opening, stopped me.

“Mark,” I heard Derek say in shock. He looked between Mark and I and the on-call room we just came out of. Mark was wearing a proud smirk and I knew it was over for my decency. So in Derek’s surprise, I took the opportunity to slip away.

~

“Y/N Sloan, to the nurses’ station. Dr. Y/N Sloan to the nurses’ station,” the intercoms rang out across the dining quad.

“Are you the Sloan they’ve been calling all day?” Cristina asked as she approached the table along with Meredith, Izzie, and George. “I didn’t even know they still used these intercoms. Why don’t they just page you?”

I groaned, looking at Izzie, who was there to witness Mark’s outburst. “Because my ex-husband is trying to humiliate me into talking to him.”

“Wait, you’re married?” George sputtered out.

“Ex,” I clarified.

“But he called you his wife?” Izzie clarified. “Who is he? What happened? Why’d he punch Alex?”

I sighed, not wanting to tell them. But I knew they’d never stop asking and soon enough my business would be all over the hospital, might as well get control of the story. “Fine. That guy? That’s my husband, Mark Sloan. We’re not legally divorced but we will be soon.”

“Wait, you’re married to Derek’s ex-best friend?” Meredith asked.

“You’re married to plastic surgery god Mark Sloan?” Cristina asked at the same time.

“Yes, and yes. Mark and I met while I was finishing up in undergrad. We got married after two years and then three years later Derek finds him in bed with Addison. So I kind of fled New York in the middle of the night with Derek. Mark is here now because Addison finally told him where I am in order to beg for me to go back. As for the punch, I don’t know, probably thought Alex and I were flirting or something. He was always a little possessive.” George scoffed a little at that.

“So you’re married to McSteamy?” Izzie mused. “I did not see that coming.”

I set down my fork. “Did you just call my cheating husband ‘McSteamy?’”

“Yeah she did,” Cristina jumped in. “Can’t say I blame her, or Addison, or you.”

I rolled my eyes at the nickname. “So I guess I’m still just as pathetic as you?” I smiled at Meredith.

“Welcome to the club of getting screwed over by attendings.”

“He’s not an attending, he’s leaving as soon as possible,” I insisted. The rest of them stared at me. “What?”

“You know that lionitis patient? Dr. Sloan offered his services. The Chief offered him head of plastics on the spot and he took it. Said he wanted to be close to his wife, which I now realize is you,” George explained.

I stared at him with wide eyes. “No, no he is not staying here,” I seethed. Standing up, I began to storm towards the surgical floor’s nurses’ station, knowing that’s where he’d be.

I stormed up to the nurses’ station, finding Mark speaking with the Chief. “Mark, stop paging me!”

“Then don’t fuck me and immediately walk away,” he countered.

My eyes widened, shocked at his words. I glanced over at Dr. Webber, blood rushing to my face, mortified. He choked a little, excusing himself. “What the hell was that?” I demanded in a whisper yell. “First you punch one of my friends and now this?”

“What? God forbid people know that a man has sex with his wife?” I shushed him again. “And I can’t defend my wife either?”

“Okay, first of all, I’m not your wife.”

“Yes you are, neither of us have signed divorce papers.”

“Okay fine, but not for long. I’m going to see a lawyer when I’m done with work so you may as well get used to not being married anymore.”

“I can’t call you my wife, or babe, or your legal name. What should I call you?”

“Nothing, leave me alone. Tell the chief you can’t stay.” I whirled around, intent to walk away when Mark called after me.

“I won’t sign them.” I stopped dead in my tracks. Turning around, I looked at him. “I won’t let one mistake end our marriage.”

“It wasn’t one mistake. Are you saying you accidentally went to the Shepherds’ house? Accidentally started taking your clothes off? Accidentally took of Addison’s? And then your only mistake was to sleep with her? No, you made a hundred choices to cheat on me. So please Mark, give me mercy and leave me with a shred of decency to sign the papers and then leave. Do you know how much you’ve humiliated me?”

“Just give me three months. Three months to win you back. If you still hate me, I’ll sign the papers and go back to New York.”

“No.”

“Come on, you wanna throw away 5 years in one night? Three months.”

I sighed. “One date.”

“Two months.”

“A week.”

“A month.”

“Fine,” I rolled my eyes. “One month.”

Mark smiled victoriously, “A month.”

~

It was about 3 am and I had just wrapped up on an emergency heart surgery. I was the last resident to leave so I had the locker room completely to myself. At least, I did until I heard the door swing open. Assuming it was just some other exhausted resident I didn’t bother to turn around until I felt familiar arms wrap around my waist. I turned my head slightly, my cheek brushing against Mark’s lips. “You were amazing in that surgery,” he murmured.

“Thanks,” I dismissed, continuing to sort through my bag.

“You really are such a gifted surgeon. You know what specialty you want yet? You’ve got the face and skill for plastics.”

“You know this is the residents’ lounge, right?” I changed the subject. “Attendings’ is down the hall.”

“I like this one better. It has you in it.” I rolled my eyes at that pickup line. “So, I was thinking you and I could get dinner together. Catch up. Get late night takeout from whatever was open like we used to.” I had to admit, I had missed those late night takeout sessions… and Mark. The worst part was that I missed my husband.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I dismissed, twisting out of his arms.

“Y/N, our deal only works if you give me a fair shot.”

I sighed again, admittedly he was right. “Fine, we can get dinner, or I guess really early breakfast.”

Mark smirked victoriously again. “One of the other residents told me about this 24 hour place that has sandwiches.”

~

Mark opened the door to his hotel room, letting me step in. It was lavish, Mark having never shied away from the finer things in life. Mark stepped towards the desk, setting down the bag of sandwiches and sitting in the chair. Leaving me to take a seat, cross-legged on the bed. He handed me my sandwich that I eagerly opened, having not eaten anything in 6 hours. “So what’ve you been up to the last few months?”

“Work,” I answered bluntly. It was an honest and complete answer. I had to restart my second year of residency when I moved so I was barely above the bottom of the surgical food chain. “And all the residents in my year were already cliquey so my only friends are interns.”

“Richard told me you run with the girl Derek fell in love with.”

“Yeah, Meredith Grey. Now I’m the other girl who got screwed over by an attending,” I teased lightly.

He chuckled embarrassedly. “Yeah, well, sorry about that.”

“You know, when I first found out, I couldn’t wait to hear you grovel. But you’ve apologized to me so many times it’s like nails on a chalk board.”

“Sor-” Mark began but he pursed his lips when he saw my expression. “So that guy I punched? What’s up with him?”

“Beyond being a sometimes decent coworker? Nothing. But you should apologize to him, for me. He wants to go into plastics and I think you punching him threw a wrench into that plan. And as long as he’s not still pissed at you, I think he’d love to learn from you.”

“You’re going awfully out of your way for the guy that is ‘sometimes a decent coworker.’”

I sent Mark a tired look. “Are you actually going there right now?”

“I guess I don’t have much of a leg to stand on when it comes to this,” he said shyly, realizing his mistake.

“Ya think?” I asked sarcastically. “So what’ve you been doing?”

“Well when you first left I stopped working for a while. I poured everything into finding you… and admittedly a bottle. I was a mess, I couldn’t eat or sleep. All I really did was drink and beg for people to tell me where you were. But after like a month I finally gave up and went back to working. I did nothing but work for 4 months. Then… Addison called, said she was in Seattle with you and Derek and I was on the next flight here. I had to fly economy because there were no first class seats available,” he said with disgust.

“Oh the horror,” I laughed.

We fell into a comfortable silence and it felt almost like back when we were still happily married. The silence was first broken by my yawn since I had now been up for 20 hours. “I miss you,” Mark admitted. “I miss your smile, your laugh, your kindness. I miss how cute you are when you’re tired. How you used to come home and collapse into bed with me. I miss your cooking and how you said it was the next best thing to surgery.” He scooted his chair closer so he could grab my hands which had been sitting limply in my lap. “I miss your hands,” he kissed them, “and your legs, and your hair, and your eyes, and your nose, and your lips,” he punctuated each body part with a kiss there. But it was finally the kiss on my lips that made me snap out of Mark’s trance.

“No,” I said, pushing away. “Earlier was a moment of weakness, a mistake.”

“Ahah, so sleeping with someone is one mistake?” he beamed. “And a moment of weakness is just that, a moment.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. He had been so sweet and apologetic, now he was trying to get off the hook? “This afternoon wasn’t like you and Addison at all. I knew exactly what I was doing. I knew I’d regret it but I chose to anyway. And when I sleep with you I’m the only one getting hurt. I wasn’t cheating.” He looked dejected, realizing I was right and he couldn’t get out of this on a technicality. “I’m going,” I declared, moving to get off the bed.

“Y/N, you have work in two hours and we’re right across the street from the hospital. Sleep here.”

“You’re that eager to get me into your bed?” I scoffed.

“Look, I’ll sleep on the floor if that makes you feel better but I’m not letting you leave.”

“Fine,” I agreed, crawling up to the head of the bed to slip under the covers. Mark grabbed one of the many pillows from the bed, throwing it down onto the floor. As he laid down it dawned on me that he didn’t have a blanket. Feeling bad, I spoke. “Get up here.”

Mark didn’t have to be told twice as he quickly slipped under the sheets. But as soon as he did, I was turned the other way, refusing to acknowledge him further. “Goodnight,” he wished me as he turned off the lamp.

~

In the morning I woke up the same way I used to, the same way I had been missing for the past 5 months. My head was rested on Mark’s chest, his arms wrapped around me, and his lips murmuring against my ear that it was time to get up. Upon regaining my senses, I jumped out of bed, trying to find my shoes and jacket. Being back in his arms made me realize how much I had missed him but I couldn’t afford to slip back into those old habits.

“So am I just a bed warmer to you?” Mark asked from his spot in bed, watching me get ready. “I mean I’m fine with it if that’s all you’ll give me but I’d just like to know what I’m getting myself into.”

I sent him an eyeroll. “No, I just felt bad for you. Thanks for the wakeup, by the way,” I thanked, checking my watch to see I’d be right on time.

“Of course. What else are husbands for?”

I took a breath, not wanting to encourage him. “Bye.”

“I’m actually headed there myself, gonna operate on the lionitis kid. You wanna scrub in?”

“Are you actually trying to buy my love with surgeries?”

“It worked last time,” he laughed. “Well, you were still in school so more like homework answers but it still worked.”

I laughed, dismissively shaking my head, “I’ll see you later.”

~

Cristina, Alex, and I were waiting around the main nurses’ station, waiting for our assignments for the day. “How’s your face?” I asked Alex.

“Fine, I’ve taken worse,” he answered casually.

“Only reason he’s not mad is because he wants to kiss the plastics god’s ass,” Cristina teased.

“Shut up,” was all he said, offering no other defense for himself.

Fortunately for him Cristina couldn’t prod anymore because Derek was approaching. “You three, you’re assisting with Jake Burton today. Come with me,” he called, barely stopping to talk to us. We all scurried after him as we headed towards his room. Upon entering we found Mark drawing on the kid’s face.

“Dr. Sloan,” Derek interrupted him. “Don’t you think this is unnecessary?”

Mark gave him an annoyed look but before he could say anything, the parents spoke up. “We talked with Dr. Sloan and Jake, we’ve decided we’ll go ahead with the facial reconstruction.”

Derek pursed his lips, annoyed. I knew that about half a year ago Derek wouldn’t have hesitated to jump in on this joint surgery. It’s what their practice had been built on but now Derek was letting his feelings get in the way of patient care. “Fine, doctors,” he looked at the three of us and Mark, “come with me.”

We all shuffled out after him except for Mark who seemed to begrudgingly storm after Derek. “You have no right to undermine me in front of patients like that,” Mark immediately began.

“You’re a guest at this hospital, an unwelcome one at that. You have no right offering surgeries to patients— my patient.”

“Did you already forget that Webber made me Head of Plastics? You’re not the only surgeon with a fancy contract anymore,” Mark shot back.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Fine, Karev, you’re with Dr. Sloan.”

“Actually I’d like the other Dr. Sloan-” I sent him a glare, “Dr. L/N. The Chief gave me full authority to use whatever resources I need for this surgery.”

“She’s not some tool you get to use. Or something to play with whenever you feel like it. Is that what our marriages were to you? Something you could break when it suited you?”

“Dr. Shepherd!” I interrupted. “I appreciate that you’re trying to defend my honor but I don’t need you to. Besides you really want to do this here?” I gestured to all the people watching us. “Alex, you go with Dr. Sloan, I’ll go find something else to work on,” I dismissed, heading down to the pit.

As I was waiting for the elevator, I saw one of the last people I wanted to interact with. Addison stumbled towards me, looking like she had a squirrel in her pants. “Dr. L/N, I know we’re not exactly on the best of terms right now but I need a consult.” I looked at her, confused. We had worked on a few cases together perfectly civil. “I need a consult,” she clarified.

Catching her inflection and the fact that she was clearly uncomfortable, my mouth formed an O. “I see, c’mon, we’ll go to one of the private exam rooms.”

“Ah thank you,” she sighed in relief.

Upon having Addison in the stirrups and her explanation of her morning walk, I knew exactly what she was suffering from. “Yep, poison oak in probably the worst place you could have it,” I confirmed her suspicions.

She groaned, lying back on the table. “I guess this is karma.”

“You could say so,” I laughed gently. “I’ll get the calamine lotion and don’t worry, you have my discretion.” I grabbed the lotion from a storage closet, retuning to Addison.

“How come you don’t hate me?” she asked as I began to get to work. “Even my own husband, who chose to stay married to me, hates me.”

I sighed, “I don’t know. I did hate you, maybe I still do. But Derek can really hold a grudge so maybe that’s why I look so forgiving in comparison. But I have a hard time hating and turning my back on the people who were my family, even if they hurt me in the worst way possible.”

“I really am sorry. Mark and I, we regret everything.”

“I’m so sick of apologies. Do you know how many times Mark said he was sorry yesterday?”

“I heard he was here. And that he punched one of your friends, Karev.”

“Yeah, always been a bit possessive. Of course that’s painfully ironic now,” I laughed bitterly. “Alright, that’s as much as I can do for you right now. Apply more tonight.”

~

“Hey,” I heard Mark’s gruff voice gently coax me out of my thoughts. I turned, finding him in scrubs, his surgical gown open and flowing behind him. He always looked so good in scrubs.

“Hey,” I replied. “I heard about Jake. I’m so sorry.” Cristina had told me that the lionitis patient had died almost immediately after Derek had opened his head up. I felt bad for the kid, he had been so excited for a normal face.

He shrugged, taking a seat next to me. He sighed, pulling off his scrub cap. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t give him a sense of normalcy. But I talked to his parents, they said I could still do the surgery post mortem so he could be buried the way he wanted. Wanna help?”

I thought for a second. On one hand I didn’t want to continue to entertain the idea that Mark had a chance with me. On the other I needed to cut so desperately. “Sure, why not?”

He smiled. “Atta girl.”

We went down to the autopsy room in order to do the procedure and I had to admit it felt nice. I used to love performing surgery with Mark. It was always a comfortable silence while we worked together and when we did talk it was easy. Moments like this and memories of moments like this made it so hard to stop loving him. As we worked quietly I really thought for the first time since he came here. I had never really stopped loving him and even though I never wanted to see him again, a small part of me was relieved he tried so hard to find me and now he’s fighting for me.

By the time Jake’s parents came down to see him I was an emotional wreck. Seeing them grieve for their son made me burst. “I’m sorry,” I choked, stepping into a back room.

Mark was beside me in a second, closing the door for privacy. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, a distressed look on his face. I just crossed my arms, looking at the floor, trying to force down my emotions. I wanted to be strong enough to not tell him how I felt but I felt his finger underneath my chin. He pulled my face up to meet his concerned eyes. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me.”

I swallowed harshly, unwilling to tell him. “I miss you,” I relented. “I miss us. I am haunted by you. I didn’t even realize I still loved you until you showed up. But it hurts. It hurts to love and miss you because you hurt me.” I could feel the tears slipping down my face and my throat straining against the sobs. “You hurt me so bad, Mark, and now I can’t trust you. I used to say that cheating is it, I’d never be able to forgive cheating but the worst part is that I want to forgive you. And I can’t forgive you and love you and still have any self respect.”

“C’mere,” Mark sighed, pulling me into a hug. I broke down, sobbing into his chest. “Sleeping with Addison was a mistake, one I fully own up to and take responsibility for. And I’m gonna tell you this not because I want you to feel bad or I think you should have any of the blame but the reason I did it was because I wanted you to notice me. You were at the hospital all the time and I knew then, and know now, that that wasn’t your choice. I guess it was just hard for me to see you be independent because it felt like you were so dependent on me for so long and I liked that you needed me. And I’m sorry for trying to hold you back and for hurting you in order to hold you back but please, let me help you grow and succeed now. That’s all I want in the world.”

“Promise not to hurt me again,” I demanded.

“I promise. You have my full permission to cut off my testicles if I do.”

“Okay,” I laughed. “I’m in, Mark. I’m in it to make our marriage work.” I tilted my head up to look at him as I spoke.

“Thank you,” he beamed in relief. “Thank you,” he repeated in a relieved whisper.

Masterlist

[luxthestrange]

TWST Incorrect quotes#533 HE IS MINE

When You Found Out...Some Great Value Corpse Bride took Idia, Ortho didn't have to finish his sentence for your help when you asked him where is the blastcycle Ignyhide was working on

Ortho*Seeing that the school and area are locked down*Everything is locked down! How are we gonna get in?

Yuu*On the Front turning on the blastcycle and telling ortho to put a song...and another that fits the mood*

"F*ck you up! Harveston Hits"-

Yuu*Has hands on the handles looking at the last rescue gang*Buckle up my ortho~WE'RE DOING A SHREK!~

-At the wedding-

Idia*Was putting on his suit and being held to be in place along with Eliza and sobbing that no one is coming to save him, leaning away from Eliza whose puckered lips are going closer to his*

CRAAAAAAASH

Ace*Peeks into the now broken wall hole at the wedding*WE OBJEEECT!?

Yuu*Getting out of the vehicle and jumping on the ground to look at the Ghosts with glaring seething hatred at Eliza*YOU WANT MY HUSBAND...YOUR GONNA HAVE TO KILL ME!?!

Eliza*Rolls eyes and snaps her fingers and points to you signaling her Nanny and Gramps to take care of you all*

You soon enough launch yourself toward one the biggest ghost and...MASSACRETING THEM IN YOUR PATH OF WRATH...

GuardGhost*Frowning*WHAT THE -THEY'RE JUST A HUMAN!*Moves out of the way from a soldier ghost that falls near being chocked by their own ghost tail thingy, grabs him, and pushes him towards the angry human*THEY'RE JUST ONE HUMAN! TAKE CARE OF-*Stops talking when the one SAME ghost was killed in an instant he pushed him their way*

Idia*Taken aback by You easily making your way thru the ghosts*...

Rook*Backs you up but is soon grabbed by you and is used like a bat to hit another ghost*

Yuu*As you get on the dented blastcycle again and drive around the vehicle destroying the cake, tables, and seats on your path you speed up to the altar with an enraged glare at Eliza but stop at the last min, get off punch the last ghost standing on your path, Glaring up at the Ghost Bride*...

Eliza* Looks down at you as you grab Idia and throw him over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and rolls her eyes and huffs*...

Yuu*Looking at her, pointing at Idia's ass and then at self*THIS ASS IS MINE!?!*Slaps Idia's ass to emphasize that*

Idia*Eyes widen and blush as he looks extremely happy thru his eyes*!?!?

Ortho*With the biggest sparkly eyes seeing you carry his big brother and grabbing his hand to take the both of them home*...Can you please really marry my brother...

I HAVE BEEN HOLDING THIS ONE TILL THE EVENT WENT OUT AGAIN-

You went full ghostbuster on their white tails...

The Guys + Crowley*After witnessing what you did*

The Men were rendered speechless-

[brabblesblog]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Chapter 16: What's left of kisses? Wounds, however, leave scars.

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Astarion and Ban attend the debutante's ball.

Professionally edited and collaborated on by my dearest friend <3 @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Art by Naaty

For a smutty render go to the AO3 link :P

She sat at the table, watching the debutante pass by. Corrinne glided by in a massive pink tulle gown - a showstopper, for sure, Ban thought - a gaggle of her friends trailing behind her.

The party hadn’t been too bad, all told, the food decent and the wine palatable. Astarion had disappeared sometime during the proceedings, arm in arm with Meiros. She’d been introduced to the master of the mirror-makers’ guild, had shaken his hand and smiled politely, but the man had seemed keen on holding negotiations with her husband alone. Astarion had shot her an apologetic look and left, but hadn’t protested at all, which was odd.

It was not an uncommon occurrence - some of the people they dealt with did not mind having her present, but inevitably some did. The first time someone had asked for Astarion to keep his spouse waiting outside he had seethed, about to launch into a tirade, when she had grabbed his wrist and told him to just go along with it - it would be quick, and it would be easier than offending someone they needed to cozy up to.

He had given her a long-winded talk that evening. She sipped her glass, smiling ruefully at the memory.

“What is the point,” he thundered, “of all this effort to mark you as my equal, if at the first sign of resistance you give in?”

She watched him tug off his shirt, tossing it away with a little more venom than he normally would. “I just think that some of the time we have to let them have their way. Easier than arguing and potentially losing out on-”

“I don’t care!” Astarion marched to her, placing his palms on the tub and leaning over where she was soaking. “We are to be wed soon. I would not have those morons think you’re…” he gestured with a hand, “you’re still some…”

“Consort? I mean, we still do use that term, at times.” Not in private, not in most circumstances, but in certain circles, yes.

He exhaled. “Consort, fine, when we must. Some plaything of mine, absolutely not.” Crimson burned into her, his anger evident, with lingering traces of guilt as well. She covered the hand grasping the tub with her own.

“Consorts can wait outside for their lords, Astarion, every once in a while. It’s fine.”

He deflated, eyes softening. “I’d still want to at least insist on your presence being invaluable to me.”

“If those people want me out of the room, saying so would merely make you seem weak.”

Astarion tugged off his trousers and underwear, grumbling to himself. He stepped into the tub and sat down, still glaring at her. “I’ve half a mind to invite whoever asks that of me to a party, lock all the doors, and…”

He let the thought sit, a small smirk dancing across his lips. She laughed. “Do that, and we’ll have all the nobles of Baldur’s Gate on our tails. Don’t.”

“The request you plan to make, if you do make it, can easily be done,” Meiros said, tapping his hands on the mahogany desk he was seated at. Astarion was pacing back and forth, rubbing his chin. “If I understand correctly - this is for your wife, is it not?”

“Which is why I asked you to request to meet me alone,” Astarion answered.

Meiros nodded. “Roderich hasn’t been the most active member the past few years, something his fellow guildmates and I are frankly pleased about. When I found out you were marrying a Glasscraft, I had assumed I would never see you outside my door, so imagine my surprise when you showed up.”

“And I suppose no one has seen any Glasscraft other than Roderich himself?”

“You’d be correct. There was only ever him. Oh, he used to say he had a loving wife at home, and two wonderful children to take over his business, but,” Meiros shrugged, “as I said. He stopped showing up to guild events. He’s still well-known, of course, with his gaggle of old, loyal customers, but we all assumed he was working on some new secret method or some such. When I heard about Barcus’ advancements in the mines, I thought Roderich might have already gotten his hands on that material.”

Astarion stopped pacing to lean on a chair, hands wrapped around its back. “Last time I purchased a mirror from him he was still harping on mercury being the best.”

“Then he is woefully behind.” Meiros stood up. “Well. If you do wish to push this through, I would be more than delighted to fulfill your request. I’m sure most of the members would have no complaints, either. A pleasure doing business with you, Lord Ancunín.”

The men shook hands.

Ban saw the side door open and Meiros walked in, followed by Astarion. The talks seemed to have gone well; they were chatting animatedly. She watched as he waved his daughter over to be introduced. Corrinne flounced to her father’s side, or at least attempted to - the rather large skirt bumped people’s legs as she passed - and finally arrived in front of the two men.

The girl’s eyes widened as she took in Astarion, and Ban smirked inwardly. He kissed Corrinne’s hand and her face flushed beet red. Ban leaned back, enjoying the show, sipping her wine absently; with Astarion’s mind unlinked from hers, it merely tasted dull.

It was fine. She knew her husband was accustomed to shallow admirers, and Ban was used to people who’d look at him, look at her, and deem her unworthy of him - just like Corrinne was doing now. Ban caught that furtive glare aimed her way, the quick up-and-down movement that told her the girl was sizing her up and found her lacking, and the satisfied grin on her face as she turned back to Astarion. Nothing new, nothing surprising, and nothing he couldn’t handle.

She found herself scanning the rest of the room, more than a little bored. She noted Meiros talking to another guest, gesturing towards Astarion. Likely he was discussing whatever their meeting had been about. The other guest looked intrigued, and Ban pondered again what her husband could be up to with the guild. She continued her visual roam around the party, finding nothing else of note taking place.

As her eyes made their way back to them, her husband’s eyes locked onto hers, and she raised her glass in greeting, amused. She was about to lean back and continue watching when she realized that Astarion hadn’t moved - was frozen, in fact. The pinched eyes, that slight part of his lips, and the furrow of his brow told her all she needed to know. In the same instant she recognized it, she felt his mind prod hers.

There were no words, just a flash of memory - from mere seconds ago, gauging by the expression on his face.

Corrinne laughed, bending over to do so, making sure Astarion received an eyeful of her rather ample bosom. She grabbed his shoulder. “Oh, sorry, Lord Astarion. I didn’t mean to. It’s just these shoes…” She made a show of falling off-balance, likely a little more drunk than she ought to be, and he automatically caught her elbow to steady her. The size of her skirt meant that to do so Astarion had to lean in somewhat, and she took the opportunity to step closer to his body, the skirt bunching up between them.

Meiros had already walked away, talking to a passing guest. Corrinne shot Astarion a coy look; Astarion - and through him, Ban - felt her thigh press between his legs, hidden by the voluminous dress. Corrine ran her hand from his shoulder to his neck - Ban felt him shiver - and then dragged her nails down his chest to his hip. The thigh pressed against him harder. “We could sneak away for a few minutes, handsome,” she purred. “I don’t think your wife would mind.”

The effect was instantaneous. His thoughts flicked through old, haunting memories, his grip on her tightening incrementally. There was a boiling rage, a near-overwhelming urge to snap Corrinne’s neck - held back solely by the fact that he needed to be in Meiros’ good graces and the presence of the countless guests at the party.

“I am not interested,” he ground out, a sneer pasted on his face, “regardless of whether or not she would mind.”

Ban felt his impotent rage shifting into panic, held at bay and hidden behind the veneer of his cold dismissal. His breathing hitched, pulse picking up, posture stiffening; something that Corrinne seemed to have interpreted as interest, despite his words. She kept talking.

Ban’s eyes snapped back to him. He was still staring at her, expression blank, holding Corrinne’s elbow while she chattered away. Ban’s hand instinctively closed around the hilt of the sword she wasn’t carrying, bile rising in her throat. She felt warm all over, enraged, but in a way she’d never felt before. The feeling was completely foreign and it took her utterly by surprise, but it also felt like it was something that had always been a part of her, lying dormant until this moment.

She stood up.

As she began cutting her way through the crowd, Meiros wandered even further away, heading for the guest’s table. Thanking the gods for that small blessing, Ban reached Astarion’s side. She cleared her throat, leveling a searing glare at the vapid young woman and then at her hand, still caressing Astarion’s hip. “Kindly take your hand off my husband, if you want to keep it attached to your body.”

Corrine looked down at her, nose wrinkling. “You must be Missus Ancunín,” she said, offering a dainty hand, the same one she’d been touching him with. She had not backed away from Astarion, her body still pressed against his.

Ban did not take the proffered hand. “Indeed I am, and that’s my husband you are clinging to. How… unbecoming. You must be drunk, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,” Ban replied coolly, “because I assume, were you in control of your faculties, you wouldn’t dream of offending your father’s guests in this manner. I’m quite sure your father would take a very dim view of you accosting his business partner with that thigh, Corrinne.”

She blanched, blinking furiously. “I- um…”

“Put your leg down, and take a step back. Unless you want me to either tell your father you’ve just groped a married man, who has important business dealings with him, or you want to wake up bloodied and broken on this ballroom floor. Either way,” she smiled pleasantly, “I’ll be the one going home with him. He is not yours, Corinne, and never will be.”

Through it all she could feel Astarion slowly calming. He slipped his hand away from Corrinne, trembling ever so slightly. As Ban finished speaking and Corinne stepped back, he finally moved, taking a step towards her.

Ban took his hand. He seemed to look at the ring on her finger for a long moment, then turned to the debutante. “Corrinne. Have a wonderful evening.” The words were completely devoid of emotion, and Ban felt a chill run up her spine.

She linked her arm through his and led the way, him trailing silently. Ban searched for somewhere private to take him. She spied a door, slightly ajar, and made a beeline for it, slipping in and shutting it behind them the moment they were inside.

It was a small study, and she immediately located an armchair. Her eyes returned to her husband’s face. He looked lost and a little scared; his eyes were blank, as if he wasn’t even in there.

“Are you okay?”

He blinked, then his expression snapped into one of chilly indifference. She noted it, the way his jaw clenched and was forcibly relaxed. “Fine,” he said, the falseness clear as day. He tugged at his sleeve. “That was nothing new. I’ve had my fair share of advances, and that was one of the most amateur attempts I’ve ever seen - to be expected of course, given her youth. One would ideally press their thigh in a grinding motion, not ram it straight up,” he scoffed.

She guided him towards the armchair. “Sit, Astarion.” He did so, but his mouth kept moving, a desperate attempt at feigning nonchalance.

“Of course I could have simply told her not to, or pushed her off, or threatened her - a million options, really - however, offending her father would not have been ideal for our plans. I-”

She knelt in front of him and grasped both of his hands. “Look at me. Take a deep breath, and just look at me.”

He trailed off, chest rising and falling far too rapidly for her liking. “I said I’m fine.”

“You are fine. You’re safe.” She kept her hands on his, avoiding touching him anywhere else, unsure what he could tolerate at the moment.

“Safe,” he repeated. “A fine sentiment, but we never really are, are we?” His shoulders finally sagged, the proud arch of his brow falling as his eyes fell shut. “It’s been more than a year since I’ve been… his, but it still haunts me as if it were merely yesterday.”

The trappings of power, of riches and decadent luxury - none of it mattered when he was faced with the memories of endless hands on him, of thighs pressed between his legs, of needing to slip deep into his mind to escape. It had been one thing to let the twins touch him and sit in his lap to maintain his facade in front of the other vampire lord - it was quite another to be randomly accosted and treated like property when he least expected it.

Ban looked at him, pained. “You were a slave for centuries, my love. It will take more than a year to recover from that. Things will get easier, but sometimes something will remind you of… before, and then it will come back. But I’ll always be here, to help you, to protect you when you need it.”

He smiled, leaning forwards to touch his forehead to hers; she sighed in relief.

“You’d think I’d remember that, but it always catches me off-guard.”

“It does so for me as well.” He sighed as she spoke and his breath fanned over her face. It was slowing, thankfully. “Can I…” she trailed off, and he opened his eyes. He gave a small huff of assent and her arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“You never have to ask, but I find myself grateful that you do.”

He was nestled between her breasts, eyes wide open. The slow ruffling of Ban’s hand through his hair was comforting, although the strands tickled his eyes. He shifted, placing his chin flat on her sternum. Ban returned his gaze.

“Decided you want to read more?” she asked.

“Wasn’t much help.” He rolled over, but grabbed the book anyway. It had been laying facedown on the page he’d given up at. “But I suppose I could give it another shot.” He propped the book on his chest as he leaned against the headboard.

She glanced at him. “I trust your conversation with Meiros went well, at least?”

He grunted, flipping to another page. She waited for a response - none came.

“And?”

He flipped another page, far too fast to actually be reading it. “And things are proceeding as planned. Like I’ve said, Ban. Let me handle it.” There it was again, that edge in his voice.

He hadn’t spoken much after the party. They had gone home, and bathed, but he’d been mostly silent throughout. She’d given him his space, scrubbed him down and allowed him to wash her as they usually did, but then they’d gone to bed and he’d immediately buried himself in his book with nary a word in her direction.

She bit back the urge to simply ignore his distress and leave him be. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Crimson eyes flicked over her for a second - she noted the way his gaze raked over her features, another tell - and he exhaled. “The novel is trite, dry, and the heroine dully heroic.”

Ban covered her face with her hands, choking back a frustrated groan. Do better. “That’s not what I asked, and we both know it. This… isn’t about Corrinne, is it? Or if it is, there’s more.”

Astarion snapped the book shut. It was uncommon for her to see his ire nowadays, much less to be the object of it, but there it was. He exhaled through his nose. “You loathed it when I prodded you. Must you do the same?”

The response died in her mouth. She wasn’t sure how to address it - in the past, stoking the fires of his anger had been a thoughtless thing, fighting back with barbed words second nature - but not anymore. Not that she didn’t feel the petty desire to do so rising in her throat, but she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

She thought for a moment, choosing her next words with care. “Just as I’ve learned to try to open up to you, I hope you will do the same for me.” Taking the book from his hands, she set it down and leaned over. “May I?”

At his nod, she laid over his chest, her head settling against his heart. “You don’t need to. I just want you to feel better,” she murmured.

He was quiet, reaching over to pick the book back up again. The minutes passed, one to ten to thirty, the only sound the occasional turning of pages and the scratch of his fingers against paper, his breathing, and the painfully fast heartbeat thrumming beneath her ear.

She waited.

“No use feigning sleep,” Astarion finally drawled. “You’re mad, aren’t you?”

“Frustrated. Concerned. Not mad.” She felt him shift, his muscled chest rippling under her as he placed an arm under his head, the book still in the other.

“Now you know how it feels,” he said under his breath. As he did so his pulse hammered harder, and Ban decided enough was enough. She placed a hand on his chest, beside her face, watching the ring glint in the moonlight.

“Does that give you some sort of satisfaction? Because I’d understand if it did. But I’d prefer we talk about it.”

That took him by surprise. His eyes locked onto her, wide. She met them without hesitation, watching his expression soften as he finally gave in.

“One - I have no idea who I married a tenday ago, because I’m not exactly sure it’s the Ban I knew.” He laughed humorlessly. “Two - it might be silly,” he looked away, “but I’d thought this would all be… if not over, at least… lessened.”

He set the book down by his side and wrapped an arm around her. “I’m no idiot. I am aware it doesn’t ever truly fade away, but today it caught me unawares.”

“I can’t blame you for that. You haven’t had any encounters like that in a while, nor should you have to expect them in the first place.” The hand on his chest closed into a fist. “If it were not for her father I’d have beaten her where she stood.”

He shrugged. “That’s… not my concern at the moment.” Ban sighed - she had been right. There was more.

“Then what is it?”

She watched his lips part, fangs peeking as he licked his lips nervously. “I worry that in a century, or in five centuries, this will still happen. That it will keep happening again and again, in moments when I least expect it. I will freeze as I did today. It will feel like nothing has changed, no matter how much time has passed. I may never fully…heal.” He took a deep breath, her head rising and falling with it, his heart racing as he finally spoke the fears he’d been haunted by the past few hours. “You’d be spending eternity bound to a pathetic, broken, man.”

Ban shook her head; she couldn’t help taking offense. “I fell in love with you the way you are. Why worry about that? Do you think I’m still that selfish, that I still require you to be a certain way to love you? Because - well, I understand and I’m still working on it, but truly?”

“No. I merely pity you for having to deal with it. I thought the wedding would…” a growl ripped through him, “...would at least fix something.”

“A wedding doesn’t guarantee everything will be sunshine afterwa-”

“Well it should!”

She flinched. He tightened his grip on her. “I worry about how this will affect us, in the long term.” He raised her hand to the light, admiring the ring on her finger. “Affect our marriage. I could not forgive myself if I lost this simply because I couldn’t let go of the ghosts of the past. I worry that I will whittle your patience down into nothing; that with each incident I further drain the wellspring of your heart dry.”

“Astarion.” He let her hand go, eyes snapping back to her face. “Listen. When I made my vows, they were made for both the good and the bad. I love you. All of you. That includes this, and whatever other worries you have. I love you-” she poked his chest, “and everything that comes with you, ghosts included. Maybe it will take a century, or five, or maybe it will never fully heal. But either way, I will be here, and I will help you, and protect you, and love you through it all. No matter how many Corinnes come our way.” She poked the tip of his nose. He wrinkled it in response, apparently still unwilling to let his pique go.

“There will be many, Ban. There will always be more. Men and women, everywhere we go. Unwelcome as it is,” and there it was again, the way his eyes scanned her face, “they will keep coming. They will keep seeing you as a trivial obstacle in their path, and they will be wrong, but they will think it and try all the same.”

“And that bothers you, because…”

“Does it not bother you?”

It was her turn to look away. She was silent for a beat. “It does. A lot.”

“Oh, it does?” His mouth showed the beginnings of a small snarl. “You seem wholly unfazed by it. Ban, always the picture of indifference, even as some woman-”

“I wanted to rip her head off! Is that what you want to hear?”

He froze, then the edges of his lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Precisely that, yes. You never understood, thinking it was the mere desire to own you that ruled me.”

Ban shifted, resting her chin on his sternum. He took a deep breath. “I made mistakes. I sought to keep you in a way that was twisted. But some of it…” he seemed to have finally cooled off, softly stroking her cheek, “...some of it I still feel was valid.”

“Halsin.”

Astarion nodded. “There is… was, a lot of indignation due to the fact that you brought me to his camp, without feeling it necessary to tell me why, or anything else at all, for that matter. That you didn’t respect me, or us, enough to communicate.” He bit his lip, and she shook her head.

“I won’t be mad, or punish you. Please. Keep going.”

“I thought you wished to rekindle whatever you two had, whether it be for a tryst or for something more serious. At the time I said you were not mine to hoard in such a manner, but…”

She felt him tense underneath her, and nuzzled his chest encouragingly. He ran his hands through the back of her hair in silent gratitude.

“You understand that some of what I felt was warranted, do you not?” He searched her face, and she reached up to cup his cheek. “Please.” He shut his eyes. “Tell me you do.”

“I do. The idea that you could be taken from me, even unwillingly… It made me so angry. Just seeing her touch you… I think it finally sank in.” She cleared her throat. “I understand that taking you to Halsin like that was uncalled for, and you deserved better. I handled it especially badly, given the fact that he and I…”

He flapped a hand. “That we have talked about. It was the visit that I’ve never dared bring up.”

“You worried that I’d leave you over it.”

“That, and that you wouldn’t understand.” He opened his eyes again, met hers with a sad smile. He ruffled her hair. “You’ve spent so long bristling under men who sought to own you that you never learned that belonging to someone can also be a beautiful thing. I have been yours throughout our time together, and it has given me nothing but safety, care, and love.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “You… that was legitimately the last thing I expected to hear from you.”

“I spent two centuries learning what it meant to be someone’s property,” he reminded. “Cazador owned me. I belong to you. There’s a vast difference. And you? You are mine.” The last word was growled, and Ban felt heat pool between her legs. He lifted her hand, the one with his ring on it. “Belonging to you is no curse, binding myself to you no hardship. That is what I wish for you to comprehend - that my jealousy is not monstrous, as misguided as my first times feeling it were.”

“You want what we have to be respected. By me, by everyone.”

“And for you to see that I don’t wish to own you, but I do want you to belong to me and only me.”

Ban considered this, considered the venomous fury that had risen in her at the sight of Corrinne pressed against her husband. That rage, the split-second urge to sink fangs into her neck and drink her dry, or break every one of her bones… It had been powerful. It had come after the initial concern for Astarion, of course, but it had been there, surprising her with its intensity.

To belong. Still a bit frightening to her, but she could not deny his words - could not deny the way she’d felt tonight, nor deny the ring on her finger.

“I’m sorry, my love,” she said, the words slipping out with ease, to her relief. “I couldn’t understand it, or even imagine how it would feel, until today.”

Astarion’s tension ebbed, the lines on his face easing as he exhaled. His hand drifted away from her to pick up the book. “Thank you. I think I shall rest easier knowing that.”

“You’ll still be reading, though?” She nodded at the book.

“I’m afraid sleep will come with far less ease than it usually does tonight. Not your fault,” he added quickly.

“Then I’ll keep you company.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then began to read the book, flicking back a few pages to where he’d actually last understood what his eyes were running over. As he did Ban settled against his sternum, the now-slow beating of his heart lulling her into sleep, much as she fought it.

As she lost the fight and her eyelids drooped shut Astarion watched, amused. He didn’t move her, eyes moving back to his book. It helped that she understood, but he couldn’t help the small pang of worry that niggled at his mind still.

The rite had not fixed him, nor had his marriage. Would time really do so? A foolish thought, he knew, expecting all of his wounds to be healed by a simple ceremony, but part of him had… hoped. It had been largely absent in his mind until today’s painful reminder, and he wished he could have ripped that girl apart for her insolence. Instead he had frozen, mind searching for his wife’s, seeking solace.

He flipped to the next page. None of the words made sense.

And if time failed to heal those wounds, would it one day push them apart? He could almost taste it for a brief moment, the vision filling his mind-

Ban, in her armor and with her weapon slung over her shoulder. Servants hurrying out, bags and bags of her clothes and belongings carried to their carriage. He could see himself on his throne, the house already cold and tomblike, as if it was already mourning her departure. He would have his hands gripping the armrests, digging in until they cracked, resisting the urge to drag her back in, because he refused to do that ever again, even if losing her again would kill him. But every fiber of him would want to.

He would let the flowers wilt, let the palace fall into ruin. He would rot, because there would be nothing else for him, and nothing would matter but her memory. He would wander these empty halls and wait, deluding himself that she’d be back, because she’d come back once, hadn’t she? Perhaps he would seek an end to his misery. Create spawn, unleash whatever chaos he could, hoping someone would lop his miserable head off his shoulders. Perhaps she would. Or perhaps he would find her, beg for her return. She would do so again wouldn’t she, she wouldn’t leave, please, never again-

“Astarion.”

He flinched, looking down at her. She rubbed his chest.

“You were breathing hard. I could hear your heart pounding.” She crawled upwards so that they were eye to eye.

“Oh.” He waved the book at her. “Exciting part came up. It wasn’t all drivel after all.”

She raised an eyebrow, and he exhaled. There would be no way to fool her. “Too many thoughts,” he finally said. “Too many fears, ones that I’m afraid even the sweetest words cannot assuage. There’s no scrying the future, after all.”

“No.” She shook her head. “We can only really see today. And today, you are mine, and you are loved.” She pressed her lips against his, a chaste, gentle kiss that he couldn’t help but deepen. His hand fisted in her hair, gripping hard. The other wrapped around her waist, pressing her against him, his hips grinding against hers, the intent clear.

“Promise me,” he hissed, “that I will always be yours.”

She nodded, but that wasn’t enough. He pulled at her hair, tugging her head back. “Say it.”

“You’re mine,” she growled, slowly moving lower as the hand on her hair guided her downwards. There was a catch in her voice as she said it.

“Don’t hold back,” Astarion snarled, pulling the sheets off them. He could see the simmering anger behind her gaze, held at bay for most of the night, for his sake. “I don't need you to be proper. Show me who I bel- fuck.”

She had grasped his cock, given it a long, slow stroke. His expression softened as she licked along the shaft to the tip. She licked off a bead of precum, savoring the salty, tangy taste that was purely him. Her eyes searched his. “I wasn't sure if I should touch you. If tonight that would be welcome or not. But I'm glad you wanted to. I… I need it too.”

At that she swallowed him down, suckling his head, her tongue swirling in a teasing circle. Bucking helplessly against her, Astarion groaned, hand tightening in her hair. Her fingers stroked the rest of him, her other hand fondled his balls. It felt good - wonderful, even - and much needed, but-

He nudged her then got on his knees, cock proudly jutting out, glistening with her saliva, begging to be sucked. Ban thankfully understood, getting on all fours. He looked at her for a long moment, taking everything in - the swell of her ass, her muscled back and shoulders, her eyes filled with desire for him.

“My sweet Ban. Always eager to please,” he purred.

Her mouth took him in, deeper this time, the sudden return of warmth and suction causing his hips to jerk. He fucked her mouth, leaning back to support himself, hips rolling slowly, soft moans the only sound from his lips. He relished the feel of her swallowing around him, tongue laving its attention on every part of his cock. She was his, and he was hers. He tilted his head back, lost in the ocean of his desire.

Only she would be allowed to touch him like this, to see him like this, to love him like this. She wanted him - but not just that. Loved him. The real him. Not just his face, or his body, or his honeyed words. The true core of him. The good, and the bad, and the pieces he would show no one but her.

He threaded his fingers into her hair once more, enjoying the feeling of holding her while she claimed him. She brought one of her hands up to grip his hip and pull him further down her throat, her nails digging into the side of his ass hard enough to bruise. He let out a loud groan, her forcefulness driving him to the brink.

Hers. He was hers no matter what anyone else said or did, and the way she was swallowing him down right now - not even breathing, just burying him deep into her throat with an aggression he rarely saw from her - told him she also wanted to be reassured of that same fact.

“Show me,” he gasped, lost to the building pressure in his balls, thighs burning, “show me exactly who I belong to, who I give myself to, the only one who will ever make me co-”

She gave him one long, hard suck, tongue flicking against his underside, up to the slit of his cock, her loud moan vibrating against his cockhead, and he came apart, erupting into her mouth with one last hard thrust and a wild, needy groan. She swallowed, humming appreciatively as she did, intensifying his pleasure as her throat pulsed around him. She continued swirling her tongue around his length until he finally pulled out, gasping. Ban sat up, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, her eyes dark with possessiveness and satisfaction.

“Mine. I promise you that.”

He felt a pleasant shiver run down his spine. He was so relieved she finally understood.

The night passed in relative peace after that, with Ban asleep on his chest as he read. His mind was at ease, and the words on the pages finally made sense.

[factorydefaultlu]

Hiii

could you write to dark yandere daemon❤ aemond❤ aegon❤ let them know that her dear and beloved wife is drinking moon tea to avoid getting pregnant 😖❤ thank you ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ take care 🐞🐞🐞

Hiii

Conent warning: Dark Themes.

Aemond was ecstatic about his betrothel to his wife. He could finally keep what was his to himself.

You however were less than pleased. You knew your days of walking the castle and city alone were over. He would hardly leave your side, and when he did you were locked away tightly in your shared chambers.

Aemond bedded you often, focusing all his attention on you and basking in the sounds you made just for him.

A baby would only hold you to him tighter. You knew you could never bare him a child, or else your last hope of freedom would be stripped away.

You passed a note to a servant, weeks after your marriage. You had asked her to discreetly bring you moon tea once a week.

Aemond luckily did not notice this, the tea was creatively placed on the platter with the rest of the ensemble everytime. You always knew what cup was yours and you were quick to grab it everytime.

Unfortunately for you, the tea arrived early one night. You had just sunk yourself into the bath when you heard glass shattering.

You sat up quickly, and Aemond came storming into the bathroom. He was seething with rage.

"Why? Why would you poison yourself with that shit?!" the prince grabbed your arm and pulled you from the bath.

You gasped at his rough tug and how the cold air hit your wet body. Aemond began dragging you to the bedroom.

"I'm going to put a baby in you and you will give me a son."

Aegon knew he wasn't the best husband, so why would he want to add a child in the mix. He was perfectly happy being with his wife, fucking her as much as he wanted and being completely childless.

Or so he thought.

There was hardly a night when he didn't fuck you, so why was your belly not swelling? Were you infertile? Was he infertile?

No he can't be many servant girls had been impregnated by him, they always drank moon tea to get rid of it though.

Moon tea.

Aegon was mad, did his wife think him so unfit to be a father that she'd terminate her pregnancies without even consulting him?

He rushed to his chambers, startling his wife. "What is it you need?" you ask

"You. You have been drinking moon tea haven't you." he was breathless.

"Yes, you don't want children."

"You never asked me."

"I didn't know I had to."

Aegon would grab your jaw tightly, and drug you into a kiss.

"You're having my baby, I'll make sure of it."

You were married to Daemon on an arrangement. A marriage of politics and not love.

He still bedded you when he would come back from his battles and political meetings.

You were glad he was gone for weeks at a time, it was easy to drink the moon tea and let it take affect.

This did not slip Daemon's mind however. He noticed that even when he would stay with her for months, fucking her nightly, that she never swelled.

Daemon immediately knew what was going on.

"Do you think I'm a bad man?"

He asked you one night while laying in bed.

"No, why would you ask that?"

"Do you think I'm deserving of a child?" he looked at you sternly.

"Of course, where is this coming from?"

"Why is it that you deprive me of one then?" he didn't answer you, continuing his interrogation.

You finally understood what he meant.

"You're never around, the child would never truly know their father." you felt guilty telling him this.

"Then I will stay, I won't ever leave your side unless I absolutely have to. I want you to have my children, and I want those children to know me and love me as much as they love you."

Daemon would start kissing at your neck. You smiled at his adament promise.

"Let's make that baby then."

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [3]

description: With Marc and Steven captured by Harrow's men, Layla has no choice but to work with her ex-husbands mistress to get them and the scarab to safety. But things take a turn when Seth comes to reap his reward. word count: 9.4k trigger warnings: GORE, blood, Dove absolutely wrecks the jackals I won't lie. Very explicit imagery used for their deaths. Swearing. Layla thinks Dove is the mistress and is angry, talks of dove not owning her body anymore, talks of having bodily autonomy taken away. Quick hint at Dove's dark past. main masterlist | series masterlist

authors note: I hate writing action scenes so if this seems rushed or bad I'm sorry, action is not my strongest point!

Please reblog and comment for your authors!

She watched as Steven was led in cuffs to the black BMW that gave away no hint at being a real police car, eager to scramble back into his apartment from off the moss covered rooftop that had her second death of the week written all over it. 

Layla was quick to hop back inside behind her, nearly shoving her out the way to get to her backpack. 

“They wouldn’t kill him, would they? Marc said-” The younger woman started, trailing after Layla like a lost dog. This was way out of her depth. The way Marc had described it made it seem like he had it under control. About as under control as Egyptian Gods and resurrecting dead people goes, that is. He had said nothing about his ex-wife showing up or Steven being taken hostage by police impersonators. 

Layla stopped at the sound of her husband’s name leaving the girl’s lips. 

“Mention Marc one more time and you are walking to wherever Harrow is taking him, you hear me?” Layla seethed, looking at her with eyes cold as ice despite being a beautiful, warm brown. 

Dove choked on her words for a moment, swallowing whatever she was going to come back with and instead choosing to nod once. 

“Yes- Sorry-” 

“Good,” The woman hissed, turning on her heel and heading for the front door. “And remember what I said about talking,”

“Gotcha- right,” She stammered in reply. Layla was more intimidating than Marc had been, more than Donna even. He was annoyed when they’d spoken, sure. Cold? Absolutely. But to Layla, she was actively a pest. A bug. A rodent that had crawled into her marriage bed and weaselled her way into her husband’s life. Which wasn’t true of course. But she understood that Layla had more than enough reason to be upset with her. 

Heading after the woman, hot on her heels, she bit her tongue the entire minute they spent in the elevator, neither of them willing to start a conversation with the other. Whether it be pride (Layla) or sheer wanting to avoid getting punched in the stomach (Dove), the two women stayed silent until the metal box dinged and released them from the horribly tense atmosphere. 

Layla set off for her moped that she’d parked on the road, unlatching the red leather seat upwards to reveal a spare helmet in the cubby. Shoving the smooth, maroon hard hat into the younger woman’s arms, Layla strapped her own onto her head and swung a leg over the caboose. 

Dove followed suit, hopping onto the back, her arms faltering slightly as she looked for some kind of handle to hold onto. 

“What now?” The driver’s annoyed voice snapped as she caught on to the fussing from behind her. 

“Where do I put my arms?” Said a quiet tone, hating the helplessness in her voice yet the embarrassment was too much for her to have asked otherwise. Layla rolled her eyes, grabbing the woman’s hands and bringing them around her waist.

“Just hold on,” She ordered, a hum of energy blasting into the engine as she kicked off the curb and set off. The motor jumped to life, and the two women were speeding after the fraudulent fed car in no time. She clutched onto the front woman for dear life; she had always hated amusement park rides, and she was sure Layla was at least somewhat tempted to stage an accident with the way their morning had gone. 

“I’m really not sleeping with Marc, you know,” She braved to speak, gripping tighter in fear the single comment would tip her counterpart over the edge. 

“What did I say about-”

“I know! I know!” She called, loud enough for Layla to hear her over the bustle of London traffic, “I just wanted you to believe me. You’re more than right to be unhappy with him. Truth be told, the one time I’ve met him, he’s not exactly been a charmer.”

That seemed to perk up his ex wife’s ears. “You’ve only met once?”

“Yes. Like I said, I work with Steven at the museum. I only met Marc this morning when he told me-” She cut herself off, unsure of just how much he would want Layla knowing. How much she already knew. She didn’t even know he had a dissociative disorder, it wouldn’t be wrong for her to assume his wife wasn’t privy to other things too.

Maybe that was why they were divorcing? But that was none of her business. 

“Told you what?” Layla pushed, which only caused the girl at the rear to sigh heavily. Layla didn’t need to know much. And besides, it was her burden to bear now, not Marc’s. She could tell her if she wished. Hell, perhaps Layla could even help her seeing as she already knew so much about the scarab. 

“He told me,” She paused, coming to terms with how insane she was about to sound if Layla didn’t know much about her husband’s second, well third, life. “He said I died being chased by one of Harrow’s jackals, and the only way for him to save me was to give my body up to Setekh in exchange for becoming his avatar,”

Layla was quiet for a moment, the car Steven was in not too far ahead of them as she hung back to avoid suspicion. 

And then, after a few seconds, she laughed. 

Loud and bitter, but laughed at her nonetheless. 

“I just told you I fucking died, and you’re laughing?” Her passenger asked, aghast, which only made Layla laugh again. “Well, fuck you too,”

“No, sorry, it’s just,” The woman shook her head, taking a semi sharp right in order to stay on their tail, “Trust Marc to meddle in someone’s life and end up keeping her around because he feels guilty,” 

Her face warmed. So Layla really did know her husband then. 

“His meddling saved my life,” She tried to protest, the image of Marc’s eyes softening slightly when she’d grabbed his hand that same morning flashing in her mind. Without Marc, she wouldn’t be here. She tried to pretend the idea he was only keeping her around because he felt responsible for her now didn’t sting. 

At least Steven wanted her around. For now, that is.

“Did it?” Layla asked, all remnants of humour gone, replaced with a cold seriousness. Not mean like she had been all day, moreso a sobering tone of reality, “My father told me every story there was about Seth.”

“He’s a historian?” Dove asked, curiosity winning over her bitterness that the woman had laughed at her. She thought now maybe it was out of disbelief, maybe even pessimism at hearing the nefarious god’s name.

“No, an archeologist,” Layla replied, “He said Setekh was once worshipped as a way of protecting crops and villages from the storms he created. He said it was thought because he was the god of foreigners he was responsible for all the oppressors attacking the people. He became the one who caused all the bloodshed, the evil, the barbarity. Every bit of chaos and violence was down to his hand,” The woman said, speaking with a passion for her country it was clear she had lived, slept and breathed everything her father taught her, “It was said while Anubis was the first God of the Dead, Osiris took the role during the later centuries. And when his brother, Seth, slaughtered him and scattered him in pieces around the world, he took on the title of God of the Dead,” 

“Glad I’m not invited to that family reunion, then,” The other girl muttered from her place at the rear of the bike. Layla smirked to herself, not willing to let the younger woman know she’d drawn a small smile from her.

“They were always at each other's throats. And when they weren’t, they were usually marrying their sisters.” To which Dove recoiled in horror. The BMW started slowing down ahead of them, which they were both quick to notice as it took a right hand turn into a less populated area. The sky had been quick to overcast shadows, the April air turning cold and darker fast. As if someone up there knew what was coming. 

“Lovely,” She mused, “Well, my family doesn’t talk to me anymore so I’m sure we’ll be okay as far as incest marriages go,”

Layla’s expression faltered. She hadn’t expected the quiet mouse of a girl to drop something so heavy, yet it was clear from her widened gaze she didn’t quite mean to say that so bluntly. To set off such a bomb on their already awkward ride. The striking woman wheeled up onto a curb around the corner from the narrow street the car had pulled into, trying to avoid the gazes of the few people they saw communing there. 

Cutting the engine and hopping off the seat, Layla held the bike steady as the other woman did the same, all but falling off the back of the moped with a newborn fawn-like grace. 

The two women looked at one another, the younger one handing the helmet over sheepishly. “Look, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot,” Dove murmured, unable to quite meet the beautiful woman’s eyes, Layla’s lips neither drawn into a sneer nor a smile. More a mix between pity and as if she were still weighing up the girl who picked at the loose skin around her nails anxiously.

“It’s alright,” Layla said with a long huff, swinging her bag over her shoulder, “Marc tends to leave people to deal with the shit he gets them into,”

The girl bit her tongue, pleased that she didn’t seem to be on Layla’s hit list anymore. They had bigger things to worry about now, like the fact Steven was essentially kidnapped or that they had yet to find somewhere to keep the scarab hidden. 

She felt it burning in her pocket, as if it were buzzing with the glory of being what everyone had their sights set on; of being such a harbinger of trouble. 

“Maybe so,” She said, handing the jewelled bug over to Layla to keep it safe, “But trusting him is the only hope I’ve got right now. Marc said Seth will be coming for me any day now,”

Layla looked at her for a moment, dark eyes raking over her forlorn figure some few years younger than her. The girl's eyes were soft, new to the world and the shit storm that was about to hit her, but her hands were what gave away her condition. The slightest touch of her fingers to her own where she handed her the scarab and Layla was able to feel just how cold her skin had become. Dead. Corpse like. As if the life truly had been drained out of her ten times over.

She wondered how her younger accomplice would fare as an avatar. Though Layla had swore that once those papers were signed this was not her fight anymore, she couldn’t help worrying just how badly her ex had seemed to mess up this young girl’s life in the space of one evening.

Seth was not a god you wanted to upset. Nor was he one you wanted to be of interest to. If everything that Abdallah El-Faouly had told his sweet daughter was correct, then that girl, barely mid twenties as she was, was in for a lifetime of torment and pain.

“Well, if that’s true, I hate to be the one to tell you to run and hide as soon as you can,” Layla said, her voice empty of emotion but her eyes genuine, “If Seth is the one looking for you, I can guarantee you’ll wish Marc had left you for the jackals,”

“Where is the scarab?” Harrow and his followers cornered Steven, still as lost and dazed as he had been all day. He just hoped that wherever Dove was, she was safe and far away from this mess that his other self had dragged her into. 

“We have it.” Steven’s head whipped around at the sound of Layla’s voice, clear and commanding and filling the abandoned building. 

And sure enough, his sweet friend stood next to her, eyes wide and clearly thrown off by the El-Faouly woman’s plan to draw attention to them. 

“What the hell are you doing?” She whisper-yelled as the two women trailed through the crowd of Ammit’s followers, both of them watching carefully for anyone getting ready to attack them. 

“I’m drawing their attention, Marc will deal with them easily,” Layla replied under her breath as they neared the two men in the centre of the room. It seemed Harrow and his followers had renovated some kind of church or antique building to become a communal hall. Community food lay out on tables around, a projector playing an old documentary on the dusty wall. 

Harrow’s followers didn’t seem to have anything particularly off about them. In fact, they seemed like regular citizens you would see around the streets of London. Nothing about them screamed evil, yet that only served to make them more menacing. They could be anyone, anywhere.

Dove knew all too well villains and monsters didn’t look like Ancient Egyptian mummies or jackals. They looked like regular people, like the man sitting next to you on the train. Like your family friend. Like your milkman. Or your school teacher. Or the shop clerk. Or young, female gift-shoppists that had a hopeless crush on their seemingly married co-worker. 

It didn’t matter who they were, what they looked like, they were tainted to their core. 

“That’s a great plan, except he’s not Marc, he’s Steven,” The young girl hissed, as Harrow stared at her with a smug twinkle in his eye, holding out his rough hand to Layla. 

“You couldn’t possibly understand the value of what you’re holding. Let me have that, I’ll keep it safe,” Harrow asked calmly, though it was clear with the way his focus trained on the jewel that he wasn’t quite so relaxed as he was making believe. 

He was clever with his words, manipulative. Making himself seem honest and responsible to anyone who didn’t understand the scarab. But Layla did. She wasn’t like the ordinary woman Harrow took her for. She was smart beyond belief, and knew more about the legends than Arthur could ever learn from seeing into people’s souls.

“Summon the suit,” Layla ordered under her breath as they reached Steven’s shaken figure. Her almond eyes scoured around the building for the nearest way out as her younger accomplice shook her head in despair and picked at her nails with furrowed brows. 

“Sorry what?” Steven asked, just as Dove had suspected. He had no clue what any of this meant. 

Layla’s brown gaze cut to his, chagrin mixed with a hint of fear boiling up in her expression. “Summon the suit,” She said again, stepping closer to the man who gawked at her with a lost look.

“‘Summon the soup’? What are you saying?” 

“The suit,” She said again, shoving the scarab into his chest, before turning to where Harrow was reaching for his staff. “And keep this safe,” 

“So be it,” Harrow said tiredly. Deciding they were in too thick to continue this little joke of Marc’s, she reached behind her for the younger woman, dragging her towards the only available exit she saw. 

Layla’s frantic brain caught sight of a flight of stairs that led to the first floor: a wide ledge that overlooked the rest of the room and had tiny archways where passageways wove into the sandstone walls, scaffolding and more of the plastic tarp scattered over and around the steps. 

A quick loop around the top of the stairs took them to a second set of steps that led only to an upper ledge and a large arched hallway with natural light coming from the end of it. A fire escape maybe? An open window? Bingo. 

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Layla hurried, grabbing Steven on the way as one of the men lunged at her. She was quick to rip his hand off her arm, shoving him into a table so hard he went tumbling over the edge and knocking into another of his men. 

Forcing Dove ahead of her, Layla directed the young girl towards the first flight of stairs, ducking around the scaffolding that lead to the first floor seemingly still mid-renovation. Steven trailed behind them quickly with a gasp as he dodged another of Harrow’s men. 

Practically swinging around the railing on one hand, Dove felt her tired legs ache as she ascended quickly, the only thing keeping her from stopping being the two people behind her breathing down her neck, relying on her to keep going. The temporary staircase wobbled for a moment as the floor shook, small chunks of brick crumbling free from the delicate wall at the movement. A flash of amethyst purple light reflected around the building, filling the space with something odd; something tense that crawled up her spine, like a foreboding that cut her right through her gut. 

Reaching the first level, she was quick to stop in her tracks as a man ducked out from one of the tiny corridors woven into the stone walls, and lunged for her. She felt Layla dart behind her and start scaling the second flight of stairs to the open door that hopefully spelled freedom. The man was quick enough to grab her wrists, but Steven's arm was swiftly wrapped around her waist, holding her from being thrown off the edge of the barrierless ledge. 

She kicked at the man a few times, desperate for him to let her go. That is until she got one of her hands free and was able to grab him by the collar of his coat. 

Remembering how tightly she had been able to grip Marc’s arm that morning, she found it unnaturally easy enough to lift the man a solid few inches off the ground, the stitches of his clothes ready to give way at his body weight. The menacing look on his face dropped when he realised with a cold slap to the face that no amount of holding onto her arms could do anything seeing as she had him scruffed and held like a little dog that was misbehaving. 

He let out a sharp squeal as she threw him with ease over the edge and down the ten foot drop, not enough to kill but enough to hear a loud crack from his ribs and legs.

“How on earth did you do that?” Steven asked, his baffled breath rolling over her neck in a way that had her stomach churning up a storm. His arm still held her tight to him as he guided her the way Layla had taken off to, the warmth of his hand alone seeping through her top and onto her bare skin underneath that was still as cold as a cadaver. 

His touch gave her a taste of life again, of humanity.  Like she didn’t exist again in this world until he touched her. As if his hand alone could find her in the afterlife and pluck her back to mortality.

Which technically he had. 

“Come on,” She brushed off his question, urging him towards where Layla was now pummeling the shit out of another assailant that had tried to make a grab for her. She made equally quick work of the attacker, shoving him off the same way the other woman had and sending him flying off the building frame and into a pile of wood that cracked easily with his weight. 

Grabbing both their arms, Layla led the two stunned watchers through the open archway that luckily expanded into a long corridor. Tarp lay around the bottom of the huge windows, moonlight filtering in through the surprisingly clear glass panes being the only thing allowing them to see their way. 

The three sets of footsteps pounded down the stone hallway, Harrow’s chants chasing them through an echo, spoken in Coptic the younger woman had surmised. It seemed her degree in Ancient Languages wasn’t entirely a waste. She was able to grasp at bits and pieces of what he was saying despite the rushing of blood in her ears from her running. 

Something about Ammit’s wrath, eradicating enemies. Calling on the ancient goddess to help him carry out her justice. 

Then came the shriek. Familiar at this point, the vengeful growl that reverberated down the hall and harmonising with Harrow’s hex. 

Summoning pure evil. She caught that part easily as they skidded around the corner awaiting them at the end of the hallway, coming to a set of huge, varnished wood doors. She threw her shoulder into the left one, hearing it give a small creak of protest before it gave way and slowly swung open. 

Her heart dropped as she quickly realised they were at a dead end. It felt almost de ja vu like as they entered the room, her eyes frantic to take in any way out as Layla and Steven rushed to block the entrance off. A thick, brick wall complete with an old fireplace on the right, and two huge windows in front and to her left. By all means it was a beautiful room, but it was an enclosure. A trap. A casket. 

“Here. Bolt the door,” Layla ordered, heaving a metal bar through the handles to give them some sort of protection of whatever it was Harrow was conjuring. 

More tarp over the floors and piles of bricks, dust and building tools, the windows reaching higher than even the ceiling to the museum. Sarcophaguses piled around the room, some fake but most seeming authentic, as ancient as the exhibits she walked past regularly at work, yet they were just thrown to the sides of the abandoned room as if they were not priceless objects. 

A dirty mirror lay to her right leaning against the fireplace, white plastic wrap draped over half of the looking glass, ridden with dust and a deep crack that made it unusable, no doubt why it was dumped here with the rest of the pieces of history they deemed rubbish. 

Layla and her rushed to the windows, Layla taking the one on the left and her heading for the one opposite the door, each attempting to jiggle the bottom of the panes, looking for a latch they could flick open to give them an escape. But the glass was thick. Taking up an entire wall, meant only to let light in and keep air firmly out. Meaning there was no movement from any of the panes. The lit up buildings across the street laughed at her attempts in a silent mocking, the block of flats watching the desperate women struggle. 

“Oh my god,” Steven said with a tone of utter despair, “I’m going to die in an evil magician’s man cave,”

She would have laughed. Any other day and his words would have cracked her up. But she barely heard him over the desperate way she tugged at the white, chipped frames, urging the damn thing to come loose, her nails splinting painfully at the force she used to try peel the rusted metal from their seals.

It would be no use anyway, she realised. Looking down she realised they were up high, on the third floor to be exact, and the only way down was a long fall onto solid concrete. Seeing Layla turn away from the other window, she guessed she had no luck with that either, and cursed under her breath. 

Layla stalked towards Steven’s piteous frame, grabbing him roughly by the arms. “No-no. Hey, listen to me,” She started in a panicked voice, though it was clear she was attempting to be kind to him. The three of them turned to the door as the sound of scratching signalled that something big was out there, waiting for them. Long, sharp knife-like claws raked down the old wood, carving out channels in the barrier, the pieces of timber creaking with the weight of it, like a dog begging to come into the sitting room. 

A moment of silence, before the doors began shaking in their hinges with loud thumps. The animal threw itself against the doors, the metal bar jittering in its place at the sheer weight of it. 

“Your name is Marc,” Layla said calmly, holding onto his shoulders to keep his attention on her, “There’s a suit, I’ve seen you use it. You bring it out,” Her dark eyes pierced him with something cold and scared hidden in them, as his face flustered and his breathing picked up. 

“No,” He mumbled, shaking his head that dripped with sweat, feeling his chest constricting as she grabbed him harder. 

“Where are you? We need you to fight!” She yelled, shaking him now as if to hope to snap him back into his senses. 

“Let me in, Steven!” Marc’s voice came from the abandoned mirror, his reflection twisted into a cruel sneer as Marc watched him freeze in place, Steven’s bright eyes lost and scared. 

It was too much for Steven. He was expected to be something, someone, that he had no idea existed until a few days ago. This was no longer about waking up late or funny dreams, or sand around his bed and tape on his door. This was real. Real consequences. Two very real women depending on him to become this hero and save the day. 

They needed him to be Marc. But he wasn’t. He was Steven Grant. And that was all he’d ever be. 

“No, I can’t please. Stop it both of you,” Steven’s voice snapped Dove out of her focus on the outside, her fingers sore with where they gripped the window frames distraughtly. 

She saw his overwhelmed figure. The way Layla held him in an iron grip, her voice raising in distress as she kept asking him to snap out of it, to bring out ‘the suit’. She saw the way Steven’s eyes flicked between the woman and the mirror, his voice clogging up with unshed tears. 

Finally giving up on the windows as an option, she stormed over to where the two of them stood, grabbing Steven by the shoulder and pulling his arms away from Layla’s desperate grip.

“Cut it out, you’re scaring him,” She growled, feeling Steven make a grab for her hand as she confronted the woman. 

“He should be scared! If he doesn’t get the suit the three of us are going to die, do you not get that?” Layla’s voice raised, but even the younger woman could see her face was rigid with fear. It was fear causing her to be so harsh, not malice. Layla was only human after all. The memory of that thing that had chased her through the museum resurfaced painfully, a phantom stab blooming over her stomach that seemed entirely healed, as if it hadn’t practically ripped her guts through her soft flesh and spilled them onto the marble floor.

“Shouting at him isn’t going to fix that, it’s not his fault. We just find another way out, okay?” Dove snipped, shutting down any other argument Layla could give her, and turned to Steven with a soft expression, “Okay?” She asked gently.

Steven stayed quiet, but he nodded, tears welled in his eyes, his face just as scared as she felt inside. She was shitting herself, her muscles tensing up with every grunt that came from the creature on the other side of the door. But cornering Steven and asking so much of him when neither of them truly understood what was happening was only doing harm. 

“Alright,” Layla mumbled in defeat, her lush brows drawn into a frown, despair lingering in her hazelnut eyes as she headed back to the smaller, side window and peered out to the building below, “I can see a fire escape on this roof-”

But no sooner had the woman come to terms with the fact there was no hero coming to save them from this mess, the barricade had given way with a loud pop as the metal bar split clean in two. 

A single breath, a moment of pure silence where Layla’s head whipped from her fraught attempt at seeking an escape route, where Steven and Dove clutched onto each other just that bit tighter. The doors swung wide on their hinges, smacking into the walls with the force and crumbling the bricks into piles of red dust on the already dirty floors.  

A figure stood in the entrance. She could only think to describe it as a tall man trying to wear a dog’s body. Its limbs were gangly, skinny, mottled and rotted skin stretching thinly over them. Four feet at the end of boney elbows carried dagger like claws, thin wisps of white hairs poking from its spine. Its face was that of a possessed wolf, skeletal and gaunt, its mouth opening into a roaring snarl with two yellow-green eyes staring back at them with a haunting glow. 

The air escaped Dove’s lungs the second it let out a familiar hum of hunger. This was the thing that had attacked her. That had killed her last night. This was the thing that had plunged its hand into her stomach with no remorse, tearing her organs to shreds in a single swipe.

The creature, the jackal, looked ahead at the two of them, holding onto each other for damn near life, her nails digging into his toned arm at her sheer trepidation. Its jaws fell open, saliva dripping from its dead lips as it gathered its legs up and prepared to lunge. 

“Jackal, J-JACKAL” Steven yelled, his hands beginning to shake as he pointed at the creature. 

“Oh my god- Oh my-” His friend could barely get out her words, panic constricting around her heart that thudded through her ribs hard enough to have her choking on her sentence and stay quiet, mouth agape in disbelief at the sight of the thing. 

She much preferred when she couldn’t see the damn thing. 

The Jackal took a breath, and the girl set in its sights could have sworn she heard it laugh, before it bolted at them.

The two of them screamed, Steven shoving her to the floor as its lithe body made contact and sent both their bodies flying through the glass, falling, falling, falling down all three levels and onto the hard concrete. 

“Oh my GOD!” Layla shrieked, her eyes trained on the huge gap in the wall where her ex-husband had been thrown through by some invisible force, before they lowered to where his not-mistress was cowering on the floor after being manhandled away from the danger. She caressed her scraped elbow silently, her gaze also locked on the broken glass.

Realising the girl was in shock, Layla leaned down to a pile of bricks, grabbing one and promptly raising it above her head, bringing it down onto the side window harshly. The glass cracked slightly, before she hit it again a few more times and it gave way completely, scattering across the tiled roof on the other side. Throwing her jacket over the broken glass, she hopped over the window ledge and onto the slanted roof, careful not to skid on the smooth stone. Whipping back to the girl that had seemed to come to her senses and was now looking at her bewildered, Layla yelled a single “Come on!” through the gap in the window, before turning and heading towards the fire escape alone.

Steven. Not Steven, please not him. Steven’s gone. Steven’s dead, or at least he will be soon, no doubt his body crumpled on the floor, practically laid out as a buffet for that monster. 

He’d thrown her out of the way, given his own life for one so undeserving as her own. 

A man so kind and gentle, good, shouldn’t have rescued her, someone entirely not that.

Being dragged out of her daze at Layla’s yell, her head snapped to where she’d managed to create an escape, the woman looking at her expectantly before she turned and headed towards the edge of the roof. 

Steven could still be alive, she told herself, he could be okay. 

Holding that hope close to her chest, she pushed herself to her feet and ran towards the exit Layla had taken. 

Please be okay. Please be okay. I’ll give every life I have to give if it means you’re safe. 

Her hand was seconds from gracing Layla’s jacket when she heard it. Another growl. 

No, not a growl. A chuckle. Dark, deep and rolling, an amused laugh from a thick chest that was loud enough to fill the entire room with its timbre. 

And she knew. She didn’t understand how, but she knew. She knew who waited for her to turn around. To meet his black, inky gaze with fright. 

But she was frozen. Despite her body being cold for the past day, the chill that ran through her spine was enough to have every single one of her hairs stand on end. Her voice was gone, her chest tight, her throat closed up. 

“I know you’ve been waiting for me, my little monster,” 

His voice was a rumble, though a smile laced his words. His every syllable sent a thrum of horror through her veins, her body going numb. As if she weren’t here. She was watching a movie through her eyes, and the villain was coming, the story was ending. The credits were about to start rolling. 

She said nothing. Didn’t dare move an inch, praying to anyone listening that she could become as invisible as that jackal had been. Yet she felt him getting closer. His feet made no sound, but she felt him draw near. The same way a person feels they’re not alone in a haunted house. Like seeing shadows in the corner of your eye. Like feeling something watching you from the darkness when you wake from a nightmare.

A hand trailed down her loose hair, running long, slim fingers through her locks, he gave a growl of praise. “I’ve been waiting for you too,” 

She started crying. Her face got hot, her eyes stinging as she tried to hold the tears back, only for them to scorch her cheeks as they rolled down, her expression pulling into an ugly whimper. 

Closing her eyes, she told herself if she couldn’t see him he was just a voice in her head. If she didn’t look him in the eye he had no control over her. It was just a bad dream. A side effect of the stress. An auditory halluc-

“Oh, don’t cry,” A cold knuckle dragged over her cheek, swiping away a tear. His finger alone took up half her jaw. “I’m here to help you. I’m here to save you, little beasty,” His voice was dark, but gentle. As if he cared. As if he didn’t want her afraid. “Think of what we could do to Harrow, together,” 

She didn’t doubt he had ideas for what torture he wanted to rain down on the man. But that wasn’t her. She didn’t want to be feared, or to hurt people, or to kill. She didn’t want to be bad. Or to feel even more so that there was something crawling out of her soul, a demon that showed everyone just who she really was. What she really was. 

“No,” She whispered, shaking her head and taking a small step away from him. 

“No?” He asked, a deadly calm washing over his voice. “People have taken from you your whole life. Taken and taken for their own selfish needs,” Seth cooed, circling her with his behemoth frame as more tears flowed over her cheeks, her eyes squeezed shut with a frown, “I see your anger, your need for vengeance. To make them hurt the way they hurt you-” 

“NO,” She yelled this time, her hands coming up to grab at her hair, her body giving in to his words. He knew her. He knew her like an old friend, like he knew himself. Like she knew him. Like he’d been there for every bad thing that had happened to her. Like he was there for the whole of that time, he was there that day. 

That day. That body. What she’d done to him. 

“You hurt, little beasty,” Seth said, coming to stand in front of her. She felt his two huge hands hold onto her shoulders, one coming to her chin to tip it up to his face. 

If she opened her eyes now she’d see his sable black eyes looking down at her in an aching hunger. As if he revelled in the fact she was so pliant to his touch, that he could snap her neck within a flick of his finger and she could do nothing about it. She clamped her eyes shut harder, desperate to not fall for his gentle words, or the familiarity that came with his touch. No, he wanted this, he wanted her to concede, to trust him. To give into him.

No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“I see the way you hurt. I see the fear in you that came long before I did. That they’ll all see you as I do,” He said, caressing her jaw with his sharp claws, a single ounce of pressure too much and her skin would be slashed open. 

“Stop,” She begged, her face wet with tears, her throat closing with a sob that drew out her request like a child. 

“Stop?” Seth’s voice was different now. The semblance of kindness that had been there in a fleeting moment was gone, replaced again with a thunderclap of a laugh, “You poor sweet morning lamb. We’ve not even begun,” 

Her eyes opened for a split second when she felt her body tense up, the feeling as close to rigour mortis as she could imagine, as a dark flash of movement, a row of sharp teeth, and insidious black eyes were all she saw as he took over every part of her body. 

Death took her body for the second time, though this time she felt everything. 

Layla watched its jaws open as its head flicked to her, its deep grunt of annoyance echoing through the empty street, before it's long, slim arms were thrust outwards and grabbed the two of them by the jugular, boney, rough fingers wrapping around their throats and squeezing. 

Steven was lifted off the ground, Layla suffering the same fate after she had thrown an empty beer bottle at the demon’s head, the tiny shards of refracted light bouncing off the glass like a mirrorball and outlining the head of a monstrous creature. 

Layla felt the brick smack harshly against her spine as the thing threw her to the wall, the same way Steven was tossed against a parked car, the passenger window cracking from the pressure and the alarm wailing in protest. 

They both stood up again immediately, Layla’s eyes scanning the floor for anything to use as a weapon, before her almond eyes fell on the neck of the bottle she’d thrown, the jagged edge of broken glass sharp and fatal. Diving for the shiv, she swiped at the area she thought the creature could be stood, though her attempt only proved futile as her wrist was grabbed almost too easily and the weapon was ripped out of her hands. 

The woman made a sound somewhere between a yelp and a cry as she was tossed to the hard ground like a ragdoll, Steven being thrown next to her as he made a move to grab the monster as well.

The two of them gasped as the hands seemed to swipe them to the ground harshly, like a cat toying with its meal, dragging the torture out as long as possible before they gave up and submitted to being ravaged. The two of them looked at each other in alarm, Steven’s eyes a bright white behind the suit, as they felt the jackal grab their ankles and drag. Their bodies scraped against the pavement, the two of them kicking and squealing, writhing to get out of the monster's grip, only to be yanked into the air once more, the blood rushing to their skulls the second they were pulled from the concrete earth. 

“Steven, do something!” Layla wailed, her cheeks pooling a purple colour the longer they were held, though she never relented in her hits, her arms and free leg waving around for any soft tissue she could get at. 

“Marc’s the one who fights these shits, not me!” Steven called back, trying desperately to reach for his batons to inflict any damage he could. 

Layla felt her head building with pressure, her eyes becoming painful to shut as she blinked slowly, the darkened streets turned upside down in her mind. Her thick, dark brows furrowed, her eyes locking in on a figure standing at the other end of the wide street, unrecognisable to her dazed eyesight. 

“Steven?” Layla murmured drunkenly, her hand coming up to grab his arm that was still flailing around. 

“What?”

“Who is that?” The woman asked, pointing to the dark silhouette that stood and watched them.

Steven’s illuminated eyes followed her finger to see the figure still with statue-like grace, silent yet never relenting their dark stare.

His eyes trailed from their body, muscled and in a wide, casual stance, their arms resting at their sides. Their entire body seemed to be in some kind of black, chestplated one piece suit, pads of armour on their vulnerable parts, thin spindles of gold wrapping around the suit in a skeletal fashion. The armour spread over the backs of their hands, opening out into golden claw-like razors at the tips of their fingers that didn’t so much as twitch with fright at the sight of two strangers suspended in the mid air. 

A black muzzle wound its way over their mouth just above where the suit ended at their jaw, their hair falling over the back of their shoulders to reveal more of the golden weaves that fell around their neck and over their breastplate, accentuating the woman’s curves whilst also giving off the look they were wearing a set of bones on their armour. 

Two six-inch shells of armour protruded from their headpiece, curved yet in lithe points, like long dog ears, like a Whippet’s, high and alert. 

“I-I don’t know,” Steven murmured, though he found himself unable to take his eyes off the shadowed figure. He wasn’t even sure they were breathing at the way they were frozen solid, their head tilted slightly as if intrigued by the scene in front of them. 

It was then that it seemed the Jackal realised they had company. But this jackal wasn’t alone. It had brought friends too. 

The figure seemed to cut out of their daze as another of the behemoth beasts came stalking out of the darkness, as if to have been waiting for the scraps of the kill. But it had prey of its own now. This mystery woman. 

Steven’s heart fell into his mouth, which wasn’t too hard seeing as he was still being held upside down by the creature. 

“Run!” Steven called to her, though she seemed to take no notice of his cries, “Get out of here!” 

But the woman stood still, head snapping to where the jackal walked forward, slowly and with a hungry grin on its face as a deep growl rumbled from deep within its chest. This thing was going to rip her to pieces, Steven thought numbly. And it was going to be all his fault for not giving the body back to Marc. 

“Marc,” Steven said with a panic as the thing stepped closer to her still, her head tilting more at the sound of its approach, though that was the only inch she moved, “Marc- take the body- Marc- MARC-”

But he was too late. Steven winced as the jackal lunged towards her, jaws wide open and large enough to swallow her entire skull with one bite. He wanted to look away but his eyes couldn’t tear themselves off the scene, though he knew a blood bath was coming. He felt the bile rise already at the idea of it, though maybe that was the gravity talking.

But Steven’s heart practically stopped when his eyes caught another slight flicker of movement from the woman and he realised exactly what he was seeing. 

The Jackal’s jaws were pried open, stuck in the moment the creature had leapt forward. It took Steven a second to realise the woman’s hands were the ones holding them ajar, her sharp nails latching into its snout and chin, blood already running down her hands at the sheer vigour at which she held onto the dead flesh. The beast gave a whine, its body jolting forward as it tried to overpower her, only to have no luck. She didn’t budge a single hair's width. 

Steven’s eyes widened, the beams of light engrossed with the scene before his eyes. Who on earth was that? How could she see the jackals like he could, let alone wrestle one? 

“Steven, give me the body,” Marc demanded from inside his head, though Steven caught the trace of nerves that rang at his voice like a church bell on a silent morning. 

“Who is that, Marc?” Steven asked, his eyes widening when he saw the figure forcing the jackal to back down a step as she forced herself towards the creature, clearly stronger than the monster twice her size. 

“Steven, I will explain everything later, just please give me the body or she’s gonna get hurt,” Marc said with the same edge to his voice that he had before. The way Marc dodged his question had sirens wailing in Steven’s chest, louder than anything else the American man inside him had said. 

Steven’s voice cut out when he watched the figure grab the beast's jaws even tighter, yanking them apart with a sickening crunch as the joints popped out of their place. She didn’t stop there, not even as the creature gagged and squirmed, a yawp of pain echoing around the street as it scrambled to get out of her grip. But she was relentless. She tugged apart the lower mandible even wider, wider than could ever be natural, and a gut wrenching rip came next. 

The creature stopped moving. Stopped crying. Stopped everything. It slumped to the ground in defeat, the woman standing over its body with no mercy as she held the wad of flesh in her hand, blood running from her fingertips as smooth as water. 

The creature's lower jaw was thrown to the ground, its face a mush of exposed muscle, its throat torn cleanly open. It was then her gaze set onto the other jackal with a slow turn of her head and a low growl echoed through Steven’s bones.

It took him a second to realise it wasn’t the creature that held him that was making the sound. It was coming from her. 

Layla and Steven were dropped to the ground as she approached the creature, the two of them gasping for air, their heads spinning with the blood crashing around their brains. 

The jackal set its sights on her too, eager to avenge its fallen companion, the two of them circling one another for a moment. She made the first move, her black boots near silent against the cobbled street as she leapt with cat-like grace to tackle it to the ground. 

She was able to get her arms around its neck as it met her in the air, her muscled arms quick to begin choking the thing, squeezing until they heard the sound of its shoulder popping out of place. The jackal gave a yelp similar to the other one, only it dragged out into an angry snarl as its huge clawed hand grabbed onto her by the scruff of her neck. 

It threw her away from itself, desperate to get her strong hands off its body, and tossed her a good ten feet away, into the middle of a busy road where she bounced over the bonnet of a car and smashed its left headlight in. 

Steven was quick to jump to his feet as the monster’s head flicked away from the woman, back to where he and Layla stood. 

“Steven, you’re being dumb. Don’t do this, you can’t do this-” Marc protested, though Steven felt whatever bravery he had left collecting together as he clenched his hand together in a tight fist. 

“I think- I think I can,” He replied, the Jackal stalking closer to him with its three good legs. It stepped forward, its confidence shaken by the woman that was now getting back up and pacing her way over to the two of them much too calmly for someone who had been thrown so harshly. “You want some more do you, you mangy, Macedonian mutt?” Steven tried to taunt, though he could feel the tinge of fear still quelling at his chest at the sheer brute size of the thing even when wounded. 

The creature roared in response, gathering its hind legs up to lunge again, as Steven drew back his arm to swing. 

But he was too late. The woman had returned with a silent agility. Steven saw nothing but a flash of black and gold as she dived for the jackal’s throat, clawing and snarling at its chest as she took the thing down with her in one swoop. Steven watched with an agape jaw as she lifted the creature up as if it were nothing more than a sack of grain, and threw the jackal into the same parked car already cracked from where Steven had hit it, the opposite window getting the brunt of the attack as it smashed and the door caved easily. 

The creature lay still for a while, giving Steven time to confront the woman who had helped him, and hopefully answer the questions that Marc had dodged. 

“Oh my god,” Steven started, approaching the woman from behind where she was stood, barely out of breath for what had just occurred, “Excuse me, who exactly are you, you’re just bloody amazing-”

Raising his hand to touch the woman's shoulder gently, Steven practically had the wind knocked out of him as she turned on her heel in less than a blink of his two white eyes, and threw him to the ground as easily as she had the creature. Kneeling over him, his body mushy underneath her sadistic strength, he felt his knees go weak as she grabbed him by his collar and brought him to her face where her eyes trailed over his own face, a horrifically deep snarl emanated from her chest, shaking his lungs with its power. 

“WOAH, Woah wait. I’m not going to hurt you, though I supposed I should be more worried  about you hurting me-” It was then that he actually took in what he could see of her face. 

The colour of the hair that fell around her face as she leant over him, the shape of her face that wasn’t covered by the black muzzle that wrapped around her mouth and over her nose, thin and metallic and yet making her sounds all the more terrifying. Her eyes, the iris gone and replaced by inky black pits of darkness that blinked down at him with famine. 

But that face. He would know that face anywhere, he would know it in the thickest of fogs, the darkest of Winters. He could find her in any crowd, in any life. And if he was to go blind by morning, he’d know her by the way she breathed alone. 

And he did. Despite the fact her breath was laden with grunts, he knew her. He knew her. 

“Dove?” Steven muttered, hands coming to hold her face gently, his brows furrowed with confusion, “Dove, what happened to you-”

His hand had all but brushed her cheek, a gentle action that normally would have had her preening to his touch, had her snapping at the bit, and Steven was sure she would have taken his hand clean off had she not been muzzled like a rabid dog. 

Steven jumped back as she came closer to him, an even louder rumble of fury damn near bursting his ear drums as she warned him off of touching her. She was not his dove. Not the girl he knew. Not the girl he loved. She was a feral beast untamed and wild, eager to hurt him as much as she had attacked the jackal were he to get too close. 

“Dove?” Steven asked one more time, though he kept his hands in surrender as she manhandled him, pushing him to the floor more as she pinned him down, her black eyes empty and raw as she stared at him, “It’s me, Steven. Your Steven,” 

Nothing. He gained no reaction from her, not so much as a blink. This was not her. This was a savage creature that knew no such thing as gentle touches and loving words. 

She did nothing but stare at him, waiting for him to make a move out of line so she could tear him to shreds. And yet, Steven lay there as if to submit his body to her if she wanted to do such a thing. He couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t fight back. Could never lay an unkind hand on her even if it came to his last moments on the earth. He could die by her hands and he would still consider himself lucky to have been touched by such a creature. 

She raised a clawed hand up to bring down on his masked face, a strength in the hit strong enough to tear clean through the ceremonial armour and likely leave him disfigured, if not cleave his skull in two on the spot. But she didn’t get a chance to strike. No sooner had she raised herself up to end it all, the Jackal launched its beaten body at her crouching form, the two of them tumbling away from Steven’s shaking body and rolling amongst one another in a flurry of wails and growls. 

She flew off him spitting and yowling like a feral street cat, a sound no normal human should make as the creature bit down on her arm hard. 

Steven felt two arms dragging him upwards and away from the scene, Layla could only imagine what was going on as the mystery woman’s arm sprayed her own blood over the concrete with every swipe of her claws. 

“What is that?” Layla asked breathlessly, practically yanking Steven away as he trembled under her hands. She froze when Steven said her name, her name, the name of the girl she had left in that room to make her own way out. “What? Is this Harrow’s doing? Turning her into some crazy dog-woman?”

“I don’t know,” Steven said with a defeated tone, his chest aching at the way she had looked at him with no recognition of who he was. “I think…” Steven thought for a moment, “I think Marc will know how to help her,” 

Layla nodded at him, her eyes taking in his broken expression, patting him on the arm gently, “Okay. Okay, bring him out,”

Steven turned away from her, sparing a small glance to the woman who held his life so closely in her hands, who had been seconds away from ending it, who he gave himself to entirely were it to be that he saw her in his last few moments of living. She scrapped with the jackal, two wild beasts gaining on eachother, drawing blood whenever and wherever they could. 

“Marc,” Steven said, his eyes never leaving her blank face, spots of blood now sprayed over her nose like freckles. He felt his alter perk up at the name, his body already tensing up as Marc clawed at the reigns to take over now.

“Yeah, buddy?” Marc asked, though he could see everything Steven was seeing, and his heart already sunk at the unrecognisable thousand mile stare she had. 

This was it. Seth had her now. “Save her,”

authors note: I used an AI to create what I think Dove looks like in her suit and-

These are the vibes we’re going for! Please feel free to imagine her as ANY shape, ANY ethnicity and ANY height however, these were just what the AI generated!

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[cutiecusp]

All I wanted was you. PART ONE.

A Phillip Graves x Reader two part drabble, around the time of the betrayal, but not canon...

I made this part really long. It was only meant to be a one and done! I'm still super new to writing, so I'd love to know what you think.

Tw// betrayal, marriage breakdown, angst, a little toxicity, the one that got away.

...................................

He knew he fucked up when the light in your eyes faded when you looked up at him, your gaze once full of light and love, is now replaced by a cold, icy stare. You were furious.

"How could you?" You ask him, seething with anger. You step into his space, your voice soft, but deadly. You place your hands on his chest, grabbing the straps of his tactical vest and pulling him closer to you, making him see what his actions had caused. His cocky smirk was replaced by a stern look back at you, a robotic version of your once loving husband. You didn't even recognise him anymore.

"My family, my friends, my team... Soap, Ghost, Alé...." You pause, unable to look at the man you once loved. You remove your hands from him as if you had been burned, your voice unable to stop shaking as you processed what he was telling you.

"You betrayed them all, Phillip. You betrayed me." You gasp as you head towards the door, only turning to wrench off your wedding ring and watch as it bounces off the floor into the corner of the room.

Graves looks up at the door as it slams shut, the noise echoing in the otherwise quiet base.

"I did it for you, sweetheart." He says to himself.

"It's always been for you."

......................................

After driving away from your family home where you left him reeling, tears stinging your cheeks, your heart broken into pieces, you walk back to into base, your steps heavy with the weight of your husbands betrayal. You hadn't been allowed on this mission, you picked up a stray bullet in the Middle East and stayed on base at the order of your husband, Shadow Company Commander, Phillip Graves.

You had begged to come along, but Phillip saw you as a 'medical liability' and wanted you home safe, so you bit your tongue and stayed back. You hated that he treated you like you were a fragile doll, and over time, you had begun to see what he really was, a snake in the grass.

But, you simply couldnt shake the guilt riddled through you as the thought of Phillip danced through your mind. You couldn't believe he would betray you like this, turning on the team he swore to protect, turning his back on you. You at least thought he would be honour bound at protecting you.

Hearing Soap and Ghost over comms as they found each other, not knowing if the other is alive is what ate at you the most. You had become a member of the Task Force by proxy, being recruited in with Soap, but was welcomed in like you has always belonged. You had seen the team as family, but would they now see you the same?

You take a breath before knocking on Price's door.

"Enter." Came the reply.

You walked in, unable to meet your Captains gaze. Although you didn't partake in the betrayal, you felt a responsibility as it was your husband who gave the order that sent everything into chaos.

"Look at me, Sergeant." He ordered. Your gaze snaps up to his, and you hate what you see. Pain, anger, and possibly the worst of all, disappointment.

"I will ask you this once, and on your life, you had better be bloody honest with me." He pauses.

"Did you know?"

Your face pales. You stare back at him, with what you hope is a neutral face.

"Sir?" You ask cautiously.

"I said. Did. You. Know?" He repeats slowly, his voice low and dangerous.

"No, Captain. I didn't know what his plans were." You reply honestly, wringing your hands together.

"This is as much as a surprise as it is to me, as it is to you."

Captain Price stares at you, taking in every detail, and after a few painstakingly painful minutes, he stands up from the desk.

"No ring?" He taunts.

"No sir. I'm filing for divorce in the morning." You reply quickly, the discomfort and embarrassment of what Phillip is putting you through with his actions showing all over your features.

He simply nods.

"You know, I had to fight Laswell to keep you on the team?" He says bluntly. He walks around the desk so he is toe to toe with you, his broad body taking over much of the area between you both.

"She didn't want me to allow a traitor back into our team. But there's something different.. something I put my finger on when I figured you weren't 'cleared' for the mission."

"He didn't want you there as he wanted you out of the way while he buried us, he didn't want any witnesses or survivors, and as his wife and someone on our team, he saw you as a liability. One of my best soldiers and a jumped up asshole with money decided that you weren't good enough to come raised all the flags I needed. There's a difference between protecting your loved ones and hanging them for your own actions, you have never been a liability." He continues, almost reverse echoing Phillips words back to you.

You nodded, listening to your Captain.

"So I have a choice for you. You are to be taken to a safe house, as a liability to the team that he thinks you are unti lthis is cleared and you will be in court alongside him. Or..."

"Or? Sir?" You ask, raising an eyebrow.

"You come with me and the 141 and we end him. For good."

You take a step back, and gather your thoughts. Your ex husband wouldn't have even hesitated, so why should you.

"I'm in, Sir. " You clarify, holding your head high.

"I only have one condition."

Price nods, encouraging you to speak.

"I get the first punch in." You demand, a glimmer of defiance and strength in your eyes.

"I am not a liability."

*a/n I really worried about the length of this one, so I am breaking it into two parts. What do you all think? It went a weird way so part two will clear things up? Nervous as hell as always.*

@going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @xoxunhinged @misshugs

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

🧚‍♀️ Anon

Slasher Anasui would be so delicious

He would pull a Micheal Myers, only to escape and stalk his childhood crush as she babysits (He intends to fulfill his promise he made to her when they were children)

Anasui is stalking after Darling not to kill her but to make her become his Bride (However everyone else is fair game)

I love the Halloween Movies (I sadly don’t have access to all of them only the 1st and 2nd movie)

Ooooh OK ok. This is interesting.

So I think that they were initially split up after he (around middle school age) got into a fight that involved darling and her parents seperated them (Transfered her to another school or got the school to stop them from being in the same classes).

Years later there was an another incident that led to him attacking and killing someone darling knew (either a partner or who he believed was) causing him to get incarcerated. Somehow the defense lawyers were able to get an insanity plea and so he got sent to a mental institution.

However just as he was getting dragged out he passes darling. (Who had been standing as a witness against him)

"Nothing will ever stop me from loving you and I'm going to kill whoever it takes to get you back" he'd snarl before the police would push him away.

He was serving 20 years at least, more then enough time for darling to relocate by the time of his release. However 3 years later he manages to break out and kills a couple to take their clothes and car. He's able to spend some time around the town figuring out where she is before the news gets out.

Darling only hears of this after she tucks the kid she was babysitting in bed. Immediately she's calling the parents asking them if there is a family member or friend she can drop them off at as well as calling her parents so they know, because darling knows exactly what Anasui wants. (Unfortunately she doesn't know that he's already a lot closer then she could imagine)

After darling drops off the kid she finds that a car has parked across the driveway, basically trapping it in. She storms up to the car to confront the asshole who parked behind her. She knows they're still in since their headlights are on.

"Seriously! I have somewhere to be you jackass!" She yells as she pounds on the door.

"Oh you've gotta go somewhere, but we've got more important things to sort out" a familiar voice coos as the tinted window rolls down, revealing himself to her.

Darling immediately runs to front door, begging to be let in and they do before locking it. They call the police but Anasui breaks down the wooden door (or the glass panels allowing him to unlock it from the outside). The husband tried to fight him but he easily breaks a limb before grabbing one of the kitchen knives. The wife drops the phone before she's able to finish the call and he destroys it.

"I told you... nothing is going to stop me" he seethes

"And anyone who gets in our way will die" he continues as he snatches darlings hand and drags her outside. He's caught the attention of one of the neighbors who tries to intervene but is immediately stabbed by Anasui with little thought.

All that time he's been waiting to get her back is what is driving his murderous intent. Darling either cooperate with him and keep casualties to a minimum or if she tries to runaway he's just going to keep mowing down as many people that throw themselves infront of her.