#whispers and quiet words all burned. how can my mind even begin to feel something light and airy about those things

[soul-spoken]

Romanticizing things subconsciously while otherwise being terrified and angry, disgusted and withdrawn.

It's so strange.

It's like part of me is still there, while the rest can see the reality of the situation. Like part of me is stuck, frozen in that frame of time like a picture.

I hate that

[jasmines-library]

Hey, I love your Batfam work! Is there any chance you could do a whump/angst one of batsis being kidnapped by a villian(you can choose whoever you want) and she’s tortured for days with it being broadcasted to the Batfam while they try to track the footage. I feel kinda bad but can you do maybe some head trauma md severe burns? Maybe she has to be put in a medically included coma or smth because of the damage? Also is there any way you could include Barb and Duke along w/ the four robins? If not that’s totally cool! Sorry for the long request but I hope you have a great day!!

Anonymous Requested: batfam x batsib reader whos the youngest and newest robin and is just really goofy and doesn’t take anything seriously (ex: them blaring “who’s the (bat)man” on the comms during patrol [that songs stuck in my head i had to mention it]) and something happens, maybe their first close encounter to death or a run in with the joker and they just become a shell of who they were and stuff

Jokes On Me

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Note: My god im so sorry this literally took me forever to write, thank you so much for being patient. I've been trying to write this all week but just couldn't sit down for long enough to finish it.

Warnings: Torture, blood, burns.

Word Count: 2.5k

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

“Y/N, turn that shit off.”

Jason grumbled at you over the coms. You had been blasting some wretched song that you’d found on the internet over and over again and it was beginning to drive him mad. 

“Nope.” You said, popping the ‘p’ loudly. 

“Seriously.” Dick deadpanned. He had found it amusing at first, but it was now beginning to test his patience. 

Agitated, you sighed and turned off the music. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Jason expressed gratefully, turning his eyes back to the road he was patrolling. The night was cool and quiet besides the odd dog walker or couple returning from an evening out. It was one of those nights where patrol would end early and he could return home to take a warm bath and read a book before turning in for the night. Or so he thought. 

You were rounding the corner, humming that tune that was still stuck in your head when his laughter ricocheted across the walls. You stiffened, eyes widening and hands fumbling for your weapon as your breath hitched. No amount of turning and craning your head allowed you to catch a glimpse of the dreaded figure, and you thought for a moment that perhaps it had just been a trick of your mind, or one of your brothers playing a cruel joke on you as payback for winding them up earlier. But then you heard it again, only this time to your left. You clutched your weapon tighter, eyes scanning the area with a new found sense of urgency. 

“Wing…” You whispered into the coms so quietly that you were surprised he heard it.

“What now?” He somewhat snapped. 

“We have a problem.”

Dick’s heart sank through the floor, his ears pricking up and his demeanour changing completely. “Where are you? What’s the matter? He was trying to let his panic show, but you hadn’t been patrolling as a vigilante for very long, and while you were well trained, you lacked the experience to deal with something big on your own. And from your tone of voice, he could tell that you were in some deep shit. 

Jason worked his legs harder to push himself to reach the direction he had seen you head off in. Albeit it seemed even his hardest wasn’t enough.

When he stepped out of the darkness, the first thing you noticed were his eyes. Wide and bright, easily mistakable for a cat’s as they flashed in the darkness; wild. Rabid. As he emerged fully with that infamous twisted grin splayed out on his face, you felt like a cornered animal; a deer in headlights. You froze, unable to move despite how your heart screamed at you to run as it pounded, trying to break free from your ribcage. 

“He’s here…” A mere whisper sliding over your tongue, so fragile that you weren’t even sure if you had actually said it aloud. Jason had heard it. 

“Who?” 

The Joker was circling you now, dragging out his strides in lazy circles. You should have fought but in that moment all of your training had drained out of you, along with the colour in your face. He smirked, leering down upon you as you tried to keep your trembling hand still. He pouted in mockery and at your silence, Jason repeated his question to you, but you never got the chance to respond. 

“Oh…Just an old friend, Jay-bird.”

“Joker.” Urging his body to move faster, Jason grit his teeth. 

Dick paled. “You leave them alone.” Dick spat. It tried to be a command, but the effect was lost somewhere in transmission.

The joker pursed his lips, tilting his head as he analysed. One of his hands had found his way to your jawline and he trailed it with a cold, gloved hand. You wanted to lean away, to run and find your brother but you knew that now he had you in his grasp there was no point in even trying. “And why would I do that? They’re right in front of me. I could just…snatch them up.”

“Don’t you dare!” Dick was frightened now. “Y/N, you stay there as long as you can, okay? You fight. We’re coming, you hear?”

The Joker frowned at you. “D’you hear that? Big brother birdy coming to the rescue. How sweet.”

His grip on you tightened. “Too bad you’ll be long gone by the time they get here.”

With one swift motion, he had thrown you harshly to the side, your head colliding with the wall with a sickening crack. 

The two boys skidded to a halt just a second too late. You were already gone. 

~

Your head hurt when you woke up. Your eyes squinted against the sterile light. They did no favours to your pounding headache. With a groan, you tried to twist, to roll over and soothe the crook in your neck but instead all that happened was the jinging of a metal chain. You craned your head and spotted the thick chain that had been wrapped around your wrist, confining you to the chair. Struggling, you tugged on them, trying to free yourself only for them to rattle and scrape against your skin. 

“Yeah, that’s not going anywhere, birdy.” The joker chided.

You glared at him through narrowed eyes, trying to mask the thumping of your heart. The joker grinned wildly at your frightened complexion. 

“It was such a shame that Grayson and Todd didn’t get to you in time, but it was far too easy to catch you, little bird: you completely froze.” He snapped his fingers to emphasise his point. “Didn’t batsy teach you better?”

“Don’t talk about them.” You snapped. 

The joker raised his hands, palms facing toward you in surrender: taunting you as if you were the one with the power in the situation. “Touchy subject I see. Too bad.” 

He gestured above you to an incessantly blinking light. “Smile for the camera, you’re live.”

~

Babs had been monitoring the street cameras when the computer beside her flickered to life. She had been searching for any sign of you ever since Dick and Jason came flying through the grandfather clock. Everyone was on edge. 

The moment the screen flashed on, her eyes perked up to watch it, alarmed. She hadn’t turned it on. And there were very few people who could bypass the caves system. So when she saw a small frame curled up in a chair she knew immediately what was up. 

“Duke…” she called to the dark haired boy who was trying to help decipher your whereabouts. “Go and get B.” 

It did not take long at all for everyone to gather around in the cave. Duke was fast, and everyone dropped what they were doing to race down: even Alfred had taken his leave from his duties to see. 

It was almost like some sick irony because as soon as they were all there, you began to scream. A guttering, perfect scream that cut that through them like a knife: unclean and pinging into them messily again and again. 

The joker had taken a knife to your left thigh, his smile dripping with malice as he watched the camera, somehow knowing that at least one of them would be watching. 

Your face was contorted in pain, twisting in agony as tears rolled flatly down your cheeks from fearful eyes. Damian felt sick, his stomach churning. Jason wanted to leave. But all of them were stuck watching. Barbra was tapping away, trying to locate the signal from the video to no avail. 

“I hope you’re watching this Batsy…” He moved round to trail your face with the edge of the knife. You whimpered. “I’ve got your little bird here and I must say, you need to work on their training. They were far too easy to catch.”

Bruce felt his jaw tightening and Tim had to place a hand on his arm to remind him of his place. 

“Anyway I thought we would play a little game… how long can little y/n survive for. I wonder if it’ll be any longer than our very own Jason Todd.”

Jason twitched. 

“I’m testing you here, Bat. Tick Tock.”

The transmission cut to black. 

~

It seemed hopeless. Even though they had been searching for days, they were no closer to finding you. And to make matters worse, they could see you. Not long after the first transition ended did it start up again. It had been lifestreaming since then, and although they had tried to block it from their minds, it was hard to ignore. Especially when your agonised screams ricocheted throughout the halls. 

You looked like hell. Dark bags occluded under your eyes and there wasn’t an inch of your skin that wasn’t marred or stained with drying blood. The burns were worse. Damian could still hear the scream you let out when the joker first brought the hot poker to your skin. It had bubbled and blistered as the skin peeled away; you had thrashed against your restraints violently. Tim was certain that they were going to get infected if they didn’t reach you soon. 

It felt as if they had searched everywhere. Dick and Jason had even asked around to see if anyone had heard anything, going as far to talk to the Jokers closest associates in Arkham, but even if they did know, nobody said anything. Duke had even gone as far to go back to the area to use his powers to see if he could trace anything, but nothing seemed out of place; they had hit a brick wall. That was…until a small light appeared on the monitor. Babs had managed to trace the signal to a small building on the outskirts of the city. 

They were suited up in minutes, making a beeline for the building. They stormed it, recklessly taking down the Joker's goons before Batman chased wildly after the Joker, his face stony and his fists burning with anger. The other four boys chased down the winding corridors, flinging open the doors until they found one that was locked. Tim wasted no time, picking the lock with ease he peeled it open. His breath hitched when he saw you. 

Your face was gaunt, hanging low by your chest. Your suit was torn and there was less of it on your body than there was ripped away. You looked so fragile as your chest heaved sporadically. 

Jason nearly had to take a step back. This place reminded himself too much of his own encounter with the Joker not too long ago. But he pressed forward, fighting his instincts. He had to be strong. Instead of turning back, he kneeled in front of you, whispering your name. His hand came up to cup your face. You flinched away. 

“It’s okay kid. It’s us.” He tried to reassure you, but you shrank back into yourself. 

“We’re so, so sorry kiddo.” Dick tried placing a gentle hand on your arm before moving to work on the cuffs around your wrists. “We’re going to get you out.”

You said nothing, just continued to stare at the black space before you, and Dami wasn’t sure if you even knew they were in front of you. But when Jason moved away from you to help remove your restraints, your fingers latched onto him and you squeaked in protest. 

He sighed shakily. “Don’t worry kid. I’m not going anywhere.”

Damian twisted from where he was guarding the door. “We need to leave.”

Dick nodded bluntly, finishing with the last of the locks. “I’m going to have to pick you up, okay sweetheart?”

You barely registered what he had said. Everything had grown numb, you nodded anyhow. Moving his arms underneath your legs and slipping one arm behind your back, Jason began to lift you. He nearly recoiled when you cried and whimpered with the way your wounds jostled as he sprinted out of the building to get you back to safety. 

~

You were yet to say anything since you came home. You had been back a few days and your wounds were healing up nicely thanks to Alfred’s handywork, but the air was eerily silent around you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t been communicating with them; you spoke to them with gestures or writing but no one was used to not hearing your voice. The stark contrast between your loud and bustling personality and you now was unsettling. No one wanted to push you too far but the manor was beginning to grow lonely. 

It was one particularly rainy night when you finally spoke.  You were curled up in a large armchair by the window in the library, sinking back into the plush leather as you watched the raindrops race down the glass. Jason had been watching you from afar, contemplating whether to talk to you or not when he walked over. 

“What are you up to?” He asked you, making sure you knew that he was there before he spoke. 

You gestured toward the window,then to the half opened book at your feet and shrugged. 

“I see.” He nodded, taking a seat on the armchair opposite you. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Jason wasn’t much of a talker. He knew more than anyone what you were going through, which was why it was nice just to know that he was willing to sit with you, just so you knew that he was there if you needed him. It made you feel safe. But you also couldn’t help but feel guilty, and frustrated with yourself for being in a place that made him feel as though he had to do that. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. 

Jason had to do a second take. His heart swelled. “What for?”

You sighed. “This. When I saw him…i-i froze. If I had run then this would never have happened.”

“Shh. This isn’t your fault.”

“But-”

“I promise, Kid. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

You nodded, looking away from him. But then you furrowed your brows and turned back to him. “How did you do it? How did you deal with this, Jay? Every time I close my eyes he’s there.”

“I guess I don’t, really. Or sometimes it feels like I don’t. I still get scared sometimes. I still see him in my dreams. But over time it gets easier. I had people around me to help me. And so do you, kid. We’re here. We’ll always be here.”

Jason shifted to brush away a rogue tear and you leaned into his touch and then wrapped your arms tightly around his middle. 

“I’m here. Always. We’ll get through this together.”

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BATFAM TAGS

@aestheticdaisies @hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @mamapucket @hell-o-kittys @harleycao @batfamsstuff @alicedawitchbish

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[thevillainswhore]

You Look Good On Camera, Baby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Bucky’s not letting you leave the photobooth, not until he’s had his way with you.

Warnings: Established relationship, teasing, kissing, smut, public sex, p in v, quickie, finger sucking, uses panties to keep reader quiet, creampie.

Author’s note: Unbeta’d, warning graphics by @rookthorne

Aaand all of a sudden we have another oneshot. Sigh. This one has actually been on my mind since these pictures were first released so a big thank you to Lana for finally giving me the push to make it happen 🤭 really enjoyed this one 🤍

“Here?!” you screeched. 

“Yeah.” Bucky shrugged, unfazed. “What’s wrong with that?” 

You choked on your own spit at his nonchalance, how carefree he was about this. “W—What do you mean what’s wrong with fucking here, Bucky? We’re in a damn photobooth!” 

The blank expression on his face was unchanging. “So?” 

The words on the tip of your tongue died out. Your boyfriend could be a little freaky in the bedroom sometimes and you were all for it. Never had you both risked the danger of public sex, however. 

“You’re out of your damn mind if you think we’re doing it in public,” you scoffed before beginning to make your way out of the stall.

But you were quickly stopped in your tracks as Bucky slammed his arm against the opposing wall, effectively blocking your path. “We’re not leaving until I’ve fucked you.” 

A shudder of arousal ran down your spine at the gruffness of his voice. “Baby,” you laughed nervously. “I know we like to experiment sometimes, but this is a little far, don’t you think?” 

The air between you was thick with tension, especially with a pair of bright blue eyes staring you down so intensely you imagined the burning embers of a fire raging behind them. 

You gulped as Bucky slowly licked his lips, giving you a once over that made you feel too exposed in an already revealing sundress. There was a short distance between you, and your boyfriend’s stature was towering and beefy, taking up a large presence — his imposing nature made the hairs on your arms stand up. 

He walked you backwards slowly, step by step, until you hit the far wall of the booth. Pressing his nose against the curve of your neck, he snarled. “All I know is that my cock is so fuckin’ hard for you right now and if I don’t have your pussy wrapped around it within the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna haul you over my shoulder and take you out there in front of the whole damn mall.” 

You thought you could tamp down the moan trapped in your throat, but you were sorely mistaken when it unleashed without remorse. Your chest heaved with exhilaration and your fingers twitched excitedly at the prospect of something so scandalous. 

“So what’s it gonna be, sweetheart? In this photo booth with a little privacy? Or out there where everyone can watch me ruin you? Your choice.”

You had not expected this outcome when you had dragged your boyfriend over to the booth. You wanted to take cute pictures and add them to your keepsake memory box. Now you were deciding your fate; whether you would be leaving your dignity in the tiny stall or chance getting arrested for public indecency in the middle of the shopping mall. 

Bucky raised an eyebrow, awaiting your answer. 

“In h—here,” you whispered in anticipation. 

The cheshire cat grin you received in return spiked your nerves even further. “Clever girl.” 

Without giving you a chance to backtrack on your decision, Bucky hoisted you up into his arms and smothered your squeal of shock with his lips. He wasted no time snaking his tongue into your mouth, fighting for dominance like always. 

“Mmph!” you moaned when he flicked his tongue against yours. A zing of electricity shot down to your pussy and you threaded your fingers through his long hair, pulling it tightly. 

Even after so many years, the spark between you and Bucky was still alive. Throughout the trysts of your sexual experiences together, the attraction to each other had only intensified. He was sexier now than ever before. And even if he came up with outlandish ideas that made you step out of your comfort zone, you held so much trust in him that it was easy to follow him to the depths of sin. 

A string of saliva connected between your lips as Bucky pulled away for air. While he was reckless for suggesting such a depraved idea of public sex, he was smart enough to realise the two of you were short on time to make it happen. 

“Hold on,” he warned before handling your weight over to one arm. With the other, he unzipped the fly of his trousers and shuffled them down just past his ass until his cock bounced out. 

You gasped at the sight. Bucky really was hard for you already, if the angry looking vein straining from his thick length was anything to go by. He was throbbing, you could see his dick viciously twitching with need and your thighs clenched around his waist with hunger. 

Your boyfriend squeezed your hip. “You like seeing me desperate for you, huh baby?” 

You tightened your lips to try and hide your smile and shrugged innocently. “Can’t say I mind it so much.” 

Bucky growled with a smirk. “You’re a fuckin’ tease, girl.” 

The amusement was quick to wipe from your face when he reached down and ripped the panties covering your mound. “Bucky!” you scolded. “Those were new!” 

He rolled his eyes playfully, trying not to laugh at the way the shredded material now hung from your ankle. “Oh, hush. I’ll buy you some more.” 

You huffed. “What? So you can rip them off me again?” 

Bucky chucked under your chin condescendingly. “Look at you, learning so fast.”

Smug bastard, you cursed internally. 

“Gonna stop complaining and let me fuck you now, doll?” 

You scowled and poked his chest with your finger. “You better watch the way you speak to me— OH!” The retort on your tongue cut off as Bucky sheathed the entirety of his length inside of your pussy in one smooth thrust. Your nails dug harshly into the firm muscle of his shoulders and you buried your head into his neck. “H—Holy shit.”

Bucky panted breathlessly, just as affected as you. Though he still had the gall to tease you. “You were saying?” 

You lifted your head to glare at him, still winded. “You’re damn lucky I love you.” And though you wanted to scold your boyfriend for his cheek, you couldn’t help but squirm on his cock. There was only so much you could take until it wasn't enough — you needed him to move. To feel the delicious scrape of his length against your tight walls. “Now shut up and fuck me before someone comes.” 

“You’re so hot when you boss me around,” Bucky moaned before kissing you with urgency. 

The nails of his fingers dug crescent shapes into your bare thighs, but the sting of pain was nothing compared to the slow drag of his cock leaving your cunt. You whimpered as his thick girth left you inch by inch until only the tip sat inside of you. 

“Gonna beg me for it, baby?” he asked. 

You blew out an impatient huff and tugged on his hair harshly until he groaned. “Give me your cock, if you know what’s good for you.” 

“Eh,” he shrugged. “Good enough.” 

A high pitched keen was forced out of you when Bucky thrusted his hips up, the full nine inches of his dick sat deep inside of your pussy. “Fuck!” 

“Should’ve begged like I asked and maybe I’d have gone a little easier on you, sweetheart,” he said tauntingly. 

“If you ever think that I would want it easy then you don’t know me at all,” you clapped back. 

Your boyfriend’s eyes shone with pride. “That’s my girl.”

Bucky fucked like it was the first time every time. His movements were careful and his hands were greedy; always touching you, always gathering you as close as possible to him. And while he was soft with his caresses, his desire to roughly pound his cock into your cunt, as deep as it humanely could, was another story. 

“God, you’re like a fuckin’ vice around my dick,” he choked out. “Would’a thought you’d have loosened up by now, baby. But I can still barely move.” 

Unable to speak without screaming, you sucked his neck, bruising his skin until it turned a dark purple. 

“You markin me, huh? Want everybody to know who I belong to?” 

You nodded your head while whimpering, the nails of your fingers scratching against Bucky’s scalp. 

The motion of his thrusts made his balls slap against your ass — he loved it when you got possessive. “Filthy fuckin’ girl. Don’t worry, doll. I’m all yours.”

Letting go of his neck with a pop, you loudly whined out, “So good— cock feels so good in me, baby. Fucking me just right.”

“Oh, I know. But you gotta turn down the volume, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “Save it for the bedroom, alright?” 

You tried, you really did. But the way the head of his cock repeatedly stroked against the sensitive spongy spot of your pussy made your inhibitions blurry and you couldn’t help moaning like a whore.

Bucky tutted and shook his head in mock disapproval. “Guess I have to do everything for you, hm?” His lips curled up in perverse satisfaction as he shoved three of his fingers into your mouth. 

You hummed around them instantly while staring into his eyes. He made you this way; a willing body for him to toy with, a woman who was quick to fall under his command and you lived for it. You gargled around his large fingers as you jolted each time he drove his cock into you, drool dripping down from your chin and landing on your boyfriend’s lower stomach and dick. 

“Can’t even let my fingers keep you quiet, huh? Just have to make sure everyone knows how good it feels to be fucked by me.” 

Your back slammed against the wall of the stall and the force of Bucky’s hips rocked the whole thing back and forth. His strength only turned you on more and even with the intrusion of his fingers, your noises grew louder, more unabashed. 

“Shit, you sound so pretty.” His eyes darted towards the swinging panties still attached to your ankle and he quickly removed his fingers to grab them. “Such a good girl for me, baby. But I think we need somethin’ a little more efficient to quiet my eager girl down.” 

Before you had the chance to whimper again, Bucky shoved your underwear into your mouth. To both of your luck, your moans became muffled enough to not draw attention. “Perfect.”

Though the volume of your sounds had been solved, the slick noises coming from your dripping cunt became the center of attention. 

“Are you that fuckin’ soaked for me, sweetheart?” Bucky’s eyes rolled back as his cock throbbed at the feel of you. Even though you were wet, your walls still hugged his shaft. 

“Mhm!” you mumbled over your makeshift gag. Your worries of being caught had long disappeared, your main focus now to revel in the building tension from your lower stomach creeping to the surface. 

The two of you were only concealed by a pathetic thin curtain that didn’t even close all the way. It left a large gap, one that should a member of the public managed to notice, would reveal Bucky’s bare ass and your scrunched up face, moaning in pleasure at the feel of his cock. 

Again, you were so far out of your realm to notice. Though Bucky did as he glanced over his shoulder and the high he got from the danger was addictive. 

Wrapping an arm around you tightly, Bucky discreetly reached into his jean pocket with his free hand while keeping up his momentum. He was so close to the edge, balancing on the precipice of cumming, but he strived to hold on just a little longer. 

Grabbing the loose change, he discreetly dispensed it into the money slot of the machine. “You think you’re gonna cum for me, doll?” he asked, short windedly while his thighs trembled. 

You whined desperately around your panties, your eyes glossy from the overwhelming thread that was beginning to unravel. 

“Alright. I’m gonna count down from three and you’re gonna give it to me, yeah? Can you do that for me?” 

Thumping your head back against the wall, you closed your eyes and nodded hastily. 

“Good. Ready, baby?” he asked. 

Your nails scratched the back of his neck in approval and he began. 

“Three.” He pistoned his hips, fucking you with all the energy he had left in him. 

“Two.” The deep dirty grind of cock into your cunt was torturing and your thighs shook as you fought to hold out. 

“One.” On his final count, Bucky pinched your clit, hard. Your eyes shot wide open at the same time multiple bright flashes blanketed the photobooth and your mouth dropped on a muted scream. 

“Holy— F—Fuck!” Your boyfriend’s shout echoed across the white walls while his fist slammed next to your head. A huge load of his cum shot up into your cunt, overflowing the already full hole. 

Your mind swam in ecstasy from the adrenaline filled haze of your orgasm. The pure rush of your sparking nerves was a familiar thing with Bucky and yet the sensation was so deeply gratifying every single time. 

You sucked in lungfuls of air on your comedown, letting your mouth hang open while your ruined panties dropped with a wet slap onto the floor. Shivers wracked through your body and before you could even notice the coldness, Bucky enveloped his warm body around you while he stroked your cheek. 

“That’s it,” he cooed soothingly while he recovered from his own intense orgasm. “Take it easy, sweetheart.” 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him closer to you, until there was no space between you. “That was fun,” you slurred lazily.

Bucky’s tired laugh rumbled through you. “Damn fuckin’ right it was.” Lifting his head out of your neck, he kissed you delicately. “You alright?” 

“I’m great,” you told him truthfully. “Though you may have to help me walk because I can’t feel my legs anymore.” 

He grinned, satisfied. “I’m that good, huh?” 

You lightly smacked his chest, even if you couldn’t contain your own cheesy smile. “Nope. I’m not inflating your ego more than it already is.” Turning your head to the screen of the booth, your eyes widened upon what you saw. “No you did not.” 

“Oh, but I did.” Bucky said proudly. “A little souvenir of our sexual awakening.” 

“Oh my god.” The shock of it rendered you speechless. 

“I know, right? Now you have the photos you wanted.” 

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. Looking back at your boyfriend, you shook your head. “I wish I could tell you off.” 

“You can tell me I’m a bad boy later,” he suggested with a wink. “For now let's get outta here.” 

Once he gently placed you down, making sure you were steady on your feet, the two of you sorted yourselves; tidying the mess of your sex hair and straightening the wrinkles out of your clothes. Bucky made sure to pocket your panties from the floor, leaving no evidence of your fun. 

“Come on, you.” He lightly slapped your ass before ripping the curtain open. “We’ve still got some shopping to do.” He stepped out, whistling to himself like he hadn’t just fucked you senseless and held his hand out for you to take. 

“You want to go shopping while your cum is literally leaking down my legs as we speak?” you hissed as heat crept up your neck from the thought. 

Bucky leaned his shoulder against the booth and smirked. “Well, we do have to buy you some new underwear. Remember, doll?” 

You so desperately wanted to smack the self-satisfied grin off his face. “You wait until we get home, you little shit.” 

An excited gleam twinkled in his eyes. “Can’t fuckin’ wait, baby.” 

With a huff, you exited the photobooth, begrudgingly sliding your hand into Bucky’s. Before you left to continue your shopping, however, he plucked the Polaroids from the outside dispenser.

Your boyfriend admired the photos, each one a debauched image of you with heavy, hooded eyes with your mouth hung open on a scream. 

“You look good on camera, baby.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “We should make a film next.” 

Trying to clench your thighs together to keep his cum from dripping down your leg, you swatted his arm. “Pfft—you wish, big boy.” 

But Bucky smirked, a wickedness in his expression. “I’m sure I’ll be able to persuade you somehow.” 

Author’s Note: There may be huge potential for a part two 🫣

[quimichi]

Hello there.

I wonder, how would Archons comfort Creator!Reader, when Creator!Reader has nightmares? Like, when Archons sitting or doing something, they noticed that Creator!Reader is crying and whispering their names in their sleep?

Anyway, have a good day/night.

↳ ❝ [YOU'RE HAVING A NIGHTMARE] ¡! ❞

>>> and the Archon's take care of you ♡

Archon's x Creator!Reader

Venti

"Shh." Venti lays beside you. "Shhh... it's alright, it's alright." He pulls you close, so that you can lean against his body. With his hand in yours, he traces his fingers across your face gently, calming your breathing. "It's alright, you're safe, your Grace. You're home. It's okay." "Venti...." that's all you mumble in your deep sleep.

His breathing grows heavier as his heart begins to beat faster. He strokes your hair, his breath close to your ear.

"Shh, it's alright, it's alright," he repeats, trying to console you. "Don't worry, my Grace. I'm here." A small sigh escapes him as he lays his head down on your chest, listening to your rapid heartbeat, gently hugging you while he tries to get ahold of his own breathing.

"Shh," he whispers softly, repeating the same gesture he just did, "don't worry, my Grace. Everything's going to be okay." Despite the anxiety that seems to be wracking his body, Venti seems dedicated on doing everything he can for you, even if it means he'd get no sleep on your behalf.

His eyes are closed and his fingers entangle with yours, his breath still shaky and uneven.

Although you didn't wake up, his presence alone helped more than anything....

Zhongli

Zhongli's face becomes increasingly more worried looking. He can see your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together tightly and your teeth bare down as if grinding against each other.

He reaches forward to take your shoulder, but he's forced to step back as your eyes open with a jolt, your whole body tensed. They are wide, the pupils dilated by the stress that's coursing through you.

The muscles along your jaw become as tight as if pulled taunt, your body trembling but still. Your entire body has stiffened and your breathing has become quick and shallow.

"Zhongli...." Your voice is soft and breathless, yet you seem to carry some small bit of fear in your words. You call out Zhongli's name, and his eyes snap up to look at you once again. He blinks, staring at you like he doesn't quite recognize you for a moment. Yet, a light seems to come on in his eyes once again, his expression growing from worry to concern.

"My grace...," he breathes, and it is evident in his tone how worried you make him, "I'm here to protect you you" You fall forwards, finding yourself caught in Zhongli's arms. You feel him catch your weight, holding you against his chest comfortably. His breath catches in his throat and he seems to freeze in place, not sure how to react to your action.

He seems unable to voice his thoughts, his worry, and instead simply squeezes you tightly against him.

"I'm always going to be there for you..."

Raiden

She stays awake, watching you as you sleep. She is silent in the darkness, laying fully awak beside you. If you were having a nightmare, she would do whatever it took to keep you safe. She would protect you. And if the nightmare would get to bad she would wake you.

Her eyes burn, and her muscles ache. She wishes he could hold your hand and press her lips against your forehead in gentle comfort ans support. "R...Raiden..." is all you can manage out in your sleeping state "Yes?" Her voice is soft, so quiet that you might hear it only as a whisper in the back of your mind.

Raiden leans closer, her movements gentle. She is still and quiet, but he cannot help the way that he is looking at you. Her eyes are soft and gentle, and there is a concern in her gaze.

Is there something bothering you? Do you call out for her protection? She wants to know how you are feeling, how she can help. Please...she wants to help.

She's relieved you're still fast asleep, although not in a good state. If youd wake up and look at her, you'd only see a worried Raiden ready to strike anything for you. She doesn't wants to upset you in a way, that's why she only pulls you closer to her chest, holding you in her much powerful arms...

Nahida

Nahida is instantly alert, having heard the sound of your troubled breathing the moment it changes. She kneels by your side, watching you closely and studying your face— your expression seems calm and tranquil, but she can tell that you're in great distress. Without hesitation, she strokes your cheek, her fingers gentle and soothing, as her voice lowers to a whisper.

"It's alright, my flower," she says, "you're dreaming. Whatever it is that ails you, I'm here. You're safe now. Friends protect each other" 

"Nahida..." you call out for her in your sleep, you can feel her presence. Nahida strokes your hair gently, her soft words meant to soothe you and calm your troubled mind. "I'm here, I'm here," she whispers to you again, knowing instinctively that you're calling for her even in your sleep.

"Shh, it's alright. It's just a dream. I'm here now." Nahida wraps a protective, reassuring arm around you, her own body heat radiating in your direction. Her other hand is firmly wrapped around yours— he's not going anywhere.

"You're safe now," the Dendro Archon whispers, her voice soothing, "just relax and let it go." She leans in and presses his forehead against yours, her eyes closed.

"I'm always here for you, my bestest friend"

Furina

Your mind races, your body trembling as your thoughts are overwhelmed. It is hard to make sense of anything. You want to scream or run or just curl up and be done with this feeling. Your eyes burn, your throat aches like you've been choked, and you can't seem to pull your breathing back to normal.

You want to wake up, and you try— oh how you try— but you remain trapped here in this dark place. And then— and only then— you finally realize that it is a dream. You wake up.

"Furina-!" She leaps up as soon as he hears you say his name.

"I— what happened?" he asks, her eyes taking in and adjusting to your presence once more.

"My love, is there something wrong?" She still seems slightly unsteady, and it's clear that he's just woken up, but her worry takes over, clearly.

"You're not hurt are you?" You shake your head in response to her question, no, but you're not well either. "My love..." she calls you, taking you rapidly in her arms holding you so close you might drown into her protection...

《♡ TAGLIST ♡》

@junejunejun

[babyonboard]

in sickness & in health | Don Hume x f!reader

Summary- nursing Don back to health. Part 1?

Warnings- fluff, talk of being sick (fever, nausea, etc.)

Word count- 2.2k

Fiddling with the thermostat, silently begging it to go lower, you glanced over your shoulder. Don was laying in bed, his eyes closed and his breathing slow. The sweat on his forehead was visible, and you could see that his eyebrows were slightly furrowed in discomfort. Giving up on the temperature, you decided on another course of action. 

This was not a part of your plan for your trip to Germany. You had been ecstatic to receive an invite, of course you would be there as a nurse, but you didn’t think they would actually need you. Yet, here you are, desperately nursing the stroke of the team to health. Now, it felt like it would be your fault if he didn’t get better, it would be your fault if they lost. You were beginning to wish you never accepted this position. 

You should be in the audience of the olympic opening ceremony right now, where you had originally intended to be. Yet, here you were, digging through the bathroom to find a washcloth. 

“Here we go.” You spoke under your breath, pulling a washcloth out of a drawer. You wet it with cold water, praying that this method would lower his fever. 

Don stirred when you sat on the side of the bed. “Hey.” You whispered. He mumbled a response that you couldn’t make out. 

You set the wash cloth on his forehead, his eyes cracked open. “How are you feeling?” You asked softly, brushing his hair away from his forehead. 

“Mmm.” He hummed. “Not that good.” 

You nodded and subconsciously continued to stroke his hair. “You think the medicine from earlier helped at all?”

He shrugged lightly. “A little.” His voice was low and husky, his eyes half lidded.

“What else can I get you?” You noticed how warm his head was, wondering if his fever had gone down at all.

“Nothing.” He said, closing his eyes again. “I’m okay for now.”

“Nothing at all?” You asked. “I could get you something to eat. Anything in the world.”

He stirred. “I don’t think I can eat right now. But thank you.”

“Okay.” You agreed. “Let me know if you change your mind.” He nodded softly and even though the conversation was over, you stayed for a moment. Observing his face, he truly did not look good. Your heart sunk a little, you only have a day and a half to get him feeling better before the race.

Despite his protest, you still went and got him food, he hasn’t eaten all day. Some crackers and a little bit of juice won’t hurt him. He was awake when you got back, sitting up in bed, reading a book. “Hi.” You smiled.

He gave you a classic Don nod. No words, no smile, but you knew he was hard to crack. You didn’t know Don personally before all of this, but you’ve seen him around before. He’s shy, always trying to fade into the background, but that’s never how you saw him. He always stood out to you, his sweetness, his quiet charm, that was the Don you knew. So you didn’t take his quietness personally. 

“What are you reading?” You asked absentmindedly. 

“Oh… um…” He stuttered. The embarrassment drained whatever color the sickness had left his face. 

You looked at the book, and realized it was yours. “Oh, I don’t care.” You waved your hand. Although it is your copy of The Great Gatsby, annotated and all, he could read it. The sweet, lanky boy in the bed could have ripped it up and burned it and you would still tell him you didn’t care. 

“Sorry.” He closed the book and set it on the nightstand. “Just bored.” He croaked, scrambling for an excuse. 

“Don, you can read my book. It’s okay.” You smiled. He folded his hands and looked down at the bed. You had no idea why he was so flustered, but that wasn’t your main concern right now. “I brought you something to eat.” You extended the small plate of crackers to him. He stared at it, then at you. “Don, you need to eat.”

He took a breath in, then silently grabbed the plate. “Thanks.” He spoke quietly. 

You nodded, then sat on the end of the bed. Much to your delight, he slowly began to eat the crackers. It was silent while he did so, and it never crossed your mind that it might be weird to sit there and watch him eat, but you couldn’t help it. 

“I saw the boys in the lobby. Opening ceremony went well.” You spoke into the quiet room. 

He nodded. Once again, no words. 

“They were all asking about you. Wondering how you’re doing.” You smoothed out the quilt, accidentally running your hand over his leg as you did so.

“What’d you tell them?” He asked, seeming concerned. 

“I told them you’ll be okay.” You looked at your lap. That could most definitely be a lie. If he kept at the pace he was going now, there is no way he would feel better by the race.

“I will be.” He reassured you, almost sensing your hesitance. You nodded in response, and it was quiet again. “Thanks for helping me, by the way. Probably would’ve died by now without you.” He cracked a small smile.

That was the first time you had heard Don make a joke, let alone smile. “Of course, Don. That’s my job.” You smile at him, his deep brown eyes holding you in a trance. “I’m… more than happy to do it.”

“Happy?” He blinked. “I’m sure you don’t like doing this.”

“Do you know how many girls would kill to be in my position? Taking care of the stroke of the olympic team?” You giggled.

His brain scrambled for a response. “I… that’s just not true.” He shook his head out of insecurity. 

“No, Don, it is.” you spoke assertively. You weren’t lying. Don was a hot topic of conversation, right behind George Hunt, of course. “Girls love you.”

He couldn’t tell if he was lightheaded from his fever or the thought of you talking about him with your friends. “W-what?” He stuttered out.

“Yeah.” You confirmed. “You’re the sweetest guy on the team, everyone knows that. You should’ve heard everyone after you played the piano at the victory party. They love you, truly.”

He blinked a few times in disbelief. He must be having a fever dream. The doll who sat exactly 6 rows behind him in his biology lecture was sitting on his bed, her hand on his leg as she told him how many girls love him. He could hardly form words.

It made you giggle, his shyness. You could see the blush in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “All I’m saying is, I think I’m a pretty lucky girl.”

Words failed him, his brain failed him, all he could focus on was the way you squeezed his leg over the blanket as you talked. He hardly even heard you ask if he was finished eating. You took the plate from him and set it on the nightstand, exchanging it for your copy of The Great Gatsby. You held it out to him, his eyes meeting yours, hoping you didn’t see the slight shake of his hand as he grabbed it from you. 

“I’m gonna go shower, but I’ll be back. Do you need anything before I go?” You asked. 

He shook his head and looked down at the book in his lap. While you were gone, he was able to read a few chapters, but he found himself paying more attention to your annotations than he did the words of the actual book. He particularly liked the smiley faces you wrote next to the scenes you liked. He found himself rereading Gatsby and Daisy’s kiss scene that you had underlined in purple ink. It made him blush, thinking about you reading this part. He ran his fingers over the purple ink over and over again, thinking about your hands delicately underlining it. 

His eyes grew heavy as he read, and he eventually thought it would be a good idea to get some rest. He fell asleep thinking about the kiss scene, switching out the characters with himself and a certain nurse who happened to be taking care of him.

The lights were off when you returned, and you could hear his heavy breathing, indicating that he was asleep. Of course, you wanted to let him get his rest, but you needed to take his temperature one last time before you went to sleep. Trying to wake him up as gently as you could, you rubbed his back softly. That didn’t work, so you moved your hand up to run through his hair. His eyes cracked open at the feeling of your fingers twisting in his hair. 

“Hi.” You whispered, scratching his head lightly. “Can I take your temperature?”

He nodded and hummed a yes, and you brought the thermometer to his lips. You tisked your tongue when you saw that it read 101, it had only gone down one degree since this morning. “It’s still pretty high.” You whispered, not surprised by the lack of response from him. “I’m gonna stay here for a little longer, make sure you're okay.”

He sleepily nodded and closed his eyes again. You ran your fingernails softly up and down his back. The room was quiet, but you could hear some light chatter and music coming through the open window. By the way he was breathing, you could tell he was no longer sleeping, but you continued scratching up and down his bare back, hoping to bring him a little bit of comfort in his sick state.

There was no way Don could fall asleep, not with the weight of you sitting next to him, especially not with the feeling of your fingers on his back. Despite his fever, he swore he had goosebumps from the feeling. He would get this sick every day for the rest of his life if it meant he got to keep receiving this treatment from you. 

You have no idea how long you sat there scratching his back, occasionally making your way up to his hair to scratch his head. It went on for a while before Don spoke up begrudgingly, saying “You should get some sleep.”

A deep sigh left your mouth. Yes, you should sleep, but you felt a duty to watch over him. “I need to stay with you for a little longer.” You reassured in a whisper.

Maybe it was his fever messing with his head, maybe it was because he felt so bad that you had to stay up with him, but Don did something out of pure instinct, knowing that you needed to sleep. He lifted the blanket that was covering him and scooched over in the small bed, making room for you. He nodded as a gesture for you to lay down. “You should sleep.” He said softly.

Your heart swelled at the sight. With no protest, you slid right next to him under the covers. Don could hardly believe what he just did, but he couldn’t be happier that he did it. Neither of you were sure what to do, of course both of you wanted to wrap the other up in your arms, but neither of you did. Just laying there, next to each other, hearing the other breathing and feeling the heat radiating from the other's body was enough.

On something of a confidence streak, Don noted the absence of your hand on his back. “Can you keep scratching my back?” He said softly. 

Saying nothing, you smiled and ran your hand up his back. His reaction was noticeable, his whole body relaxed and his eyes fell shut. He unintentionally fell asleep almost immediately. The exhilaration of laying in the same bed as Don kept you awake, but you were more than happy to lay there rubbing his back until you fell asleep in the hazy hours of the early morning.

[actiniumwrites]

𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇

synopsis: in which you find out the truth about lyney’s identity

characters: lyney x gn!reader

wc: 695

warnings: pure angst, established relationships, breakups, reader has a past with the fatui, mentions of physical harm and death, major spoilers for the 4.0 archon quest

notes: i am officially in writers block and want to die because of it. also, i know this idea is a little old since the quest came out a few weeks ago, but i still wanted to write something about his identity. also, yes, i would forgive lyney, but this blog has not seen pure angst in awhile so…🙂

“You were never going to tell me, were you?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you finally break the silence. Your arms are crossed as you lean back against one of the brick walls of the Opera Epiclese. Lyney stands approximately three feet away from you.

He’s silent, unable to answer the burning question. It’s been on your mind all night ever since Furina had so proudly announced it to all of the court. Lyney was a part of the House of the Hearth. Part of the Fatui.

“I can’t lie to you,” he carefully picks his words, terrified of further upsetting you.

Cutting him off, you scoff and turn away from him further than you already had, “What? Like you haven’t been lying to me this entire time? Real funny.”

Lyney takes a single step closer to you.

You take one back.

“Please, I wasn’t lying to you. I just left out some parts of the truth, that’s all, I swear!”

“You are part of the Fatui, Lyney. The Fatui! How can I trust you when you’re part of an organization who hurts people, kills people, even,” you frown. Not a single part of you isn’t affected by the hurt you feel. He hears the way your voice is beginning to break too, like the truth of it all is finally beginning to set in.

His hands come together as he pleads, “I promise I’ve never hurt anyone, not ever! Not everyone and everything in the Fatui is evil.”

For the first time tonight, you turn toward him and look him in the eyes. Your arms become uncrossed as you feel anger fuel your every action, every thought, every feeling. Walking toward him step by step, you hold out a finger, digging it into his chest as you speak, “You don’t get to pick and choose when you’re a part of something dangerous, Lyney! I don’t care if you aren’t the one doing the killing or the hurting, you still help them. What about all those people I told you about? My friends and family who got hurt by the Fatui? Did that mean nothing to you?”

He watches as tears form in your eyes at the mention of them. Of course he remembered, how could he not? The day you confided in him about your past and all the misfortune that you were dealt by the Fatui was eternally engraved in his mind. The organization who had taken so much from you that you swore you would find a way to end it one day, even if it meant dying. You had laid everything out to him and the entire time he was on their side.

You take two more steps back from him, voice shaking as cave in on yourself, “No wonder you were so quiet that day. God, and here I was thinking you actually cared.”

“Please don’t say that,” he whispers, tempted to reach a hand out to you, but not willing to scare you off. For all he knows, this could be the last time he ever sees you, “I care about you so much it hurts me. I really was horrified by the things you told me, I promise you that. Understand that I’ve only ever been talking to you as just Lyney. Your Lyney.”

It takes everything in you not to run into his arms and forget all of this is even happening. Give into his pleading words and return to who you thought was the only person who had ever really loved you. You want to pinch your arm to wake yourself up from the cruel nightmare, but somewhere deep inside, part of you has already accepted the truth and the fact that there is no universe in which you could accept his true identity. And so you take one final look at him before you take your final step, allowing the tears to fall from your eyes as you bid him a permanent farewell.

Lyney would never forget the final words you spoke to him. Four words that managed to break both your hearts more than the truth had.

“You’re not my Lyney.”

[jinx-xxed]

Chasing the Light

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N: Kylo Ren my one and only 🤞 I have a lot of stuff I can post about him so stay tuned (hopefully)

Summary; Your nightmares become your reality when the man who’s been terrorizing your mind finally appears before you to see who you really are.

Content; AFAB reader (barely mentioned), reusing some scenes from Rey (sorry queen), Force user hunted by Kylo Ren, mind probing, fight scenes

Wc; 3.2k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

Your dreams have become haunted.

Haunted by darkness, haunted by the screech of an unstable, red blade. Haunted by a dark helmet, visor rimmed in silver, cape wavering in the wind. The figure appears in flashes, darkness surrounding him so thoroughly that it’s suffocating. The scene is different each time; once it was on a rain soaked field, bodies of those cut down by that blade laying around your feet. Another, you were in a forest where it was cold and harsh. Whoever it is, he knows you’re there. He’d came for you once, lightsaber brandished, like he wanted to cut through you before the dream ripped you away. You wake up in a cold sweat each time, a deep panic settled into your bones that follows you for the rest of the day and makes you dread the coming night.

So that’s why, when those dark ships blot the sky, you know what it means.

“Go, take my ship at the end of town and get as far away from here as you can.” You say sternly, ushering your family towards the back door of your home. The streets are in a panic, people running about as darkness descends, desperate to escape. “Try to get to Atrisia, the coordinates are already set into the system. You’ll be safe there.”

Your mother turns in your grip, her hand cupping your cheek, brows creased. “Come with us, my firelight. Please.”

You hesitate, eyes tracing her face as if you can burn it into your memory. Hair like yours, lines on her skin marking her age, bright eyes—eyes wet with tears. You lean into her touch, your hand eclipsing her own, her skin warm and calloused. A sigh blows through your nose, eyes closing briefly to hold back what you feel building at the edges. “I can’t, momma. It’ll only put the rest of you in danger.” Your voice is quiet, like it’s not even yours.

“I don’t care! Don’t make me leave you!” She begs, clinging to the off-white fabric of your robes.

Your father gently pulls your mother away before you break. The whir of engines can be heard outside. “Come on, dear, we need to get going.” He keeps an arm around her, whispering things into her ear. Something about how they knew a day like this would come.

You sniff harshly and bring them in, trying your damndest to wrap your arms around your mother, father, and brother. “I’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll find my way back to you as soon as I can.” You try to make yourself believe your own words too. You look at them all one last time as the ground begins to shake. You practically push them out of the door. “Go, go! Please.”

You ignore your mother’s protests as you turn away, hurrying towards the front door. You rip it open, looking to the sky and watching the TIE fighters come screaming in. They’re already shooting, blowing holes in the earth and sparking flames to life. They’re not targeting civilians yet, instead firing off target on purpose, like an intimidation tactic. Your teeth grit, anger boiling in your blood. These intruders, these murderers that act more robot than human, coming to my home and ripping everything apart.

A TIE fighter explodes in the sky right above you.

You jolt, broken out of your haze as smoking metal falls to the ground. Shit. Shit, shit, shit-! You did not mean to do that. You practically just put a massive beacon on you, telling these bastards that what they’re looking for is here. You feel a strange buzzing in the back of your mind, an intimidating pressure, something that’s oddly familiar and has you wincing. You recall your dreams—the ones that have caused you so much terror for the past two weeks—and panic flares up, worse than it already was. Your lightsaber feels like it’s burning a hole into your side.

You break into a run towards the trees just as a massive ship touches down. A command ship.

Your breath comes in desperate pants to your lungs as twigs snap beneath your boots, underbrush catching on your robes as you shove it aside. Maybe, maybe if you can just get far enough away, if you keep running, they won’t find you. Or, you can at least draw them away from the town—away from the people you’ve known all your life. You can only hope and pray to whatever gods may be watching over you that your family made it out of here safely.

That pressure you felt only grows the further you get, which only serves to confuse you. It should be the opposite, so why-

A red lightsaber ignites before you.

You jump back in fear, entire body tensing as his dark form emerges from behind a tree. He’s huge, both in height and build, looming over you with muscles encased in the darkness of his uniform. There’s a hood pulled over his helmet, resembling something like death itself, that same silver rimmed visor catching the sunlight. Kylo Ren, something in your mind hisses like a warning, Commander of the First Order. Jedi killer. Your breath hitches in your throat. “How did-“

“You. You’re the one I keep seeing.” His voice is low, made lower by the way it crackles through the modifier in his helmet. He takes a step forward, you take two back. “Why?”

“How the hell should I know?” You snap, teeth bared. You know just how precarious this situation is, with him being a hardened soldier trained in the Dark Side and you being… nothing of that sort. You can feel your Force powers clash, smacking against one another as he tries reaching forward and you recoil. He wants into your head, but you refuse to give it to him, using your Force like a shield against his sword.

Blue is fighting red before you can register what’s happening.

Your lightsaber is secure in your hand, blue blade coming out to defend against his red. Little bits of plasma spit from cross guards he has built into his handle, making it look like nothing you’ve ever seen before. His blade sputters and crackles, made unstable by some type of injury within the kyber crystal that powers it. Dealing with such a damaged crystal can be incredibly dangerous and volatile; you’d have to be insane to willingly use one.

He’s strong, but you expected no less. You struggle against his saber, hands shaking from the force. He moves you back with ease, boots skidding against the dirt of the forest floor. He jerks suddenly, twisting his saber to bring yours forward and grip your wrists into immobility. “Where did you get something like this?” He demands, his helmet tilting ever so slightly towards your weapon.

“I made it, you ass-“ you snarl, kicking one leg out and forcing him away so you can widen the distance between the both of you. It’d taken you almost two years to get a hold of all the parts you needed to make your own lightsaber. The Force had guided you through the process, willing your weapon into creation without the usual guidance you’d get from a Jedi master. It’d been a struggle, that’s for sure.

He comes at you again, swinging up from your feet towards your face, making you bend backwards to narrowly avoid it. He moves quick, with the efficiency and deadliness of a warrior. You’re able to hold your own—barely—parrying hit after hit, retaliating where you can and moving your body in tandem with his attacks. The trees around you become scarred from your battle, gashes glowing orange burned into the bark. You spin around, putting your arms up to put your lightsaber against your back to block one of his swings and then twisting around to catch him on his thigh.

He grunts in pain, distracted for the briefest of half seconds, and you take your chance. You bring your leg up, swiveling on your other foot to knock him in the side and then the stomach, but when your bodies connect, your mind suddenly spins, and you’re no longer in the forest. You feel like you’re suspended in some type of unfamiliar space, overwhelmed with emotions and memories. Fear, anger, hurt, betrayal; the consoling voice of a mother to a young boy, a promise of better things, the whisper of dark voices.

You choke on your breath as your back slams against the ground, bones seeming to rattle from the force. Kylo Ren stands over you, shoulders hunched, body shaking as his breathing comes as ragged gasps through his modifier. You look at him with wide eyes, lightsaber on the ground next to you, with no idea about what in the hell just happened.

“How did you do that?” His tone is almost feral, deep with a tremble to the back of it, like he’s… scared.

“I- I don’t-“ you stutter with your words because truthfully, you have no clue either. It’s like when you touched him, you broke through his Force and saw into his mind without even meaning to.

“You need a teacher, someone to show you the ways of the Force.” He insists, taking a step towards you. He extends his free hand. “You’re untrained but stronger than you know. Let me help you-“

You smack him away, scrambling to your feet and gripping your lightsaber. “I will never take help from the likes of you.” You spit. “I won’t let myself become a monster like you have.”

He stiffens, like your words snapped him back into the cold, unfeeling murderer he’s supposed to be. You feel his anger simmering, coming off of him in waves. His fists clench. “We’ll see about that.” And then he’s on you again, faster than you can react, stronger than you’re prepared to handle. You try to retaliate; you block and you parry and you dodge beneath the screech of his saber, but it’s not enough. That lack of training and lack of fighting spirit comes back to bite you in the ass, earning you more than a few nicks and bruises. What seemed like a proper fight before now just becomes unfair and he knocks you down with ease, making you wonder if he was just holding back earlier. Your body slumps against a tree, bark biting into your back, vision wobbling as your consciousness is tugged and pulled away from you. Blood trickles down into your left eye, your head hits the forest floor; the last thing you see before the world fades is his black boots walking towards you.

» ☆ «

The cold makes a home in your bones.

Everything is stiff and heavy, like you couldn’t move your limbs even if you tried—and you did try, which is how you discover you’re strapped to some kind of device that’s more of a flat metal board than it is a chair. It’s like a torture device you’d see in history books. Panic floods through you, fully waking up your systems and sending them into overdrive. The grogginess is gone in an instant, and the memories of what got you into this situation come flooding back. Lightsabers, sparks flying, the Force, seeing into his mind, dark helmet, dark cape, dark, dark, dark- you jerk your wrists and ankles, making a desperate attempt to get yourself out of the cuffs holding you in place. You ignore the bite in your muscles, the ache of the wounds littered across your skin; you can feel the dried blood on your forehead.

“I wouldn’t waste my energy on that,” a voice speaks, low and mechanic and familiar.

Your breath hitches, your body tenses. There’s heavy, intimidating footsteps on the polished metal flooring before Kylo Ren rounds the chair, walking around you, gloved hands behind his back while not properly looking at you. You lurch forward on instinct, cuffs digging roughly into your wrists, teeth snapping and a harsh growl rumbling in the depths of your throat like a rabid animal. “I’ll kill you, I swear to god I’ll fucking kill you-“

You hear him huff, though faint through the modifier. “Quite the fiery temper for a supposed Jedi.”

You relax in your seat, trying to return neutrality to your expression. “I’m not associated with the Jedi.”

That helmet turns to you then, and you feel his burning gaze behind the darkness of the visor. “You’re not?” Then he eases his shoulders back, rolling them, and decides to answer his own question. “No, you’re not. That would explain why you’re so unknown, so untrained.” You don’t like the way he says “untrained”, like it’s a disgrace of some kind to him.

He leans in suddenly, his form looms, darkness incarnate. He’s close enough that you can see each ding and scratch littered across his helmet’s surface, left battle-scarred and damaged on purpose. His head tilts slightly to the right, like that of a curious animal, and you continue to feel his eyes on you rather than see them. “Who are you?” He asks, tone neutral but you can hear a note of frustration behind it, like your existence is a nuisance. “Why do I keep seeing a nobody everywhere I go?”

You try to get away from him, but being strapped to a board doesn’t leave you with a lot of places to go. So instead, your body shifts, pressing uncomfortably into the back of your seat as your chin lifts. “I don’t know. It’s not like I want to see you either.” You snap. “I barely even know who you are.”

He doesn’t say anything, instead studying you. You hate the way it makes you squirm, only made worse by the fact you can’t see his face. He backs off and there’s a pause, like time is frozen, and then he reaches a hand forward, fingers slightly curled in. “If you won’t answer my questions, then I have other ways of getting what I want.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

It’s seconds after that you feel it.

Your entire body seizes, uncomfortably tense against your restraints as a buzzing begins in the back of your mind. It’s simple at first, like the drone of a fly, but it quickly grows in intensity from a buzz to a drum to a violent pounding, beating around your skull and making your ears ring. Your eyes screw shut and your chest heaves, your mind feeling like it’s being dug into and pulled apart by unkind fingers. Your nails eat into your palms, the tang of blood just barely whisking across your nostrils.

Memories are uncovered and brought forward against your will, appearing in flashes and whirs of voices. The first strawberry harvest of the season, your mothers laughter, your fathers stupid jokes, your brothers stern yet comforting silence, the time you broke your leg falling out of a tree. Those kind are shoved aside quickly, though they fill most of the space where memories are stored; he doesn’t want those ones. Sweat drips down the side of your face, mouth open as you pant. Pain feels both so acute and so distant, like you’re half in and half out of your own body.

You’re tossed through memories like you’re within an ocean, barely able to stay afloat as you’re tugged one way and then the other. The first appearance of the Force, the way it’d shot out from you without control, the fear you’d felt when it ended up injuring your brother. That one sticks for a while, made to replay over and over by the one controlling this ride that you so desperately want off of. Having to learn all alone, your only teachers being the books you had to buy from black markets, the isolation from your peers, your solitary journey to Ilum, the construction of your lightsaber. The loneliness that has built over years and years surges up, taking over your senses, amplified by the pain you feel.

“You’ve been by yourself all this time. No one’s ever understood you.” Kylo says curiously. His hand tilts slightly, like he’s turning a knob. “You hid yourself away, you felt terror at what you could do, simply because you didn’t understand it. You’ve denied who you are.” You would say something if you could, but any words you try to muster come out as choked air.

His head lifts just a hairsbreadth. “I see it. You want so badly to learn, but you have nobody to show you.” He breaths out. “And yet, somehow, you were able to compete with me. I don’t get it; you’re worthless. You’re a girl from a nowhere planet with a nobody family, a family that would’ve betrayed you in the end anyway. Your powers would grow to overwhelm you because you don’t know what to do, and they would cower away, scared of their own daughter.” There’s something about the way he says those words, like there’s a familiarity to them that runs deeper than the surface. Like he’s said them before, heard them before.

Fire rages beneath your skin, threatening to tear you asunder, your eyes starting to roll. This is not what the Force should be used for—this pain, this display of power. Or maybe it is, maybe those books you used only ever showed one side of the story. There was always a mention of balance, the light unable to exist without the dark. As memories become skewed and watery in your mind, delirious with agony, you begin to realize you don’t know anymore. Your thoughts no longer feel like your own, so scrambled and incoherent that you’re unsure if you’re even able to think properly at all. His hand withdraws suddenly, like he’s been burned, and everything ceases completely. Your body goes slack, your head lolling, but there’s at last silence in your mind.

His fingers rub together as he contemplates something. “You have a great amount of potential, strength that can be brought out with the right training. Leader Snoke will be interested in you.” He mutters. “I feel the Dark Side within you, it’s what you were meant for. So easy to anger and hatred, consumed by your isolation, it will make you more powerful than you could ever imagine.”

You shake your head, but the action is weak. Your words are forced, sapping the last of whatever remaining energy you have. “N..No, no, I won’t- I won’t join you-“

He hums, as if considering your answer, his hands clasping behind his back. “I wonder what your family would think about that? Atrisia, was it?”

You jolt, ignoring the way your muscles smart, lunging forward as your exhaustion is replaced with a pure, snarling anger. It’s just what he wants, but you can’t find it in you to care. “You stay the fuck away from them, you monster-“

“Then I believe we’ve come to an agreement.” He says, helmet seeming to gleam with his cruelty. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to fight someone so badly before, even if fighting him is what got you here in the first place. He turns, typing something into a data-pad built into the wall. “Course will be set to see Leader Snoke shortly. Enjoy yourself while you’re here.”

You don’t get a chance to spit a final fuck you before he’s disappeared and the doors are hissing shut behind him.

[lightlycareless]

how does naoya act during foreplay 🥺🥺🥺

Heya anon!

Ok so first, this is the first time I thought of foreplay, gee, that makes me sound terrible doesn't it? Lol.

Also, I get this idea you wanted something sweet... but I have to apologize because I ended up going the complete opposite route, in other words, Naoya is 200% nasty. (I have more to say at the end) I hope it's still to your liking though!!

As always, here are the warnings: minors dni. SMUTTTTT also, someone is obsessed with your boobs. slight mentions of pregnancy. also, you're called a whore too.

Without further ado, happy reading!!

Naoya’s version of foreplay doesn’t necessarily limit itself to the bedroom, or to “immediately before the act kind of thing”.

It’s a day long affair that starts the moment he opens his eyes and simply knows he wants to, you know, rearrange your guts.

Your husband is essentially obsessed with every inch of your body, but he likes to begin his morning by kneading your boobs—there’s a relaxing notion to be found in the soft and warm sensation of your skin underneath his fingertips, which eventually guides him to the pinching and teasing of your nipples that in turn, make you whine, soon attempting to push him away.

And it’s not because you didn’t like it, truth to be told, you also found relief in his touch, even with his cruel and mischievous nature—specially that which involved certain… areas, often seeking his hands and placing them over your chest just so he could fondle you to both your and his pleasure.

But rather, his schedule didn’t permit him to follow through—he has a meeting with the hei, followed by another one involving the elders and the future of the clan—and if you were to remember your duties as his wife, the future Lady of the house, you had to keep him on track.

Thus, much to your chagrin, you play the role.

“Naoya… you have to get ready for your meeting…” you whine, even as determined as you were to help him, you were still distraught by this unwanted predicament.

“I know, my love. I just want to check everything is fine with your mochi’s before I go.”

“Naoya!” You gasp, face burning out of embarrassment; because of all things he could’ve said, he just had to go with the most embarrassing one!

“Are they getting heavier?” he murmurs, attempting to weigh them.

“…No.” you say with a pout, knowing well what he was referring to. “Not yet.”

You can only imagine how consumed he’ll become once you’re finally pregnant.

But until then, Naoya would leave you hanging, needy as he eventually peels himself from your body, dressing up in his everyday attire, kissing you goodbye, before dejectedly heading out the door to start his boring day, with you doing so soon after.

If there’s one thing Naoya knows how to do, however, is convert a boring day into a thrilling one, and there’s no convincing him otherwise once setting his mind into it.

As if it wasn’t obvious enough, Naoya cannot be a single moment away from you, not even for one second, or he feels like he’s going to lose his mind.

So, when he finally comes around for a break, get small treat before jumping back to his duties, you find yourself very permissive—even when you wished to not be so.

The first thing he does after his dreary meeting with the hei is over, is search for you, instinctively going to the kitchen and finding you there, already preparing some snacks and drinks for the following reunion…

A duty that inevitably fades into the background when wrapping his hands around your waist, resting his head on the crook of your neck and letting you know just how much he needs you by pressing his hardening cock against the cleft of your ass.

“Na—Naoya…” you whine, doing your best to quiet your voice less you wished to be caught red handed and flustered, as well as figure out why he’s in such a needy mood. “I can’t work like this…”

“You know you shouldn’t be doing anything as my wife, right?” he whispers, nibbling your ear while his hands travel up your waist and to your chest, taking their rightful place just beneath your breasts. “All you need to do is stay home, in my room, preparing for the moment I’ll come back and finally make you a mommy.”

A jolt of pleasure travels down to your core at his words, evident by the way you press your hips against him and whine against his touch.

But even when prepared for the ensuing, it’s still not convincing enough for him to seek your release.

Not now, and certainly not when he calls for you once his second meeting is over, coincidentally the time his lunch was to be served, to which you happily answered to, as usual, taking a seat on his lap and feeding him—

Or attempting to, at least, because his lips would only take your kisses as substance, ignoring your efforts to serve him—food, that is.

“My princess is so eager to please me, isn’t that right?” he says, a smirk growing on his lips when feeling you instinctively rub yourself against his cock, hands on your waist to keep you still, just where he wanted.

“It’s only—my duty.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Now it’s your words sending a jolt straight to his member, which you immediately feel by the twitches against your ass. Oh, how he must be suffering underneath the tight layers of his clothes… “I want to… make you happy.”

Naoya smirks before placing one of his hands behind your head and pulling you closer to him, taking your lips in a heated kiss for the nth time that occasion, yet again leaving you breathy, whiny, but above all wanting—just as he always did whenever reminding you of his ownership.

From the confines of your mind to the acknowledgement of the staff members, the truth prevailed:

You were his.

And all that he wanted; you’d gladly oblige.

“Nao—Naoya—!” you’d moan, hand scrambling to whether hold onto the wall before you or cover your mouth, only for him to make the decision when pushing you further into the wall, pulling aside the underwear you’ve surprisingly decided to wear today, before taking your wrists with your hands and fervidly continue rubbing his cock against your slit, coating it with your slick, yet denying you of the stretching sensation that always sent you over the edge.

Your husband was a cruel man—a cold, merciless person who took great pleasure in making you suffer like this, denying you of one of the most principal necessities of a marriage.

And yet, you still loved him for it.

“Naoya—please.” You whined, moving your hips against him in a way you’d hope he’d accidentally slip his head into you and properly fuck you—however, his talent not only exceeded in jujutsu, but also in figuring out your intentions and stopping them before sprouting any further. “Pleaseeee—I want it, Naoya, I want to cum!”

“Not yet, whore.” He groans against your ear, briefly releasing his hold on you to swiftly turn you around, eyes dazed in pleasure as he looks down to your chest yet again, a newfound goal flashing across his mind once returning his cock back to your dampened cunt. “Show them—show them to me, quickly.”

You don’t need him to elaborate to immediately get to work, nimbly undoing the covers of your chest and releasing your breasts for him to tease and suck on, like his life depending on it—Naoya is delighted by your unconditional obedience, which he could never get enough of…

Or perhaps take it to the next level.

“You’d do good in staying like this, you know? Not bothering to wear anything anymore, just so you’d always be ready for me.”

As if you hadn’t long discarded the semblance of wearing underwear for that same reason—only doing so today in hopes of keeping him focused on his duties, or at least hindrance him into reconsidering.

But who are you kidding—Naoya was a greedy man, and an insatiable husband who became unstoppable when it came to his lust. With you doing little next to nothing to be his sense of responsibility, opting to instead please, because you were equally, if not more, perverted when it comes to indulging one’s desires.

Thus, the thought of you being completely naked, eagerly welcoming him after a long day of work, ready for him to use you as he pleases is one that enthralls you very, very much. Enough to reconsider pushing him to get that department the two saw a while ago, just so you could let go of any inhibitions (you still had some, surprisingly) and forget about the world around you.

Undoubtedly, you’re spoiling him, enabling him, and more. You really are.

Yet, these things held little space in your mind when the night finally arrives, finding yourself in the confines of your shared bedroom, freed of the silky restrictions against your body, clean of the cum he encased between your cunt and underwear —which he had tasked you to keep there until the end of the day, unnecessarily so since you’d be in a similar worse state by then—but wholeheartedly prepared to serve him as the compliant wife you swore to be.

Because foreplay with Naoya isn’t like a warm-up, or a preparation.

It’s the continuous threat of the inevitable—a reminder that you are nothing but a willing vessel for Naoya’s desire, prepared to receive all that he will give you, even if you knew it would put you in such a state of fuzziness, making remembering who you were or what you were supposed to be doing the next day would an impossible feat, if not worse…

And yet, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

Ok so, either I'm in a very specific mood or Naoya is always nasty. I think it's mainly the last one, but either way, Naoya never struck me as someone to be overtly sweet—like, he can be, but there's always something... perverted behind his actions, if you know what I mean 😏

Also, I want to add that I never really thought of Naoya and foreplay, I just thought this horndog would literally tease you so goddamn much, you'd be ready to go whenever (just one touch and you're wet and ready to go lol. Literal soulmates!!!) but I guess him buying you gifts and bringing you flowers can get you in the mood too... (for a baby, I mean. It's like: *sees flowers* I want him to be the father of my children.)

Anyways, I hope you liked this small piece :> I'm still getting used to writing smut, so I apologize if there are some... things that show my amateur ways, either way, I stil enjoyed writing this very much ❤️

Now, take care, and hope to see you soon!!

[actual-changeling]

partly inspired by my own meta post that i wrote about it a while ago. i thought about the love confession at the end of triangle for too long and somehow managed to uh. make it hurt even worse. sure, i could have fixed it BUT i can also write the equivalent of making us all chew glass so that's what i did.

800-something words of bittersweet angsty hurt/comfort

———

"Hey, Scully."

Her feet are aching and her body is screaming for rest, and yet she returns to his bedside when he calls, exactly like she always does. The day is heavy on her bones, eating away at her composure and leaving her raw, with her nerves exposed. It feels like she hasn't slept in a week, and all she wants is to go home, have a hot bath, and probably cry for a good hour or two. 

Mulder pushes himself upright, and with her hands grasping the railing, she leans in closer than she probably should; she can still see him floating in the water, no matter how hard she tries to expel the memory.

"Yes?"

Scully can't say what she expected—a 'good night', maybe, or a 'thank you for saving my ass again'. 

But when Mulder looks at her with an unflinching gaze and says, "I love you,"  she breaks. Easily and all at once, a dry twig snapping underneath her heel, a ripe peach bruising as it rolls from the kitchen counter. Her eyes flutter close, her next inhale shakes almost violently, and she falters. The white-knuckled grip she has on the plastic railing is the only thing keeping her upright.

Scully cannot look at him, can't face the determination, the hope she knows she'll find. After a minute of tense silence, she speaks with a quiet, tortured voice, and clings to the last remnants of her self control.

"Don't—don't do that to me, please. Not today."

Mulder's hand lands next to hers, and she stares at the inch of distance between them as hers begins to tremble.

"It's not drugs talking, Scully, I mean it."

I know you mean it, she doesn't say. That's the problem.

God, she's tired. She just wants to go home and forget about all of it, and now he cannot even give her that one last respite. The tears pricking in the corner of her eyes are born of overwhelmed exhaustion, and her strength fizzles and burns out as she attempts to hold them back. She does not want to cry in front of him, never has, and the hot trail running down her cheek feels like a dagger pointed at her chest.

When Mulder sits up and leans in, she squeezes her eyes shut and is about to turn away when his fingertips brush along her jaw. He slowly, hesitantly, traces the lines of her face until he cups her face with his right hand and wipes at the tears with his thumb. 

It's everything she wants at the wrong time, and yet she helplessly sinks into the touch. After a few moments of her allowing the gesture, his other hand comes up, too. Mulder is close enough for her to feel his warmth against her skin and his breath ghosting over her lips.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and she doubts either of them knows what exactly he's apologising for. 

Saying it. Not saying it earlier. Saying too many things he shouldn't have. Almost getting himself killed again. All of it and more.

"I can't do this, Mulder. Not when—when you could change your mind and take it back."

She can sense him scrambling to respond, and she finally opens her eyes to stop him in his tracks. Not unkindly, she softly shakes her head.

"You will promise not to, but it already happened. You meant what you said until you didn't. You wanted me around until—well." The laugh bursting out of her throat is weak and humourless.

In a flash of panic, Mulder's grip on her face tightens, not uncomfortably so, just enough to cause her hands to shoot up and wrap around his wrists in return. Keeping him in place, pulling him away, she doesn't know. Both. Neither. He does not want her to walk away, and, deep down, she wants to stay despite knowing she can't. 

"Never again," he pleads, an edge of desperation to his voice she heard once before; another missed chance hidden badly from view. "Never again, Scully, I swear."

She's shaking her head before he finishes his sentence, squeezes his wrists once, and then slowly leads his hands away from her face. Immediately missing the warmth, she lingers and keeps them in her grasp. After everything they went through, he's still Mulder, the one person in the world she knows would never willingly hurt her despite having done so before. She still trusts him, no matter how hard she tries not to.

Regret is dripping from her words, and she smiles, if only to soften the blow. She doesn't want to make the situation worse than it already is, but she can't do this. She can't. Not now. Not like this.

"I want to believe that, I really do, but it's not enough. Words aren't enough."

She slowly slides her hands upwards until she can unfurl his fists and press a kiss to his palms. Then she lets go and steps back.

"Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow." 

Scully feels his eyes on her for days, no matter how many miles stretch between them. He does not say it again. She didn't expect him to—somehow, it still hurts.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Congrats on 1k! I'd love a little missing scene fic between 2x04 and 2x05 where Stede gives some much-needed TLC to Ed and all of his mutiny-sustained injuries during his first night back on the Revenge 🥺

YES this is my NICHE!! Get absolutely cared for and cherished Ed!

Send me a prompt and I'll write a 1k word fic!

--

Ed had a thousand half-baked plans swirling through his mind as they rowed back to the Revenge.

He didn’t think Stede understood just how badly the crew would surely want him to stay gone. Ed’s current top idea for their best strategy was to pretend that he had become stricken with malaria. He’d also once met a guy who claimed to have been able to cry blood on command, and he was hoping that maybe he could do that, if it came down to it.

Fuck, but he was tired.

He’d had a hell of a day, was the thing, and he’d kind of been relying on staying moving or otherwise letting himself just drift along, and now that he had to sit still, and it was getting dark and quiet, everything was starting to rush in.

His head was pounding, and it hurt so badly he could feel it in his teeth. His split lip stung. His arm had kept getting sorer, until now he really didn’t want to move it. If he had been lucky enough to avoid a couple broken ribs, they were sure as shit bruised.

Point was: he felt like warmed over shit, and he was beginning to suspect from Stede’s increasingly worried glances that he might’ve noticed.

Fortunately, all his planning turned out to be useless.

As they pulled alongside the ship, Olu’s face popped up over the side. “Fucking finally,” he said. “What’s taken you so long?”

“Well, we stopped by an antique shop for dinner, which burned down,” Stede filled him in, reaching out to steady the ladder Olu threw over the side, “and then Buttons turned into a bird.”

“Ed with you?”

Stede pursed his lips, looking at Ed over his shoulder. “Yes, he actually-”

“Jim says they want you to lock the cabin door tonight,” Olu said. “As a precaution.”

Olu’s head disappeared, and Ed just stared up open-mouthed. “Huh. Thought that’d be harder.”

“Well, I had a feeling.” Stede held the ladder steady, motioning for Ed to go first. “C’mon.”

Ed would never know how Stede managed to get him up the ladder, because the second he put his foot on it, the world went spinning away, and suddenly the sky was on the ground, and that certainly wasn’t good.

The next thing he knew, he was laying on the deck, and Stede was saying “give him some space, please,” in that bitchy tone Ed loved so much.

“‘M fine,” Ed mumbled.

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England,” Jim muttered under their breath.

Ed let his eyes slip closed again, listening vaguely as Roach promised to bring a few first-aid supplies to the captain’s cabin.

“D’you want me to take care of him?” Roach asked.

Before Ed could even lift his head to say no, Stede was saying, “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

Ed risked a peek around as Stede helped him up, supporting him with an arm around his waist as he led him towards the cabin. Fang gave him a genuine smile, but Frenchie wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Jim still glared at him.

“It’s okay,” Stede whispered into his ear. “You don’t have to worry about anything right now.”

Ed’s headache must have been worse than he thought, because he kind of drifted, half-conscious, as Stede got him seated on the couch. He heard Roach’s voice again, saw Stede sit something on the cushion next to him.

“I can take care of it myself,” Ed muttered half-heartedly.

“You don’t have to, though,” Stede said softly.

Ed sort of nodded, and the next thing he knew, Stede was sitting next to him, warm and real and there, and there was a soft cloth dabbing at the cuts on Ed’s cheeks.

Stede helped Ed shimmy out of his jacket and his shirt, whispering apologies when Ed cried out as that jostled him, and set to work soothing bruises and patching up cuts. The wound on his arm hurt like a bitch, but it thankfully wasn’t too deep for Stede to feel like he couldn’t stitch it up himself.

He should’ve felt more cautious, he knew, shouldn’t have been leaning into Stede’s side, halfway to nodding off, letting Stede see all the vulnerable bits of him so soon.

But Ed was tired, and everything hurt.

“Shh,” Stede kept soothing, so gentle and so earnest that Ed exaggerated a bit, whining like he’d never had worse pain before just so Stede would keep comforting him. “Only a bit longer, you’re doing so well.”

Roach had left something for the pain, a syrup that went down sweet as honey, and Ed was glad that Stede had taken over, because he might’ve kissed anyone who gave that to him out of sheer relief.

As it was, Ed was so tired he wound up just kind of mouthing at the side of Stede’s face.

Stede laughed, pulling Ed into his side, wrapping his arms around him, and the whole world went soft and steady. “Tomorrow,” Stede promised. “You can rest, now.”

Ed let his head rest on Stede’s shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, humming in delight at the feeling of Stede’s hand softly circling his waist to hold him steady.

He wasn’t looking forward to how he’d feel in the morning. He knew he’d be on unsteady footing, unsure what to say or how to say it, and Stede would probably come up with a whole speech for him to memorize for the crew, and that would go over like a lead balloon, he imagined. He wouldn’t know how to respond when the crew were upset or angry with him - as would be their right, of course. And he wouldn’t know how fast Stede would want things to move, or if he’d be angry with Ed, still, too, or…

Ed sighed, tucking his nose further into Stede’s neck, breathing in, just allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of Stede around him.

That was tomorrow. For now, he was safe.

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

Dreams Of You - Nikolai Lantsov

Summary: Sleepwalking was not something Nikolai was used to, but he thought maybe it was the stress, and at least being back at The Palace should put an end to the way he somehow kept walking to your room. Except it didn't.

Prompt: "I Wish I Could Control Myself Around You." (Also 5+1? Kinda)

Content Warning: No Beta/Proof Reading. Vasily. More Specifically Vasily Being Presumptuous, Rude And Demanding. Some Suggestive Content, But Not Explicit And Not Overly. Unwanted Advances From Vasily. Teeny Tiny Mistaken Identity Trope If You Squint. Explicit Language. Questionable Behaviour And Intent When Sleepwalking. Not Beta/Proof Read.

Word Count: 5k

Nikolai Taglist: @hauntedenthusiasttragedy , @writingmysanity

1

The night is long and the ocean is unhappy, swaying more violently than you'd like as you drift in and out of sleep. You find yourself wishing morning would hurry in through the port windows so at least your restlessness would be justified. You turn, burying your face into an arm and hoping the tide of sleep might find you sooner than the tide underneath you. The Volkvolny is usually much calmer on the waves, and your sleep is often more forgiving, but something wants you awake tonight, and the Saint's aren't letting your consciousness slip into sleep. You try recounting the stars that should be overhead by now, mapping out the small burning lights in the sky on the wood above your head, as if you could see through the deck and into the dark blue night. When even that fails you, you consider freeing whoever is on deck from their duty, and taking over. But you stay still, your bed may not be calling you, but the bed is a comfort all the same. Not long ago you kept yourself in a hammock like a lot of the crew, but recently the tides have been changing in more than one way, and you find yourself laid on flat supported comfort, that almost reminds you of a home you never really found on land but imagine nonetheless.

The door to your room opens with a fumbling of the handle, just as sleep begins to take you. You blink in the dark, trying to figure out what is happening in the darkness. Your eyes adjust enough to make out the captains silhouette before you find him laying down on the bed beside you.

"Sturmhond?" you ask into the silence. "What are you doing?"

After a few attempts to get his attention, you realise, what likely should have been obvious from the sluggish movements, and the uncharacteristic quiet of him, that he is in fact asleep. You smile to yourself, amused at how he has found himself lain next to you on your bed, in the depth of sleep. You start rolling the jokes you can make at his expense through your mind as he moves to get more comfortable. You chuckle gently as you feel an arm reach for you.

"Careful," you warn him, gathering the warning might seep into his mind even in his sleep. But it seems to have the opposite effect as he reaches for you more eagerly. And it's not until you feel his lips brush your neck that you move urgently up and away. "Okay, no, that's enough of that, Sturmhond, wake up." He does not, and you grip a hand over his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Wake up." You're about to give up trying when he starts to whisper in his sleep, and barely any of the words register in your mind between your own tiredness and the low tone of his speech but it's enough to send you spiralling, so you break protocol slightly. "Nikolai, wake up," you aren't sure if it's the roughness of your voice or the use of his real name but he blinks awake. His eyes stare up into yours for a few moments while he adjusts, and then widen at the realisation that he is looking at you and wide awake.

"I am not in my..." he starts, voice all sleep soaked and charming.

"No, you're not," you confirm. "You sleepwalked, right into mine."

He gathers himself together, starting to scramble up. His apologies are all fumbled, and he stands, and in your fully awake state you can't help but noticed just how un-creased that white bed shirt of his is, and how he sleeps with far too many buttons undone. "Stop," you tell him, pulling your blankets back and nodding to the excess of space in your bed, "you're not going back to your room," you tell him.

"Why?" he asks, eyeing you.

"Because you might sleep walk again and you might be unlucky enough to find yourself in someone else's quarters, someone less understanding," you tell him. He doesn't argue with that, but is still hesitant as he lays back down, still reeling in thoughts of all the ways to apologize to you. His subconscious has betrayed him on a whole new level and he cannot even find the words to explain or excuse it, not that he would try, he just says he is sorry again.

"I can go back," he says. You just shake your head and push his shoulder down gently, turning you back to him.

"Just go to sleep Sturmhond," you mumble, gently mocking but mostly sincere.

"You don't mind?" he checks. Truthfully you don't, you doubt you will sleep worse with him here, you'll probably even sleep better. And there are quieter reasons why you don't mind, reasons based in desire that you keep tucked away. But you don't let your mind linger on that, especially when Nikolai deep in his sleep had tried to press his lips to your neck and you'd had to stop him.

"No," you assure him, "not if you can shut up, I know that is hard for you."

"If this is your seduction plan it's very verbose," he mumbles. The fact that he is half asleep and using words like verbose, still, makes you both want to throw him overboard and kiss him, and you cannot tell which urge is more prominent.

"Besides I think Tamar would be much less understanding if she woke up to you attempting to seduce her," you retort. He opens one eye to look at you, your back still to him.

"I didn't..." he starts.

"Please, like I'd let you get more than hand on me before I would wake you with a knife to your throat," you joke, "now captain, please, I beg you. Go. To. Sleep."

2

Nikolai was sure now that you were off the Volkvolny and in the palace, that the night trips might stop. It had become slightly worrying that waking up in a room that was not his own had become somewhat a normal outcome of going to sleep. But it had always been your room, and you had for all your jokes and teasing, been very gracious about the whole thing, so understanding of a situation you needn't have been.

He tries not to think about the strange comfort there is about waking up next to you. Because then he might have to address the feelings laying just below the surface and he cannot do that.

But tonight, the third night in the palace you are woken by the sound of the door catching on the lock as it attempts to open. You move to your feet, bare skin against the cold stone of the floor making you jump slightly, feeling more awake. You unlock the door and it gently nudges open, and for all the surprise you thought you might feel, you feel none when you set eyes on Nikolai. You do not bother to wake him. You let him find his way under the soft covers and you let him sleep. When you attempt to move he reaches for you, and that tugs at the seams inside your chest and you're fit to burst.

The ceilings of the palace are intricate, painted into woven patterns that tell stories if you look at them long enough, and you often find yourself looking at them. Your sleeplessness has gotten worse. You don't like to admit it, but you quietly wait for Nikolai to turn up, knowing the only time you really get any true rest is when he is beside you, which is a transient situation that you know could never be anything but temporary.

The softness of the bedsheets, has you spiralling, so soft, so endlessly welcoming, it all feels false, until you hear his breathing beside you, the thump of his heartbeat, and then the doubt slips away, and sleep sets in.

In your dreams you're chased by memories from your time on deck, how you and Nikolai played a game of convincing some of the crew you could grant wishes if they could beat you at cards, Tamar was the only one to ever manage, and you know she cheated. Nikolai could beat you, you knew this, but he never did, in your dreams you remember the conversation when you asked him why, and in the favour of the game he answered, "when I have a wish worth making I will come to you." You had thought of plenty of wishes worth making in the time since, but he had asked for none.

His eyes are glazed with sleep as he blinks awake, the sunrise seeping in and setting the room into a gentle glow. You haven't moved, his arm stretched over you as a silent request for you to stay close, a request you are far too happy to oblige, even if you know better.

"How many rooms did you wake up in before this one?" you ask, bringing a glass of water to your lips.

"Only my own," he says, voice groggy as he stretches. "I thought maybe whatever it was had left itself on the ship."

"Yet you find yourself here again," you say. "You should probably get back to your room, your highness, before they bring you breakfast and set off some type of alarm when they see you missing."

"I doubt that is a likely outcome," Nikolai yawns.

It happens twice before you start to get into a pattern of waking him up shortly after the bells ring out for morning.

3

You open an eye to see Nikolai as he slips into the bed beside you. "For a Prince you have terrible manners," you tell him in his sleep, "could at least learn how to sleep-close-my-door, if you can sleep-open-my-door."

He moves and you see a dark patch against the white of his bed shirt and your sudden alarm peaks as he leans close to you. "Nikolai," you say a little too loud, a little too snappish and he wakes up.

"Sorry," he starts his apologies, "I don't-,"

"No," you warn him, "you didn't, just hush, are you bleeding?"

Nikolai sighs and sinks into the comfort of your bed, and you lean over him, examining the blood soaking his shirt. "You're injured," you state. You gently tug the soaked fabric away from his body, to try and prevent it sticking to the wound. "Can I?"

"I wake up in your bed most mornings, I think we can skip the fake modesty," he says, smirking at you. You give him a gentle glare but roll up his shirt. His wounds were bandaged but in his sleep he seems to have gently pulled some of the fixings away.

"Nikolai," your voice is more hagridden than he is used to hearing it, usually you are more inclined to mock him in situations like this.

“I am fine," he insists. "Needn't fuss, it is just a flesh wound... a few flesh wounds.”

You shake your head at him, and reach for clean bandages in your bedside table, he doesn't ask as to why you have them and you don't seem inclined to offer an answer as you fix him up. "Nikolai, you're a prince again, not a solider, not a privateer, a prince, you cannot be getting all cut up," you tell him, soothing a hand over his bandages. He frowns and looks at the sheet of your bed.

"I believe that is my blood," he says, "my apologies."

"Only apologise for not keeping it in your body where it is needed, I will hear no apologies for the mess."

Once you're done you start to get to your feet. "Where are you going?" he asks, cocking his eyebrow at you.

"To close my damn door, is that okay your highness?" you ask, hearing the door click close. You'd wanted to close it sooner, but had gotten distracted. You should have closed it sooner, but how were you to know that Vasily would be wandering the halls, looking for a drink and would stumble a glance through your open door to see you and Nikolai. How were you to know that, you leaned over the second prince of Ravka, in your bed, your back to the doorway, whispering in hushed tones would be caught by Vasily. Had you known, you would've easily guessed the conclusions he must have drawn from the sight, but you return to your bed none the wiser, at least now satisfied at the locked door.

"Nikolai what do you dream of?" You ask quietly, not sure if he is still awake. His breathing pattern shifts slightly.

"I don't know," he lies, you know he is lying, but you don't call him out on it, "I don't remember my dreams."

4

Something felt wrong before you even had reason to realise it. You could hear the footsteps down the hall, and you wondered how late it was, or how early. It felt... too soon somehow. The sun hadn't been long buried by the gulf of the horizon. Usually it took more time passing for Nikolai to fall asleep, and only in the depth of that sleep did he find his way to you. But the footsteps continued to get nearer, and you knew there was really no other reason for someone to be down this way at this time of night.

You rolled over, letting your eyes fall on the curtains, knowing he will let himself in. You feel tired, but not because sleep is calling you but rather the weight of the day is pressing you into your bed.

The door opens and you don't bother looking up, even when it shuts again, even when the pacing of the strides seems unfamiliar, part of you is screaming something is wrong, but you've been thinking about that for a while, but this is a different type of wrong. Not the, we shouldn't be getting so comfortable, not the, we really need to address this situation, not the, you're catching feelings for Nikolai Lantsov, type of wrong. Not the, you're realising you've had these feelings for a long time and they've only just been getting worse with every night he spends in your bed, kind of wrong.

No. This is the type of wrong you can recognise with your eyes closed because of all those things, because you know all the little mannerisms of Nikolai, awake or not, you know how he moves, how he walks, fuck you know how he breathes, you are sure you could pick it out in a crowded room. And this, this wasn't right.

It's when he goes to kiss your neck that you know, that you're sure, but the words come out of your mouth before you open your eyes, "none of that," you say too softly.

"Why don't you let him kiss you?" Vasily asks. You knock him so hard and fast away from you, shoving him with enough force that he falls back off your bed. "Strong one, huh?"

"What, the fuck, are you doing here," all rage, any trace of confusion gone with the sight of those sickly lion eyes. You're not sure what it is about the king and his first born, but they have this eagerness, this entitlement that Nikolai doesn't have in those eyes. They think everything is owed to them, that by breathing the air owes them a debt. You think they'd be this way royal or not. And the way Vasily eyes you now is no exception, he seems to think he is entitled, and he is so many shades of wrong.

It might be the collision of body with floor, and the resounding sound that seems to echo in these walls, or maybe it is the tone of your voice and the sharpness of your words, but whatever it is, it jolts Nikolai from his sleep just before his hand lands on the door of your room.

"Come on," Vasily looks you up and down as if to say 'don't play coy,' and you want nothing more than to cut those eyes out. "I know you like a prince."

Nikolai snaps at that, it sobering him into a sense of alertness he hasn't felt from rising in a while. He might have grown complacent in this calmness, waking most mornings to the gently sound of your voice bringing him back to the world.

Nikolai has his brother by the collar before you can get another word in, and Vasily just rolls his eyes. "Don't like the idea of waiting your turn?" he mocks. You would curse him out, but Nikolai is steps ahead of you, holding his brother tighter and pushing him with more force than he should into the wall. Those eyes of Nikolai's look fierce even in the dim light. "Not eager to share?" Vasily asks, trying to keep the mocking tone, trying to show no agitation, "you never have been, but being protective of a whore is a little much."

"If you so much as look at them again Vasily I will commit acts of treason," Nikolai warns, his voice so steady, so pledging that it doesn't suit the words of heralding threat he is speaking.

"Brother," Vasily tries. Nikolai slacks his grip only to shove Vasily once against, shoulders first, against the wall.

"Do not call me that right now," he warns. And all that usual hybris and bravado that Vasily holds onto, that self importance drains from him in this shadowy dark of your room. Nikolai giving him a look that dismisses any doubts Vasily might have that Nikolai could not do him harm. He could, and he will, and that's a promise as much as a threat. "Get out."

Vasily shakes himself off, and pauses, as if to have another word, some quip, but a look of withholding in Nikolai's eyes makes him think better of it, and he leaves promptly, which you're confident is the only thing keeping Nikolai from violence. One more word from Vasily's mouth, the snarky tongue of that future king, and Nikolai might not have been able to hold himself back any further.

"Nikolai," you say, as if you calling to him might bring him back. His gaze turns on you, and it's urgent and desperate, searching you without a second thought, all impulsive and concern.

"I am so sorry," he starts with the apologies, you've gotten oddly used to hearing him say these words, but they've never been less needed.

"Vasily is not your fault," you remind him. He moves closer, wrapping his hands around your forearms, fingers tracing delicate circles, to calm down.

"He would've have come here if it wasn't for me, he..."

"He must've seen," you finish, "he made assumptions, wrong ones, but understandable ones."

"Nothing about accusing you of being a whore is understandable or forgivable," the protectiveness of how he talks makes you want to kiss him on the forehead and pull him in tight. You settle for a soft chuckle. "Why don't you lock your room?" He asks. It isn't an accusation, not a way to shift blame, it is just a question that has played on his mind and now he has a reason to ask.

"Why do you find yourself in mine?" You ask in return.

"Because you let me in?" he jokes, and there it is, amongst that boiling rage, that keeps him clinging to your arms to not run after his brother and commit those acts of treasons he threatened to commit, is Nikolai.

"Prince Nikolai Lantsov, Major of the Twenty-Second Regiment, Soldier of the King's Army, Grand Duke of Udova, and second son to His Most Royal Majesty, King Alexander the Third, Ruler of the Double Eagle Throne," you mock, "how many rooms did you try to get in before you found mine?" You're smiling, because you're trying to focus on him, and now, and forget the lingering feeling of wanting to drive the letter opener in your bedside table into Vasily's eye and watch him bleed across the floor.

He gives you rueful smile, trying to be here with you, focus on you, not think about his brother and the ways he wants to tear him to shreds for daring to come near you. "Only ever yours."

5

"Wake up," you whisper gently. You don't want to, you want to let him sleep, you want to let him stay in your bed because these moments are the only time you feel real lately. Everything seems to be happening around you, and to you, to Nikolai, and you feel like you have lost whatever semblance of control, or illusion of such control, you ever had. But especially since Vasily and that incident, things have been even more complicated. Vasily is too much of a coward to call Nikolai out for threatening him, or for showing him up. Vasily is too much of a coward to confront Nikolai directly at all. But he has been making things difficult. So you're being extra careful. And the idea that this, whatever it is, might be coming to an end all too soon, is not passing you by.

"I'm back again," he says, blinking into the day. He hadn't woken when he let himself in and you hadn't wanted to disturb him, so you'd shut the door and tucked him in and fallen asleep, forgoing any of the chitter chatter you both would usually have in the early morning. But even though the sun was yet to rise, these thoughts were keeping you awake, and your need to talk to him was outweighing it all.

"I changed room," you remind him. This was something else you'd taken to doing after Vasily. "How is it you always find my room?"

"Because I must be looking for you," he says. Those tired eyes, look at you and if you would let yourself consider it, you'd call the look in them longing, you know it must be how you look at him. Your gazes overflowing with the need and yearning that aches, your craving for him being near you worsened by every small moment.

"Is it time?" he asks. You move a small part of his sleep tousled hair back into place and the sound of his voice, the cadence reminds you of a few nights prior.

"Tell me to leave," Nikolai said.

"I won't," you told him. "Just rest."

"Not yet," you murmur, "you can rest a little while longer, I just wanted to hear your voice." The confession is out of line and you know it, but the lines are so blurred between the two of you now that they feel more like suggestions than rules.

"I thought you said I talk too much," he says, face turned part into the pillow and part resting on your shoulder.

"You do," you tease, "but I kind of like that about you."

"I am growing on you," he says, so close to falling back to sleep, "or you're going soft."

"Never," you taunt, "I don't do soft."

+1

Things only got more complicated, like you knew they would, but you never could have predicted where you stand now. You're not far from Nikolai's coronation, and you're sat in the window of the latest room you've been housed in, wondering if tonight he will come to you, or if maybe, the last night was the last night. You knew there would be a last night, but this seems sooner than you ever thought it could come and yet each night always felt like you were overstaying a welcome, living a life that wasn't yours, taking something that wasn't yours to take. Even if it had always been and would only ever be, him finding him way to you.

But now more than ever, the finite nature of it all was staring you down and you couldn't look it in the eye. He was going to be king, he was engaged to the Sun Summoner, even if only in name and not in heart, it was still a fact as much as any other. You were never going to be the option he needed you to be, you aren't even sure if he wanted that from you. Since that very first time on the Volkvolny, he has not again asleep or awake tried to make a move to change the dynamic you two shared, this quiet longing, these warm arms that hold tight but are needed elsewhere by sunrise. You have no way of knowing what he wants, even if his sleep always brings him to you. And even then, wants are not always enough.

The door opens behind you and you turn around, it's early, the moon not quite where you'd expect it to be to be seeing him, but when you turn his eyes meet yours and you can see that he without a doubt, awake. "Moya tsaritsa," you say, "what do I owe the pleasure?"

"None of that," he says, he loves the attention, he loves the joke and the teasing of your tone, he even loves in his way that he will actual be king, but he is not yet king, and in this moment, with you, feeling anything but weary of the title feels inappropriate to him. "Not yet anyway."

"Fine, moi tsarevich, what do I owe the pleasure?" you correct. There is a distain in his glance that he keeps playful. "Now if you've come here under the impression I will be granting wishes, you are mistaken, I have long given up that business."

"I wish I could control myself around you," he replies, and that makes you still. "Is that a wish you can grant me?"

"Is that a wish worth making?" you ask, barely daring to move.

"I suppose not," he admits, "I don't think I would really want it." He moves the distance of the room to be beside you and you can feel his presence as it joins yours, as if it had been missing from you the whole time, like a part of you was simply returning home.

"You are awake," you say, no explanation is needed. He nods.

"I am," he admits. "As are you."

"I am often awake until you arrive," you tell him.

"And on the days I don't?" he asks. They are few in number, you'd both attest that since the first night his sleep based visits only became more and more frequent until they are almost all the nights, a night to every day bar one or two.

"I don't really sleep," you confess, after all, what is a tiny confession like that between the two of you now. You can feel his need to tell you something, the question that he isn't asking, and you want to make it easier for him.

"Ask me what I dream of," he says, "I know you asked me once, and I said I did not remember my dreams, but I lied," the content of the confession isn't surprising but the confession itself takes you off guard. "Ask me again, what it is I dream of."

You can't, you don't know how, the words escape you and the request that falls from your lips in their place might be equally as damning. "Tell me that I cannot have you," you say.

"What?" he asks, turning his head to look at you. You keep your eyes focused on the glass, and the view of the courtyard.

"Tell me that I cannot have you," you repeat, trying to keep the feelings bursting out of you from your words. "Is that a wish you can grant me?"

He says your name and you look at him, and that's it, the words come falling out of you before you can keep any of them down. "Tell me that you can never be mine. Tell me that you are going to marry Alina, or some Shu Princess because that is your duty. Tell me that you shall be King and I could never be more than your whore. Tell me I could never be your spouse. Tell me that you do not want me. Tell me I could never be more than a paramour. Tell me that too much is at stake for you to care about me. Tell me that all these nights you've found me in your sleep have meant nothing. Tell me you do not think of me. Tell me you do not dream of me. Tell me it's all some childish, fairytale fantasy. Ask me to ask you to leave again. Make me tell you that I could never be yours knowing you cannot be mine. Tell me you do not have feelings for me Nikolai. Tell me," your voice cracks, "please."

"I will not," he says. "I will not force myself to live with another lie on my conscience, not one this heavy. I cannot tell you any of those things because I have never wanted to make you anything other than mine. I will not tell you that lie even if it's supposed to be a comfort to us both, I cannot, I will not," he takes one steady breath, those eyes still on yours, and you see the puppy prince you once knew in the eyes of the King you've grown to love, "ask me to leave," he manages, "but not because it's right. Not because I am royal. Not because of duty or honour. Not because you think I should choose Ravka over you, as if those were my only choices. Do not ask me to leave because it's what you think you ought to do. Ask me to leave, if that is what you want me to do. I will never ask anything of you again. Do you want me to leave?"

"No," you say. You never have. You have never had it in you to want him to be anywhere but nearer than he is, closer, with you, always.

"All of my dreams," he says, moments before his lips meet yours, "they've always been of you."

[astrodances]

This fic started with the idea I've had for a while of Raine giving Eda wrist kisses after she got her sigil, and it just evolved into this whole scene which I basically wrote all of last night. 🥺🥹

(And yay!! Managed to write, finish, and post something in 2023!! And yay for my first (published) TOH fic!)

Happy, healthy, lovely New Year to everyone, and thank you for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting! 🥳💜

_____

A Brave Face

It stings. Titan, it stings and it burns and it hurts it hurts it hurts-

Steve utters an “I’m sorry” laced with so much regret to an unhearing Eda, hiding the offending sigil glove as he backs away from her unseeing eyes, still tightly wound shut against the reality of what just happened.

Raine’s quick to take over, ushering Eda to the stern of the Bard Coven airship (in this moment, they want to curse every string they ever plucked, every note ever played under the coven’s banner). Everyone else pointedly stays near the bow, giving them the space they need. Lilith stays near the edge of the group, closest to the middle, on standby in case a sisterly shoulder is called for.

Eda’s breaths are heavy, shaky in the silence they wrap themselves in. The wind, free and cold at this altitude, flows by to tickle their hair and clothing, but otherwise, she stays braced against the pain, clutching her branded arm to her chest.

“Eda...?” Raine prods gently. “Eda? Hey, can you hear me?” Every syllable is softer than a whisper (they should know), and one hand stays on Eda’s shoulder to help ground her to the present, their thumb rubbing comforting circles.

Eyes still closed, Eda’s willpower catches in her throat, and she sniffs in warning before the tears begin to flow as freely as the wind. She shakes her head, not at Raine’s question, but at everything she’s feeling. Against the ability to speak. At the unfairness of it all.

Raine immediately covers Eda in an embrace, angling her away from everyone to give her more privacy. Mindful of her arm, they cradle her head and bring her close to them. Her mane of hair absorbs most of the vibrations she emits with each audible sob, each one deepening the grimace across their face and crushing their heart more and more.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you...” they say, refusing to lie with any false platitudes or even mention the sigil right now. Still, they hope their words and their presence are enough to soothe her, to just let her know that she isn’t alone.

Eda merely snuggles further into the crook of Raine’s neck, letting-needing-them to support her as she lets her guard down.

They let a few more long moments pass, giving Eda time to let the brunt of the storm pass. Raine, meanwhile, begins to regulate their breathing, and finally says, “Try to focus on my voice, okay? I’m gonna count you through a breathing exercise.”

Without waiting for an answer, they begin, demonstrating as they go.

“In, two, three, four...”

Eda shudders against them as they hold for a moment.

“...and out, two, three, four.”

In less-dire circumstances, Eda would make a joke here about Raine being a walking time-signature or something to that effect, and Titan, Raine wishes it were so. They’d take any form of teasing right now just to see a shadow of a smile grace her face.

“In, two, three, four...”

“Out, two, three, four...”

They keep the rhythm, not caring how long they have to stand there breathing and counting to get through, imbuing as much calm as they can into the other witch. Other airships go by, quiet murmurs make their way from the front of their own, but Raine’s focus remains undeterred.

Eventually, after several minutes, Eda stills, her own breathing still strong but steadier. Raine pulls themself back just enough to see her face and catches her wincing.

“Are you okay?” they ask. They know the answer is no, but it’s instinctual.

Her eyes are still closed and she’s still holding the outside of her arm, but for the first time since before the branding, Eda speaks. “It hurts, Raine,” she hisses.

“What do you mean?”

“The si- my wrist, it hurts. Like it’s burning.”

She offers her arm out partway, and Raine takes the invitation to hold onto her hand, gently coaxing her wrist into view. They try to reign in a gasp at the sight of Edalyn Clawthorne with a sigil - it’s still hard to believe this happened at all. 

Sigils usually don’t hurt for this long though, if at all; Raine’s tingled for maybe half a minute. And the eclipse hasn’t started yet.

“Maybe it’s because of the curse?” they speculate, fingers itching to run over the branded skin.

“Maybe,” Eda whispers.

There’s something so broken in the way she says that one word that causes Raine to whip their head back up to her, only for them to furrow their brow in utter despair. They feel like they’ve been sucker-punched in the gut.

Eda’s finally opened her eyes, still wet and gleaming with tears, and Raine can see just how vulnerable she is through them.

They’ve never seen her this vulnerable. Not when they first approached her in that corner at the I.F.W.O.T., or when they caught her alone at the lunch table on their first day at Hexside. Not when she first told them about her curse, or even when she begged them to protect her kids.

The Day of Unity, saving the world, everything else fades away. For the moment, those things don’t exist.

Raine can see what she’s mourning -- thirty-plus years of freedom, of playing by her own rules, of being the “Wild Witch of Bonesborough,” of standing up for what’s right and winning the good fight for herself.

Tonight, she lost. She lost the battle, the final blow there on her wrist, and she deserves to honor and mourn that sacrifice.

The Head of the Titan is still a ways off. They have time.

Raine trails their gaze back down to her wrist, this time intentionally tracing their thumb over the sigil before they raise Eda’s arm up and start planting the most tender kisses they can manage across it. They hear Eda choke back another quivering sob.

“I want...you to know...” they begin between kisses, “...that you...are...the bravest...person...I know.”

Once they’re sure they’ve covered every inch of skin and sigil with love and affection, Raine looks up again and gives a kiss to Eda’s nose, her forehead, and finally to her lips. It surprises them both, if they’re being honest--there’s an unspoken agreement between them that they’ll discuss their relationship after the Day of Unity, to avoid distractions, naturally (though they both know there’s very little to actually discuss at this point)--but Raine sees it if nothing else, at the very least, than as admiration and a promise, the same promise they made to Luz.

“T-there. Does that help a little?” Raine asks. They’re both blushing messes now and Eda is crying waterfalls, but the question does make her laugh despite herself, and Raine will gladly count that as a victory.

Eda nods a couple times, then leans her forehead against theirs. “Yeah, y-yeah it does, Rainestorm. Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

They stay close together for a few moments more, Raine now holding Eda’s hand to their chest, sharing the rhythm of their heart.

Eventually, they guide Eda to sit on the floor of the airship with them to rest and let them wipe her tears away and just talk and think. They share worries; they share hopes.

And when Eda starts to let herself acknowledge the sigil more, turning it this way and that in the sunlight, Raine holds her a little tighter and hums their rhapsody-requiem into her hair.

Eda lost a battle to help win a war, and Raine will do anything, anything, to support her and honor that.

Anything for the bravest witch of all time.

[damn-stark]

Part 5 The realization & The truth

Part 5 of The Lion and The Dragon

A/N- we get a mention of someone forgotten :)

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!fem-reader

Warning- Angst! language, forced marriage, slow burn, mentions of injuries and blood, fluff?

Episode- takes place before 1x08

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

The room smelled of lavender, fresh wildflowers, crisp and sweet apples, and hints of smoke from the candles. A breeze swept in the room, gentle and soft. The sound of whispering hit his ears, and when he peered back, even if tried not to, all he saw was you.

He saw how you clinged onto every word the short red-headed servant whispered in your ear. He watched your eyes as they drifted over to him; they were bright and twinkling, or so it seemed. They stood out against the dozen arrangements of white flowers, and lavender flowers that decorate your room.

You stood out to him.

Your beauty he saw now, all the flowers you stood in front of couldn’t compare. They were nothing but bland and unsightly things compared to you.

And your lips, the sweet smile that was sweeter than a summer morning spread on your features and sparked something in him. Something unlike anything he’s felt before.

“…her bed was empty all night, she didn’t return until dawn.”

You hum and slowly drift your eyes back to Alyssa, and let her information sink.

“All right,” you sigh and swipe the small red pouch off the table. “Thank you, sweetling.” You offer her a kind smile and grab her wrist to pull her hand towards you. “Here,” you say and set the pouch on her palm and close her fingers around it.

Alyssa slowly looks down at the heavy red pouch, and confusion immediately struck. “No,” she tries to argue. “This is too much.”

You shake your head and pull your hand to clasp them behind you before she could give it back. “Take it,” you insist. “It’s my present to you for what you shared.”

“But—”

“Treat yourself,” you cut her off. “You deserve it. And,” you grow smug. “If there’s anything else you think I’d like to know, or something your friends found out, tell me.” You lean your head closer to her and smirk. “I’ll reward you both.”

Alyssa meets your gaze and grins at you before she grabs your arms to pull them towards her so she can take your hands in hers, and then proceeds to bow her head. “May the gods bless you my Lady.” She lifts her head to meet your gaze one more time before she pulls away and leaves the room, leaving you with Aemond and your thoughts as company.

Unlike Aemond, the thoughts were loud in your head. They raced and thought of only Nyra, so much so that you couldn’t even pay attention to the note that came with the flowers that were brought in this morning. Your mind is too far from this room until you hear a voice pull you back.

“A gift from your many suitors?” Aemond asks.

You look away from the note and look at him as he stays by the balcony.

“No,” you breathe out and glance up at the flowers. “Ser Robert.” You sigh and look down at the note again to read it outloud. “Flowers like the ones that grow at home, so you feel more at home in a far place.” Your lips tug to a soft smile and your breath trembles just at the mere sight of your old Knight's name.

“If I didn’t know any better,” you interject to keep yourself from crying. “I'd say you sounded jealous.” You smile and place the note down to walk to him.

Aemond slightly shifts his head back. “Do you know better?” He counters.

You shrug innocently and stop just under the archway. “I don’t know,” you say and then walk over to stand at his side. “You tell me.”

Aemond looks over at you and just meets your eyes as he stays quiet.

You hold his gaze and offer him a faint smirk before looking over at the sight of the city just past your balcony. “One time,” you begin to share as you prop your hands on the balcony’s railing. “When my brother was just a babe, my father had this paramour, secret of course.” You sigh. “No one knew about her except for the servants and workers of our castle that would see them sneaking off, and me. He had been with this lover for like a year, long enough to get her with child.”

Aemond clings onto every word and doesn’t try to look away, or try to interrupt as you tell your story.

“A boy,” you continue softly. “It would be his second boy. He already had four girls, me included, and everyone that lived in the Westerlands knew that my brother would inherit his titles and lands, even if I was the first born. Everyone knew how much my father loved his son, even her, so in an attempt to try and make her son legitimate and powerful, she sent an assassin to try and kill my brother because she knew that he’d never make any of his girls his heir.” You slowly begin to smirk mischievously.

“The assassination would’ve happened if it weren’t for me,” you reveal and glance back at him. “One of the servants had found out about the woman’s scheme, and since the servant was faithful to me, since I had been her friend, she told me, and I told Ser Robert and my father and stopped the attempt against my brother.”

Aemond turns his body to face you with curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

“Ever since then I have told the servants, handmaidens and other workers that if they have information about anything worthwhile to come to me and I’d reward them,” you finish sharing.

Aemond briefly looks away as he realizes. “The servant just now,” he points out.

You nod and catch the corner of his lips pulling into a smirk. When he looks back at you you notice something different in his look, something else besides the mischievousness, something soft like interest or fascination, something that you can’t identify, and something you haven’t noticed before when he’s looked at you. Something new.

“And,” he continues to probe. “Do you think someone is trying to scheme something against your life?”

You shake your head and look back at your room. “Nope, nothing like that, something I can’t jump to conclusions to just yet. Not until I have the right information, which hopefully I will get soon,” you say and keep your eyes on the door as if waiting for someone to walk in, someone missing from your room.

Aemond draws in a deep breath and steps away from the balcony railing as he sighs and nudges your arm without adding on the matter. “Let’s go,” he says. “The training yard shouldn’t be crowded now.”

The training yard?

“But,” you interject as you watch him walk to the door. “The training yard is a public place.” You clasp your hands in front of you to begin fiddling with your fingers. Aemond stops in his tracks and slowly shifts his head back to look at you.

“And?” He deadpans.

You swallow thickly. “People will see,” you point out as if it isn’t obvious. “Are you not ashamed?”

Aemond drops his head and sighs before turning to completely face you. “Why should I be? It’s just a sword.”

You nod softly. “Yes, and I am a woman. Why do you think I hide my identity when I compete in tourneys? My father never let me wield a sword, Ser Robert was the one that taught me in secret. I thought that’s what we would do now, train in secret.”

Aemond let’s out a deep breath and walks back to you to be near you. “No,” he reveals. “Why would we? Women have wielded swords before you, many of them were great and written in the history books as such.” His voice softens and his gaze once again grows tender. “You will be no different.”

The corner of your lips twitch to a smile, but you’re still not convinced. “And your mother, won’t she be angry? What about everyone else?”

Aemond lifts his arm and hesitates for a second before he gently grabs your shoulder.

You’re surprised by the touch and glance at his hand even if you try not to.

“You are my wife,“ he says and drifts your eyes back to him as you feel completely in disbelief by his words. “You can do as you please.”

You giggle softly and breathlessly since you’re still in shock. “Can I really?” You tease.

Aemond continues to hold your gaze and just sighs.

“Sorry,” you interject when you hear his sigh. “I understood what you meant.”

Aemond grabs both of your shoulders now and doesn’t falter from that tenderness. “You are my wife and you can wield a sword if it pleases you, no one can say shit about it.” His lips slightly tug upward and his gaze doesn’t falter.

Your heart swoons and you can’t help but smile at him. “Good,” you say softly. “Thank you.”

The two of you linger in front of one another, your gazes unable to tear away from each other until you remember where you’re heading to.

“You can’t wear a gown,” he says and looks away.

You clear your throat and look down at the cream colored silk dress and nod. “Right,” you mutter and turn away to change into a more suitable outfit you had brought from home.

Since the dress is easy to slip out of you don’t need help, even if you wished you had needed his help.

Nevertheless you quickly change into a black leather training outfit. You’re about to grab your sheathed sword, but Aemond stops you.

“There’s weapons out there,” he says.

You close the chest and nod. “Right,” you whisper and finally head out with him.

Now even if people didn’t seem to be judging you, or whispering about your appearance, it felt like they were to you. Everytime you passed by someone, you needed to take a double look to make sure they weren’t staring too long or too hard. To make sure that no one was suddenly whispering to one another about you. When you got to the training yard that paranoia only worsened.

And Nyra chose to quickly leave in the morning so she wasn’t here to ease your worry; she just helped you get ready before leaving since Aemond had stayed the night in your quarters. She was a little too excited for you.

Regardless, Aemond was right, the training yard wasn’t that full, but there was still people here and it felt like they were all staring even if they were all minding there business.

Aemond noticed your concern but didn’t comment on it, nor did he choose to back down, he kept with his word to help you train. “Here,” he says and gains your attention. “This one should work for you.”

You look down and see him handing you a metal sword. “I know how to pick my swords,” you retort and grab a more fitting one.

Aemond huffs and puts the sword back to grab his instead.

“Perhaps,” you add quietly as you put on some gloves. “We could go somewhere more private?” You grab a wooden shield and peer over at the pair of men walking to the racks beside you.

“No,” Aemond counters and begins to stride over to an empty spot.

You watch him and hesitate, taking one last glance at the pair of men that “discreetly” watched you before you follow Aemond.

“Keep your back straight,” Aemond doesn’t hesitate to instruct as he walks over to you to carefully touch your back, causing your breath to hitch and your eyes to shift to the corner to watch him. “And don’t grip onto the sword to tight—”

“Aemond,” you interrupt him with a small smile. “I know how to hold a sword, I know how to stand,” you say and turn to the side, feeling Aemond’s hand slide off your back before you roll your shoulders back to fix your stance. “The sword must be an extension of your arm, blah, blah. You are not giving me my first lessons. You’re just helping me get better. Remember?” You point at him with the tip of your blade.

Aemond stands in front of you and fixes his own stance and his grip. “Right,” he adds and shifts his head up. “Then stop looking at everyone that passes, just focus on me, they don’t matter.”

Easy for him to say, they’re not gawking at him.

“Yeah.” You nod and try to say something else, but right in that moment Aemond swings his sword and you barely manage to block it before he hits the side of your throat.

You snap your eyes over to him. “I wasn’t…” you trail off however as you catch him beginning to smirk. After that you push his blade away with yours and try to swing at him, but he just parries and goes for your legs, but you quickly slide back and smirk at him.

Aemond then retaliates by charging at you and lunging his sword at you. And you almost get hit by the simple fact that the charge was quite intimidating, but you manage to deflect his move and counterattack him by sliding your sword up his, and kicking him back.

As Aemond's feet drag back his gaze quickly snaps over at you in surprise that quickly turns awe…or so you assume that’s what his smirk meant.

Aemond then proceeds to counter your move by swinging his sword, but you continue to block him. He swings again and again, just clashing your sword with his until he finally hits your leg and then goes for your throat.

“Were you scared for a minute there?” You quip mischievously as you just hold his gaze whilst he keeps his blade pointed at your throat.

Aemond scoffs softly. “No,” he deadpans.

You snicker and step back to go again, this time just as he swings you spin around him and end up behind him. You’re about to hit him on his back, but he rapidly turns and manages to maneuver closer and point his sword at your neck at the same time you point yours to his.

It was now, while you were busy challenging each other's gaze, unable to look away from one another as you pant and stand close with your blades still up, that you forgot all about your previous concern. Now all that mattered was him, even as people gathered to watch Aemond and you train, even if his own brother gathered to watch, you didn’t care. Aemond was all you looked at. Him and his half grin.

A grin. You made him grin.

“Your move now, sweetling.” He taunts and steps back.

First you study him, look for a weakness. Secondly you try to expose that weakness; which would be his blind side. Third and last step since he is not a man who gets distracted by your womanly features, you trick him.

You pretend to go for one side, but at that moment reach for a hidden dagger and lunge at his throat on the side where he is blind. It seems like he was about to parry or block your attempts but he’s too late and you manage to point at his throat first.

Aemond narrows his eye on you and keeps his lips in a straight line for a second before he shows off a smirk and then retaliates. This time he isn’t so easy, he swings quick and harsh, hitting your arm and then pointing at your throat. He then keeps beating you again and again.

It was alright, one thing Ser Robert taught you was not to let your emotions blind you like they did so many men, but there was something about this round, he was overwhelming you. You can barely keep up. He was being too harsh with his swings.

Perhaps it was just because it’s the way he is, or maybe he just let his ego get the best of him, or maybe you’re just used to Ser Robert being a bit too kind when he trained you. And maybe, just maybe for a split second training, hearing the metal clash triggered a memory, an ache of longing for your old Knight; but this time you were too overwhelmed to the point you couldn’t keep up. Aemond hits your arm and manages to cut you.

“Stop,” you try to tell him when you feel the stinging pain, but he doesn’t listen, he keeps going until he finally kicks you down. He’s about to point his blade at you, but you interject. “I said stop!” You exclaim in between pants before he could point his blade at you.

Aemond watches you with nonchalance and slowly puts his arm down. “You wanted me to teach you, did you not?” He rebuttals.

“Yes,” you spat and glare at him with your eyes burning with rage, yet gleaming with tears. “But you did not have to be so mean!” You throw your blade and shield down to push yourself up.

Aemond clenches his jaw and looks at you confused over your sudden outburst. He notices your eyes suddenly gleaming, but he still doesn't say anything, he just watches you as you storm past him and leave the training yard in fumes.

Aegon on the other hand begins to snicker as he watches you stride away in a fury that matches the lion from your house sigil. When he looks over at his brother though, he catches his glare and stifles his laugh.

And Aemond doesn’t follow, of course, but Ser Erwin who had been lurking like a shadow in the distance does. He stays quiet though, let’s you dwell in your anger until you reach your quarters.

“My Lady, would you like me to tend to your wound.”

You throw your gloves down on the table and huff out. “I’m quite capable of cleaning my own wound, Ser, thank you.”

Ser Erwin doesnt walk far inside the room, he stays by the front of the room and looks at all the flowers that decorate a side of your room.

“I never took the Prince as someone so…affectionate,” he comments as you damp a cloth in a bowl of water. “Are these from him?”

You pull your coat off and walk to your table. “No,” you answer Ser Erwin. “The Prince has given me nothing, this was Ser Robert.” You sigh as you sit down on a wooden chair to begin cleaning your cut.

“Oh,” Ser Erwin breathes out in admiration. “This is impressive. Then again it comes to no surprise, he’s all you talked about before he left.”

You lift your eyes off your cut and look at the Knight by the door with curiosity. “He…he did?” You ask.

Ser Erwin nods. “Yes,” he says. “He grilled me until he made sure I knew how to protect you correctly. The way he did.”

The corner of your lips twitch, and your eyes soften—“come inside,” you mutter and continue to clean your cut.

Ser Erwin hesitates but ends up slowly walking further in.

“He would say Lord Lannister demands this and that,” Ser Erwin continues. “But there was a way he said it, with tenderness and precaution that made me believe otherwise.”

You scoff and grow sad even if you don’t show it. Ser Robert had only shown you kindness, even now, sending you these flowers after you had been so cruel before he left; all out of petty anger. Now hearing Ser Erwin say that made your ache even deeper.

“My father may have done his job to pair me with Prince Aemond, but other than that he could have cared less about me,” you share to not show him your emotions beneath the surface. “It was always Ser Robert who cared, who taught me.” You pause and swallow thickly as you place the cloth down.

“My father wasn’t so caring to me either,” Ser Erwin shares and comes closer. “I was his fifth child, a third son, so all his attention was aimed at his eldest children.”

You slowly look over at Ser Erwin and meet his very stunning blue eyes.

“Is that why you became a Knight?” You ask.

Ser Erwin nods. “Yes. It was that or be married off to a lesser house, to a woman I wouldn’t know until the day I wed her.”

You scoff softly and can’t help but smile. “It is not so bad. Being arranged to a partner.”

Ser Erwin scoffs. “Says the Lady married to a Prince.”

You avert your gaze and sigh. “Right.” There was not even an excuse you could muster to negate his comment, he was right.

You could say Aemond was distant, cold and…well said to be cruel, but would that really ease anything?

“Here,” Ser Erwin pulls you away from your thoughts and grabs the cloth from the table before gently grabbing your arm to pull it towards him.

“It’s not so deep,” you point out as he begins to dab the cut before pulling out a small circular container from his small pouch. “What are you putting on?”

“A remedy to help the wound heal faster,” Ser Erwin says as he begins to gently rub the wound with an ointment that smells like nice herbs you can’t identify.

“My mother taught me how to make it,” he shares, and makes you smile softly. “Why is it that you don’t let me protect you?” He asks, suddenly changing the subject, and making your smile slowly fade away.

“What do you mean?” You ask quietly.

Ser Erwin meets your gaze and slowly pulls his hand away from your arm. “Well as impressive as it is seeing you wield a sword,” he says. “I am your sworn protector. And your husband is an impressive swordsman, you needn’t worry about your safety.”

You swallow thickly and stiffen, making sure to hide well your frown of discontent. “It’s not that I’m worried, Ser,” you retort. “I just…” how can this be said so he can understand. “…like the excitement. I do appreciate being protected, I just like to prove people wrong as well.” You sigh and don’t dare say what you really feel. There’s something that tells you he wouldn't truly understand. Not like Aemond would.

Ser Erwin hums and smiles softly at you. “Well, just know that I’m here now, you needn’t worry as much.”

You feign a smile and nod in comprehension. “Thank you.” You quickly avert your gaze, but continue to feel his on you.

His gaze lingered for a few seconds before he stood up and parted his lips to say something, but just then a knock raps on the door and cuts him off.

“Come!” You shout, and without hesitation the door opens and Nyra walks in, noticing the Knight right away.

“Ser Erwin this where you are, good afternoon,” she greets with a sweet smile.

Ser Erwin offers her a half smile and bows his head. “Good afternoon, Nyra.” He turns and bows his head at you. “I’ll be outside the door.”

You offer him a smile and nod stiffly, making sure he leaves and closes the door behind him first before addressing your curly-headed friend. “Where have you been my sweet Nyra?”

Nyra walks across the room to place some clothing away and scoffs. “My duties, there’s only so much one person can do.”

You smirk as you watch her. “So do you wish for me to get another handmaiden?” You ask in a feigned serious manner, knowing the way she’d answer.

“No,” Nyra scoffs. “I like being the only one. No one else knows you like I do.”

You giggle and roll your eyes, catching her pop her head out of a doorway.

“So,” she presses sweetly. “How did it go? Was their a lot of heavy breathing and proximity?”

You avert your gaze and begin twisting your lion head ring around your finger. “Yes,” you whisper. “But I…might have stormed off.”

Nyra gasps and basically jumps out from where she is. “What?!” She exclaims in surprise. “What?! Why would you do that?”

You shrug and slowly glance over at the beautiful flowers that decorate your room. “He was being a bit harsh—”

“That’s not an excuse,” Nyra cuts you off. “You have fought men with far worse tempers—”

“I know,” you interject in panic. “I know! It’s just…” you sigh and drop your head. “I guess I got overwhelmed. Emotional….all my life since I have picked up a blade, the only person I have trained with has been Ser Robert,” your voice quivers but you don’t let the tears form. “Being there, training, all of a sudden I just…remembered, I got sad and that got me overwhelmed…I don’t know,” you whisper.

You hear Nyra sigh before she walks somewhere else and then approaches you to sit beside you. “You just miss him,” she says softly. “That is normal. Receiving his present today must have just stirred those feelings.”

“Do you think,” your voice breaks as vulnerability strikes. “He hates me now after how I treated him.”

Nyra sighs and smiles softly as she takes your hands. “Oh my sweet, Y/N, no. If he did, do you think he would have bothered to have these arrangements sent? Besides…” she pauses and pulls something off her lap, revealing it to be a sealed folded paper when she hands it to you. “Ser Robert left this. He told me to give it to you when you were the most upset. I knew that having these flowers here would stir something, so I brought this with me today. It feels fitting now don’t you think?”

You scoff softly and can’t help but smile as you recognize Ser Robert’s quick yet elegant handwriting; even if all you see at the moment is your name spelled out.

“Thank you,” you mutter and smile up at Nyra. “I’ll read it later.”

Nyra smirks. “Not now?”

You shake your head. “No, now I need to ask you something.” You mention and scoot to the edge of your seat to be closer to your handmaiden.

Nyra playfully narrows her gaze and doesn’t lose her smirk. “What?” She retorts.

You draw in a deep breath and sigh slowly. “You’ll be honest?” You ask for confirmation.

Nyra’s smirk begins to falter, and her amusement slowly loses spark. “Always,” she says slowly.

You lick your lips and hold her gaze a bit nervously. “Over the past few weeks I have noticed your absence and your eagerness to leave at night, so tell me, Nyra, is there something or someone I should know about?”

Nyra stiffens and slowly pulls her hands away from yours, but she doesn’t show any sign of suspicion, she tries to remain cool. But you know her better.

Her lips slightly pursed together, and her eyes left yours to drop to her hands.

“No,” she lies but tries to remain collected and nonchalant. “No one of importance, he’s just a good time.”

You raise your head and hum, causing her to meet your gaze and offer you a deliberate smile.

“Really?” You probe. “Because not being asked about last night makes me wonder if I need to be worried over these late night visits of yours.”

Nyra snickers and shakes her head. “Nope, I have it under control. He’s no one of importance.” She widens her smile and then quickly gets up to proceed with what she had been doing without adding anything else to the matter.

And that only makes you grow more wary and curious.

——

*LATER*

“It seems life has a written fate for all of us, don’t you think?” Helaena asks.

You drop your gaze and ponder over her question for a moment, letting the gentle summer breeze fill the silence with its soft howl before you think of something. “Maybe, but I won't let fate decide my life.”

Helaena looks over at you and slowly begins to smile before she laughs softly. “I really like you,” she says and makes you gush.

You try to reach for her arm, but as you do you remember her reaction the last time you hooked your arm around hers, so instead you just clasp them in front of you as you continue walking through the gardens. As you admire the view of the ocean, and remember your home.

“Sister.”

Oh by the gods. How is it that he always finds you?

“Aemond,” Helaena greets in a sweet voice.

You drift your eyes away from the view and see him coming to a stop before you.

“Wife,” he greets as he meets your gaze.

You simply offer him a tightlipped smile and quickly avert your gaze, making him scoff before he continues.

“Enjoying the sun?”

“Yes,” Helaena answers him. “We were also telling each other stories of our past. To know one another better.”

Aemond hums and keeps he gaze on you.

“Do you wish to join us?” Helaena asks him, and you hope he says no so he can leave you alone.

But…you know him better than that, he’s out here for a reason.

“I actually came looking for my wife,” he answers. “I was hoping to take her somewhere. Is that alright sister?”

You practically feel Helaena’s smile, her joy is basically radiating off her. “Of course!” She doesn’t hesitate to assure her brother.

You sigh and look over at her to meet her gaze. She beams at you before turning and taking Nyra with her. And since Aemond was facing her back, Nyra doesn’t dare to look back to pass a mischievous and teasing look. She and Helaena just left you to Aemond’s graces.

“Are you spying on me or what?” You ask. “It’s the second time you know about my whereabouts.”

Aemond snickers. “No, your Knight is just not a loyal one.”

You sigh deeply and continue to walk ahead, making him turn to follow at your side—“You just intimidate him, if Ser Robert was here you would be none the wiser.” You smirk, and Aemond scoffs.

“Perhaps, but you are my wife it is my duty to know where you are.”

You shift your head to the side and try not to smile at the comment. “So,” you change the subject. “What do you wish to show me?”

The corner of Aemond’s lips tug to a half grin, and his eyes actually seem to gleam with some form of excitement. He proceeds not to say anything though, he just guides you away from the castle and away from the city.

Having no other option but to trust him you follow him up a green hill. As the hill gets steeper he grabs your hand and helps you even against your protests.

“How much further?” You ask. “Because if I knew we would be treading through all these hills I would have worn appropriate shoes.”

“Not much further,” Aemond assures you and quickens his step to climb up the hill faster.

“Look,” you sigh. “About earlier I shouldn’t have gotten angry, I just…lose my temper some of the times,” you share loud enough so he can hear you. “I actually,” you swallow thickly, “appreciate that you’re teaching me how to be better with a sword.”

Aemond comes to a stop to turn and face you with no flicker of any emotion written on his face. “Next time use your anger,” he says.

You scoff and slowly begin to smirk. “Ser Robert says it’s not wise to give into emotions when fighting. They cloud your judgment.”

Aemond gets closer to you and smirks now. “I’m teaching you now. Not Ser Robert, but,” he says as he turns and continues to guide you further up the hill. “Follow the advice that best suits you.”

You let your gaze fall as you let his words sink in.

In truth it’s Ser Robert’s advice you’ve been following for years, it would feel off-putting to drop a piece of advice that has proven you useful for so long. But you will take Aemond’s advice under consideration, maybe use it when it best suits the situation. If it arises that is.

“Here,” he announces.

You lift your gaze and suddenly go rigid and feel your breath catch in your throat as you come face to face with a large—ginormous sleeping green dragon. It’s nothing like you’ve seen drawn on the books, or imagined in your mind. It’s not even compared to the size of Sunfyre. This one, Vhagar, is a hundred times the size he was. You can barely see the end of her tail, her body stretches out for miles against the grassy hill.

And yet as terrifying and intimidating as she was, she was also mesmerizing and beautiful. As fear struck, awe also mixed with it. She was the oldest dragon alive after all, she was once ridden by the Queen you admired since you were a girl. You never thought you’d see Vhagar with your own eyes, not even when you learned you’d marry the man who claimed her.

“Come,” Aemond urges you forward towards Vhagar.

You snap yours eyes to him and scoff before shaking your head. “No,” you whisper. “What if she doesn’t like me and eats me?”

Aemond chuckles and returns to you to grab your hand. “She won’t hurt you, not as long as you’re with me.” He assures you, and for the first time ever you cling onto him with both hands.

Your grip only tightens when Vhagar pulls her eye open and instantly finds Aemond and you.

“Aemond,” you call nervously as he gets you closer to the dragon.

“She senses fear, quiet,” he says, and you stop to dig your heels in the dirt.

When Aemond feels you tug back he stops and slowly turns around, showing off a teasing smile instead of a frown like you expected.

“It was a…joke, I was just teasing you,” he says with a teasing laugh that shocks you more than the dragon.

“Oh,” you breathe out as you nod slowly. “You jester now? Is that it? My life, my dear husband is a joke to you now?”

Aemond snickers and just continues to pull you towards Vhagar until you’re so close you feel her warmth radiating off her body.

“It’s alright,” Aemond continues to assure you as he moves to stand behind you. “She won’t hurt you.” Aemond presses his body against your back, and as alluring as he was as he stood close all you can focus on is the dragon before you. Aemond then proceeds to grab your hand to gently press it on Vhagar’s neck, making your breath catch at the feeling.

“Oh,” you gasp and smile nervously at first.

Vhagar then moves and you pull your hand off right away, but Aemond quickly secures his hold on your hand and presses your hand back on Vhagar.

Now all you feel is the warmth of her flesh, the roughness of her scales beneath the pad of your fingers. All you see is her fascinating green scales—she’s much larger from even closer. She’s much more beautiful too. She’s truly just amazing. You can’t help but beam at her before looking back at Aemond to grin at him too, noticing he was already looking at you, he wouldn't pull his eye away.

And he couldn’t help but smile softly as you practically glowed with happiness.

“Here,” he whispers against your ear and moves to fall at your side. “Climb up the net.”

Your eyes widen and your smile falls as you stand in shock. “What?” You mutter.

Aemond smirks now. “You wished to know how it felt to fly, did you not?”

You nod, and before long Aemond grabs you by your waist to nudge you up the net. You’re hesitant, but before he could take back his offer or before anything else could happen, you let him help you up the net, and climb onto the saddle latched onto Vhagar’s back.

“Careful,” he warns you as you swing one leg over the saddle.

You laugh nervously and pull up the skirt of your dress. “I would have stayed in my training attire if I knew I’d be here.”

Aemond sits behind you and you quickly look back in fear.

“You’re not sitting up front?” You ask with concern.

Aemond shakes his head. “No, I’ll grab the handles fine from here.”

You nervously look ahead and swallow thickly.

Fear is not something you were so keen on showing. In tourneys your face was always hidden behind a helmet, and even then you were so pumped with adrenaline that you rarely actually felt much of it. But now, here it’s different. This was a huge dragon that could eat you or burn you alive, you could slip off the saddle and fall to your death. So many things could go wrong and as of now you didn’t really wish to die.

Not yet.

“Okay,” you whisper. “And if I die slipping off, I do hope someone goes to war in my honor.”

Aemond scoffs and presses his chest against your back as he leans forward to reach for the handles.

“Just hang on, alright?” Aemond says beside your ear.

You hum and nod before leaning forward and gripping only the handles with all your strength.

“<Vhagar, fly.>” Aemond commands his dragon in High Valyrian.

With no time to waste Vhagar begins to stand up, only raising you higher up in the air, making the saddle shift and you to tense up. As she begins to run forward you instead move your hands to place them over Aemond’s, causing him to smirk. And finally the moment Vhagar begins to flap her wings and lift off the ground, your heart drops to your stomach and you quickly close your eyes.

Since he’s close and his face is basically pressed against yours, Aemond catches you squeezing your eyes shut as Vhagar flies higher up in the sky.

“It’s alright, I’m here, open your eyes,” he comforts you and slowly lifts his thumb to gently caress yours as you keep your hands over his.

“Alright,” you breathe out and slowly begin to peel your eyes open, seeing nothing but white clouds as Vhagar flies up.

All there was below was endless blue glimmering water. Above accompanying the white clouds all you can see is a bright light blue sky and her, Vhagar. Her green wings stretched out across the sky for miles.

It’s all breathtaking, being up in the sky was truly amazing, the world looked so much smaller from the sky. The wind felt colder, stronger and more crisp in your lungs. And the clouds, those were truly a marvel.

From below the clouds look as if you can actually grab them, maybe tear a piece from it, but now as you’re here flying with them, they’re nothing more but formations of gas.

They are still tempting to touch though. Tempting enough to finally make you loosen up and pull one hand off Aemond’s to slowly lift your arm and reach for the clouds.

And much to your fascination all you feel is moist. Cold water soaks your fingertips as you run your fingers across the clouds as Vhagar flies just below them, and you can’t help but grin, you can’t help but feel joy now as the fear passes about being up so high in the sky.

The fear of falling no longer paralyzes you, now all you feel is free. Aemond was right, flying felt liberating.

“<Vhagar! Dracarys!>” Aemond yells out, and only seconds later Vhagar opens her mouth and breathes out fire.

Your grin widens as her fire invades the sky, however that joy slowly begins to turn to dread as it seems like Vhagar is going to fly right through her ball of fire.

“Aemond—”

Nevertheless, seconds before you could go through the flames, Vhagar dives down and just lets you feel the heat from her fire as she flies past it. And once again you’re just filled with joy and excitement.

When you glance over at Aemond as he watches the sky, your eyes soften and your heart races like never before. Actually a shift happens within you now that you look at him, feel him pressed against you, feel his warmth. Besides a new sense of comfort and safety there’s something else, something much more consuming and grand, something heartwarming and exciting.

It’s not clear, but it is something good.

Nevertheless, the ride ends soon thereafter, much to your disappointment.

“You were right,” you interject once your feet are on the ground again. “Flying does feel liberating.” You grin. “We need to do it again.”

Aemond lands on the ground and turns to offer you a smirk. “You liked it then, good.”

You nod and glance back at Vhagar. “Yes, I loved flying. I don’t know how you’re always down here. If I could, I’d fly all the time.” You meet his gaze and his smirk doesn't falter.

“Then you would rather fly than sword fight?” He adds, making you laugh.

“Well,” you sigh. “That’s hard. Why not both, you do it.”

Aemond’s smirk turns to a smile, and you share a grin before beginning to walk back to the castle.

However, just as you walk past him, he stops you. “Wait. Before we head back, I want to give you something.”

You stop and feel your heart skip a beat. As you turn you see him pulling something out from inside his coat, something small that hides well in his fist.

Aemond walks to you and holds your gaze for a second before he grabs your hand and places a small wooden box on your palm. A small enough box that fits mayhaps a ring.

“Open it. I hope it fits,” he says, and you huff softly before dropping your gaze to open the box.

At first you see a very thin and small scroll over something wrapped with green cloth, so you grab that first and quickly unroll it to read the elegant words written on the paper.

“Welcome to the family, I am sorry I couldn’t make the wedding, but I do hope you like this gift. My brother says you’re quite the beauty, I do hope I have the honor of meeting you soon to see you for myself, the Lady who stole my brother’s heart.

~ Your Goodbrother, Daeron”

Oh it’s not from Aemond.

Okay….

You smile nonetheless since it does feel nice being remembered from someone far from here.

“Your brother,” you point out and put the scroll back in the box to pull out the wrapped object.

Aemond hums in agreement.

You smirk. “You’ve talked to him about me? How sweet.” You giggle and don’t see his reaction as you focus on unwrapping the gift. And once you do you see a thick silver band ring, carved in the middle is their house sigil, the three headed dragon. Where the eyes are meant to be on their heads are small green gems that gleam bright, adding flare to the silver ring.

“Wow,” you mutter happily. “I love it.”

“Here,” Aemond says, and takes your ring before he pulls your hand towards him to carefully put the ring on your left ring finger. “Does it fit?”

You nod and smile up at him. “Yes, it fits perfectly. I shall send your brother a raven to thank him.”

Aemond hums and lets his hand linger on yours before he lets go and points to the castle in the distance. “Let’s go,” he says.

You half expect for him to give you a present, something small maybe—And sure, maybe it’s silly to expect to receive something, love and affection doesn’t have to be shown by gifts. But getting something from him would mean something to you, but no, he doesn’t stop you anymore, you walk back to the castle and nothing.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

Y/N

If you’re reading this it’s because you’re upset, because you miss home. Or Nyra just couldn’t contain herself. Whatever the reason I’m writing this for you.

First I want to apologize, I know I promised to be the one protecting you, yet I’m here at home worried about you, hoping you’re happy and well.

It was never my intention to go home but your father did demand it of me, and well, I thought it fitting for me to leave you. You’re a woman now, you need to grow on your own, experience life for yourself. Change and find yourself by yourself.

And I have to admit it does hurt having to leave you behind, after all you are like the daughter I never got to have. Part of me wishes things could never change, that you can stay home where I can look out for you until my dying breath. But that is impossible, so my little lion, I wish you all the happiness in the world.

I hope you show them your wrath, and don’t let them take that fury you so proudly hold onto. Just know I’m always a raven away so if you ever need me I’ll be there at your side.

I love you my little lion.

Yours truly, Ser Robert Hill

You sniffle and wipe the tears off your cheeks.

He left the letter here knowing that you’d feel upset over his absence, over the longing of home, and the last thing you did to him was ignore him. Like if he was nothing when he was everything you held so dear.

You let out a shaky breath as you stand up to admire the flowers he had sent. However, just as you were walking towards them a knock raps on your door once before it’s opened and the Queen and Aemond walk in.

“Queen. Aemond,” you say in shock as they walk in. “What a surprise.” You wipe the stray tears off your cheeks and watch Aemond close the door before focusing on his mother. “Wine? Water?”

The Queen shakes her head and you slowly make your way over to her as she walks to the wooden chairs around your table.

“Is everything alright?” You question nervously since they’re both here.

Queen Alicent averts her gaze as lets out a deep breath, when you glance over at Aemond he’s standing by the door with his hands clasped behind him.

“I’ve heard some…shocking news about you.” Queen Alicent reveals.

You blink in disbelief and stop in your tracks.

“I have heard that in the early mornings of the day you send your handmaiden to fetch you some Moon Tea.”

What?

It’s….

Nyra.

You swallow thickly and look over at Aemond who meets your gaze without falter.

“Pardon my Queen,” you say and return your gaze to her. “But who said that?”

Queen Alicent clasps her hands in front of her and says the revelation. “The maester came to me.” She then walks over to you and just slightly narrows her gaze on you. “Need I remind you what your duties are. You need to stop this absurdity at once.”

You clench your jaw and hold your head up high. “I’m sorry Queen Alicent, but I have never sent my handmaiden to bring me Moon Tea.” You peer over at Aemond and glare at him before returning your gaze to the Queen.

Queen Alicent sighs and seems to be annoyed by your comment. “If not you then who was it for?”

The person who lied to you when you asked who she has been seeing in secret. The person who demands to drink Moon Tea after a passionate night with someone she can’t have a child with. Nyra.

“It’s,” you mutter and slowly drop your gaze. “For my friend, my handmaiden.” You sigh deeply out of frustration. “I swear to you. I will talk to my handmaiden, I fear she's seeing someone she shouldn’t be in secret.”

Queen Alicent let’s out a deep breath and nods. “Yes, you should,” she says quietly without the annoyance she held onto just seconds ago. “Come find me when you do.”.

You keep your eyes averted as she turns and walks out of the room with nothing else left to add over the situation. You don’t even know if she believes you or not, why should she? She hardly knows you, but him. Aemond. For him to come with his mother basically clutching onto her endtails instead of confronting you about it first, is quite hurtful.

You thought you got closer than that. Perhaps you’re wrong.

And even after his mother left, he still stays in your room, lurking like a creepy shadow by the door. You’re alone now with him, blanketed over by a thick tension that demands to be broken.

.

.

.

.

Tagged: @winter-soldier-101 @whateverooooooo @xcharlottemikaelsonx @blue-serendipityy @aistheamazing @lawlerek

[blonndiec]

This was originally made for this post but decided it deserved his own post here on my blog. The word prompted was 'Party'

More than a sentence of little snippet, I wanted to share a full glimpse of the future for Stamps & Sleepless Nights as a way to thank all the people who had given this story a chance.

I'm really thankful for the support and how it has now a steady audience. As always, thank you so much for your comments and interacting! I'll take in consideration all your comments too, to create a seamless reading experience for you. There are more things coming for this WIP and my other stories, so stay tuned! Again, thank you so much 💖

⭐ If you want to read the story, you can do it here ⭐

The excerpt with the word ''Party'' is not only the word, but the whole scene in one. (or at least, almost the whole scene hehe...will keep you guessing to what more happens) - I would love to know your thoughts on it too! If you want to comment on this, please send me a DM or comment under this tagging me.

The setting: It happens way into the future, in chapter 15 of the story. Viktor is now 20 years old and it's struggling with all the changes in his life, recovering from an injury and getting lost in all the noise around him. He's there, doesn't know anyone and only craves some silence.

Here it is:

Viktor sat in the dim light of the penthouse, a glass of vodka dangling between his fingers. The music throbbed in the background and people around him were laughing, clinking glasses, their voices blending into one long hum of noise. Faces tangled together—beautiful, glamorous, but indistinct. His current “boyfriend” — if that was even the right word for someone he barely knew and didn’t care to know — was draped over his shoulder, whispering something that Viktor barely registered. He barely recognized them, and in this moment, it hit him: I don’t know any of these people. A man with slicked-back hair and too much cologne gestured wildly as he told a story about his latest business venture. A woman in a sparkling dress threw her head back in laughter at something the man had said. Beside him, the boyfriend — Luka? Or was it Sergei? Maybe it was Luka, as he first thought — whispered something close to his ear, his breath warm and cloying and slid closer, his hand resting on Viktor’s thigh. His cologne was strong, the scent overwhelming, and the warmth of his body pressed against Viktor was suffocating. “Viktor…” Luka murmured into his ear, “you’ve been so quiet tonight. Let’s leave. We can go somewhere… just the two of us.”

Viktor didn’t respond immediately. He swirled the vodka in his glass, watching the liquid swirl and the sharp scent rise up. His gaze flickered to Luka, who was smiling at him—seductive, playful, yet distant. Viktor forced a smile in return, the kind he had perfected over the years, polished and empty.

“I’m fine, Luka. Just… tired.” Viktor replied, tilting his head and concentrating at the drink in his hand.

“Tired, huh?” Luka’s fingers trailed up Viktor’s arm, his voice teasing. “You’ve been tired a lot lately. Maybe I can help you relax, you’ll feel better once we’re alone...” His touch was persistent, but Viktor barely felt it. He was somewhere else—his mind drifting further away from the noise, the people, and from Luka. You’ll feel better once we’re alone. Viktor had heard that line too many times.

Luka shifted closer, his lips grazing on his ear ear. “Come on, Vitya. Let’s go. This party is dull anyway.”

Viktor’s smile faltered for a moment as he looked around. The room was filled with people, but none of them knew him. Not really. He didn’t even know himself anymore. He closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath, his chest tightening with a familiar sense of loss.

"I said, I’m fine." Viktor repeated, his voice more strained this time, the vodka beginning to burn in his throat, but the warmth didn’t reach his chest.

Luka pulled back, the playful expression on his face fading into one of frustration. "You’ve been acting weird for weeks now, like you’re never really here." He crossed his arms, his tone edged with irritation. "It’s like you’re somewhere else all the time."

Somewhere else. He was somewhere else.

Somewhere far away, where things had made sense, and before that fall on the ice that made him land with his foot in the wrong angle.

He had been stuck for weeks, ever since his injury two months ago—when he had pushed too hard, strained himself during practice, being so tired that wasn't paying much attention to the landing and fractured his ankle as a result. Physiotherapy had been a drag and was consistent with it, but he hadn’t shown his face at the rink. He couldn’t. The thought of stepping onto the ice and not being able to do what he used to—it was unbearable. He had kept that pain hidden, even from Luka, who never asked why Viktor sometimes winced when they were having sex, but he never asked why. “Is this about your skating?” Luka pushed, his voice edging into annoyance.

Viktor stayed quiet, his mind drifting to the message he had received from Yakov a few days ago. “You can’t give up, Viktor. You need to focus on what matters.” Yakov had urged him to come back to the rink, to stop wasting time at these type of things, but Viktor had ignored it. He didn’t want to face the ice right now.

Didn’t want to face what was waiting for him if he failed.

And then there was Christophe, who had sent him videos as usual—clips of him practicing, trying to cheer Viktor up. But Viktor had only responded to Chris with details about the party he'd been the night before, not mentioning the injury, not talking about how he felt. Not talking about how broken everything felt.

Ilya, his sponsor, had also sent messages. But Viktor hadn’t even cared to read it fully. Something about not wasting his investment. Something about not giving up and making him look bad. Viktor had scoffed at that. To Ilya, Viktor was just money, just a tool for success. “Don’t make me regret backing you.” Ilya had said, but Viktor couldn’t find it in himself to care about what Ilya thought.

“No.” Viktor said again, his voice dull. The vodka was doing its job, numbing the edges, but not enough to make him forget. “It's nothing.”

Luka sighed, his frustration evident. “You’ve been saying that for weeks. You’re always tired, it's getting boring by now.”

Viktor took another long sip of vodka, letting the burn distract him for a moment. He thought of all the messages he had ignored, all the things he hadn’t said. Thought of the rink, thought of the ice, thought of how everything felt so distant now.

He thought of the silence. The silence of the rink, the silence when he thought about his mother and the silence from his one dearest friend.

“This is really not working.” Viktor whispered, more to himself than to Luka.

Luka raised an eyebrow, clearly not understanding. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Viktor didn’t answer.

He stood up suddenly, setting his glass down on the table with a soft clink. Luka looked up at him in confusion. “Where are you going?”

“I need some air.” Viktor muttered, turning away.

“Are you fucking breaking up with me?” Luka called after him, his voice a mix of frustration and concern.

But Viktor didn’t stop. He kept walking, his heart pounding in his chest as he pushed through the crowd and stepped out onto the balcony. The cold air hit him like a slap, sharp and biting, but it was a relief.

He leaned against the railing, his breath coming in shallow bursts, his mind still spinning. The injury, the rink, Yakov’s message, Christophe’s videos, Ilya’s pressure—it all blurred together in a mess of expectations he couldn’t live up to.

He raised the glass to his lips again, draining the last of the vodka in one long gulp.

It didn’t help. It never did.

Now he only wanted to be home with Makkachin.

[bookswithsalem]

Soul is going to die today. He can feel it, feel as his body begins to shut down piece by piece, painstakingly slowly. He can tell by the way his ears strain to focus in on his breathing as each inhale becomes harder and harder to achieve. The blood begins to rush into his ears and he’s pretty sure he can hear his own heartbeat slowing. He is going to die. Yet that’s not what flows through his mind at this moment. He’s not thinking about all the things he could’ve done, the chances he could’ve taken, the things he should’ve said that he didn’t. He’s not thinking of all that he regrets or all the things he’s wanted to do that now he’ll never get the chance to. He’s not cursing at the gods or begging for his life to be spared. He’s going to die, but he doesn’t care. Xander, his name coming out as a whisper, slipping past his dry lips. Or at least he was trying, it seems his voice was failing him also, but that was just another thing to add to the list.

Xander, god why couldn’t he speak. He has to talk has to say it but it won’t come out, his mouth won’t work and Xander, poor Xander he’s still trying to find him. What would he do? How would he react when he busted down the door and inevitably saw his broken and bloody body? Xander, you have to stop. How badly he wished he could speak, something even if it was a whisper. He just needed to say something. Xander, you have to turn away, still he was left a failure. The word repeated in his mind like a mantra, failure, failure, failure, he was gonna get Xander killed. How badly he wished he could move, could at least twitch his fingers, anything. Instead, a single tear fell from his eye as he listened to Xander’s desperate cries of his name. Listened as he tore through the building, slamming every door open, trying so hard to find him. Please stop, please go away. Xander just leave. Stubborn, idiotic Alexander. Always the fool, always the one left behind. I can’t keep my promise. I’m sorry. I don’t think I can stay. Poor, lonely Soul. Always the one breaking things in his wake. I’m sorry I hurt you. Another tear falls, another door slammed open. Soul begins to lose his vision. Oh, to die in the dark. I’ll wait for you, if we get the chance to do it again, I’ll look for you. Will you look for me? Another tear falls, but Soul can’t feel it, he’s lost all feeling now. Another door slams open, another cry of his name.

You were good to me, but I was so horrible to you. The next to go was his taste. Maybe a blessing, now he can’t taste that metallic tang in his mouth, now he can’t smell it either. Guess taste and smell are a packaged deal. I think I’ll miss you. The moon to my night. The last to go was his hearing. To go in the dark, in the silence, the quiet. I’m sorry.

Soul stops breathing.

⭐️🌕⭐️🌕⭐️

“Soul!” Xander rips through each room, his chest heaving the more he runs as he continues to come up empty. Another door, another empty room, more time lost. Another door, another empty room, more time lost. Another door, another empty room, more time lost. “Soul!” His name broke on his lips, legs burning as he pumped them forward. Where is he? Focus, you have to focus. Why can’t he focus? Soul needs him, somewhere in this building he’s hurt, trying his hardest to get free and Xander is failing him. Another door, another em- wait… “Soul!” There in the middle of the room laid a body, eyes open, glassy and unseeing. Xander slides to his knees next to him and gently cradles the head close to his chest. “Soul, you’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna- you’re gonna be just fine. Just, just keep your eyes open for me, yeah? Just breathe and stay with me, okay?” What do I do? What do you do? What do you say? How do you make it better?

“Xander, what’s going-“ Amelia’s voice cuts off as she takes in the scene playing out before her. “Oh my god, is that,” scared, she swallows the bile threatening to rise from her throat, “is that Soul?” Blood, so much of it covered his body that it made him unrecognizable, but no matter how much she wished it didn’t mean she could deny the truth. It was him. Her best friend was lying there, so still and quiet, dead. Soul’s dead. We were too late. Slowly, she makes her way over to the pair and puts a soft hand on Xander’s shoulder. “Xander,” the boy in question showed no sign of hearing his name being called. Too distraught to do anything but rock the body in his arms back and forth, pleading for it to show some sign of life, to fucking breathe, anything, “Xander, he’s dead.” What was the point in beating around the bush? It was the truth, the undeniable truth and no matter what they said, they couldn’t reverse time and they couldn’t bring him back to life. “Soul’s dead, we couldn’t save him.”

“Shut up,” he shrugged her hand off his shoulder, “he’s not, we can’t just say that, we can’t give up on him.”

“Xander,”

“He’s not, he’s sleeping and we have to wake him up. We just, we just have to get him to wake up and then we can all leave and pretend that none of this ever happened. It can be like a bad dream.”

“Alexander,”

“Amelia please. I can, I can fix this.” Poor, poor Xander, always so unable to come to terms with death. Amelia kneeled down next to him, and gently pulled Soul out of his tight grasp, laying him back down on the floor. Cold, unfeeling, kind of like her heart right now. ‘Dead’ like she so wished to be.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered. To whom she couldn’t tell you. She leaned forward and slowly closed Soul’s eyes, there, now he looked like he was sleeping, like he was peaceful.

“Do you think he lost his sight first?” A question Xander meant to think. Maybe he didn’t realize he’d even said it aloud. “He hated the dark; couldn't stand it. Do you think he was scared?” Scared? Amelia doesn’t think she’s ever seen a time where Soul was scared, not something he’d ever willingly shown anyone before. He always needed to be in control, needed to know everything. But thinking about his last moments, maybe he realized he didn’t know what would come next. Her eyes blurred as she thought of how he might have reacted. He would have been scared, terrified even, and she wasn’t there to soothe his fears. He needed her, needed them, and they failed. Failure, failure, failure, it mocked her, like a curse. It made her grip the edge of her shirt so hard that her knuckles turned white from the strain. Her head pounding from the effort to hold back her tears. I couldn’t keep my promise, she thought, I wasn’t there like I said I would be. The tears finally began to fall from her eyes as she choked on her sobs, do you hate me? She hoped he didn’t. Was that selfish? She broke her promise, that made her a liar, a betrayer, a snake, and yet she hoped more than anything that he still loved her like she knew he did. That he knew that she tried her hardest, even if it wasn’t good enough, that she loved him. How selfish of her to think of herself at a time like this.

“I’m sorry.” And she was. Because this had all happened because of her. Again. Soul had died once more because of her. Again. Because she had been so jealous, and so hurt at the fact that Xander had chosen Soul over her that she had asked for that curse to be cast. And now, because of her, they were doomed from the very start. Forced to start over again, to fall in love again, to die again. All because of her, and her jealousy, and her anger. God, she was terrible; she is terrible. How could she fix this?

[its7505]

a dying art form

My deepest confession, buried deep below the shallows of my psyche,  far beyond anything else in the depths of my mind.

A secret hammering in my chest, ebbing away at my own confidence, trying to break the fragile glass that I hide my grimaces behind, rippling away the pseudo imperfections I have placed in front of me.

I hear the whispers in the wind taunting me with it, hear it behind any cheesy love song’s melody, a beat like my own heart. I hear it in the lulls between every word I say, in the quiet of the night where my thoughts are left alone, rampant, with an almost insane direction to it, eating away at every other thought. I hear it with the smell of old parchment, the burning wood of a campfire, and the scent of vanilla with a hint of jasmine. Or perhaps I have learnt to always hear it at this point, as even as it pains me, destroys me as if my heart was being ripped from my chest, it is still my favourite melody, because it reminds me of you.

And every time I do, I picture that spring day, the morning dew around us cascading down from one blade of grass to the next. The buds of life represent rebirth after death, the healing after winter's cold touch. 

The sun was just beginning to rise from the depths of the unknown, the colours dancing high above anything we could ever imagine, the darkness slowly receding from its touch. Yet even with the unmistakable beauty around us, the only thing I could ever stare at was you, it was always you.

It was slow at first, I didn’t think I could love anything or I deserved to be loved by anything, but you were not anything, you were everything, a difference between two words that meant the exact same thing, but you taught me that they were nothing alike.

The first time I laid my eyes on yours, I couldn’t stop, something clicked far beyond my understanding and suddenly everything just made sense. 

I fell slowly, not all at once, first it was the music of your laugh, then the complexities of your mind. Then the silence that you allowed me to have when everything else became too loud, the only sign that anything else existed was your fingers entwined with mine. I fell in love with every little part of you, your eyes and your hands, the way your expression would soften  when you saw me or the smile that I swear could break me in two if you allowed it.

My heart beat to the rhythm of yours and when it all fell apart it felt like I couldn’t breathe.

Our paths diverged one day, something broke between the two of us, that neither of us could ever fully repair, an innocence perhaps or the naive thoughts of a forever when no such thing existed.

Trying to push together two pieces of a whole. That should have fit perfectly, but existence likes taunting us, tangling the notion of infinity, but giving it to two broken souls. The gods' toys, their source of entertainment. A tragedy, an unfinished piece of work. Of two mortal beings, who will never learn that their love can never be immortal.

Yet my deepest confession, buried deep below my psyche, far beyond anything else in the depths of my mind. Is that my heart beats to the same drum it always has, feels the same ache since the day I really learnt how to live. 

I love you.