#whos up being gently cradled in death's arms...

[vulcanautus]

sleep well

[ponderingmoonlight]

HEYYYY so i dont really know if u write this stuff but i was wondering if u could do like toji/jjk men and their reaction when the reader goes into labour?? ❤️❤️

JJK men when you go into labor

Pairings: Toji x fem!reader; Geto x fem!reader; Gojo x fem!reader; Sukuna x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,3k

Warnings: yk...birth, this is basically the same scenario for 3k words straight lol, never gave birth myself so idk if this is accurate 🥹

Toji Fushiguro

The day started like any other. Well, as normal as it can be when you’re nine months pregnant.

You are in the kitchen, trying to decide between a cup of tea or a snack, when a sharp, unmistakable pain shoots through your abdomen. You gasp, clutching the edge of the counter for support as the realization hits you with full force:

This is it. The baby is coming.

“Toji!” you call out, your voice trembling as another wave of pain rolls through you.

You hear the rustle of a newspaper being set down and the heavy footsteps of your husband approaching from the living room.

“Toji…” you try to keep calm, but the panic in your voice is unmistakable.

The man is a fortress, rarely showing any emotion beyond his usual stoic demeanor, but when he sees your expression, something shifts in his eyes. The usually cool, collected Toji Fushiguro is now all business.

Without a word, he’s right by your side, one strong arm wrapping around your waist to support you. His other hand comes up to gently tilt your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“How long have you been feeling this?” he questions, his voice steady, though you can hear the underlying tension.

“Just started,” you manage to reply through gritted teeth.

Another contraction hits, and you instinctively grip his arm, digging your nails into his skin for support.

Toji doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he simply nods, assessing the situation with the same precision he would use in a fight.

“Alright. We’re going to the hospital now. I’ll get the bag.”

He guides you to the couch, making sure you are seated comfortably before he disappears down the hall. You can hear the faint sound of drawers being opened and closed, and within moments, he’s back with the hospital bag slung over his shoulder.

Toji lifts you into his arms effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as he carries you to the car. His movements are quick but careful. And even though he’d never admit it, you can feel the tension in his body, a rare vulnerability in a man who’s usually so unshakable.

As he settles you into the passenger seat, he leans down, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

“You’re strong. You can handle this, babe” he mutters, his voice firm but with an edge of softness that he rarely shows.

The drive to the hospital is swift as usual, Toji weaving through traffic with the same precision he uses in combat. But his now soft hand never leaves yours, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your skin as if trying to soothe both your pain and his own worry.

“You’re doing great,” he murmurs, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

His jaw is set, the muscles on his neck visible tense. And yet his voice is calm, grounding you during your fear and pain.

When you finally arrive at the hospital, Toji is all efficiency. He barks orders at the staff, making sure everything is ready for your arrival with all their attention on you. Despite the situation, his grip on your hand is firm, his presence unwavering while he stays by your side through every step.

In the delivery room, as the pain intensifies, you squeeze his hand to death, your nails biting into his now injured skin. Toji doesn’t do so much as flinch, his focus entirely on you.

“Breathe,” he reminds you whenever you need to hear it, his voice steady and commanding.

You manage to look up at him between contractions. And for a brief moment, you see something in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before.

Fear.

It’s fleeting, quickly replaced by his usual determination, but it was there, a reminder that beneath his tough exterior and his sometimes sharp tone towards you, Toji cares more than he’ll ever admit.

As the contractions grow stronger, Toji’s calm exterior begins to crack. He isn’t panicking, but you can see the worry etched into his features, the way his grip tightened just slightly every time you cry out in pain.

“You’re almost there,” he murmurs, his voice gruff but soothing.

“Just a little longer.”

When the final push comes and the cries of your newborn fill the room, you see Toji’s shoulders relax ever so slightly through wet lashes. When he looks down at you, a small and rare smile tugs on the corner of his usual so neutral lips. Those lips you’ll never get tired of kissing. Those lips who can be used as a weapon, those lips that do in fact hurt you from time to time. You know this relationship can be toxic, that Toji Fushiguro isn’t the definition of a dream husband.

But at this very moment, with glistening eyes set on you and that smile forming on his face, you can think of nothing else.

“You did it,” he whispers, his voice low and filled with something that almost sounds like awe.

When the nurse places the baby in your arms, Toji’s hand comes to rest on your shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Get some rest, babe.”

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your new family and with your eyelids slowly but surely growing heavy, you see a side of Toji that he rarely let anyone see: a man who is strong but also deeply, fiercely protective of the people he loves.

Especially you.

Suguru Geto

The afternoon sunlight filters through the curtains when you sit on the couch, folding the last of the baby clothes that Suguru insisted on organizing earlier that morning. You smile to yourself, thinking about how fussy he was, making sure everything was in its place for the baby’s arrival.

You feel a twinge in your lower abdomen, brushing it off as one of the many discomforts that accompanied the last few weeks of pregnancy. But the pain returns just a few seconds later, sharper this time. Your face turns pale when realization hits you with full force.

This isn’t just another cramp. Those are contractions.

“Suguru…” you call out, trying to keep your voice steady as another wave of pain washes over you.

Panic starts to creep in, even though you try to push it down. You need to stay calm, need to make your way to the hospital to finally deliver that baby.

Suguru appears in the doorway almost instantly, his usually serene expression replaced with pure concern as he crosses the room to your side.

“What is it? Are you alright?” he asks with gentle and yet tensioned voice.

“I think it’s time,” you whisper, clutching your belly when another contraction hit, more intense than the last.

“I think… I’m in labor.”

Labor.

For a moment, Suguru’s eyes widen, a rare flash of panic crossing his features. But as quickly as it came, it vanishes into his usual calm composure.

He kneels beside you, taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin.

“Alright,” he replies softly, his voice like a balm to your frayed nerves.

“We’ll get through this. Let me get everything ready.”

Suguru stands and moves with a quiet efficiency, grabbing the hospital bag and making sure you have everything you need. You watch him, your heart swelling with love and gratitude for this man who, despite the panic of the situation, is doing everything he can to keep you calm.

Until another contraction hits you like a truck.

He’s back at your side in no time, helping you to your feet with a gentle touch.

“Lean on me,” he instructs softly, wrapping an arm around your waist to support you while you make your way to the car.

The drive to the hospital is surreal. Suguru’s hand never leaves yours, his presence a constant source of comfort. He speaks softly to you the entire time, his voice a steady rhythm that you can focus on, grounding you through coming and going contractions.

“You’re doing amazing,” he repeats over and over, his tone filled with quiet admiration.

You try to focus on his words, his calm demeanor helping to ease some of your anxiety. Suguru is always the calm in your storm, the one who can bring you back to center no matter how chaotic things are. And now, when the reality of labor starts to set in, you are more grateful than ever for his steady presence.

When you arrived at the hospital, Suguru springs into action immediately, helping you out of the car and into a wheelchair with the same gentle care he always shows. He stays close as the nurses wheel you into the delivery room, his hand never leaving yours.

As the contractions grow stronger, you find yourself gripping his hand tighter, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Suguru is right there with you, his voice a constant source of comfort.

“Breathe, love,” he whispers, his tone soothing.

“You’re doing so well.”

Despite the pain you find yourself focusing on his voice, letting it guide you through each contraction. Suguru’s presence is like a lifeline, grounding you in the midst of the pain and chaos. He always remains close, his forehead resting gently against yours as he whispers words of encouragement in your ear.

“You’re almost there,” he murmurs softly.

“Just a little more, and we’ll meet our baby.”

As the final push comes, you could feel Suguru’s grip on your hand tighten, his breath catching in his throat while watching you bring your child into the world. Within the next second, the sound of your baby’s first cry fills the room, and the first thing you see are tears glistening in Suguru’s eyes.

“You did it,” he breathes out, his voice thick with emotion as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re incredible.”

The nurse places your baby in your arms and Suguru’s hand comes to rest gently on the tiny head, his expression softening as he looks down at your child.

“Welcome to the world,” he whispers, his voice filled with so much love for that little creature that makes your heart swell.

Satoru Gojo

You are lounging on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position, which honestly seems impossible at this stage of pregnancy. Satoru is in the kitchen, probably making another one of his infamous midnight snacks. The two of you spent the day preparing for the baby’s arrival, but you didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

Out of nowhere, a sharp pain shoots through your abdomen, stealing your breath. You hold onto your belly, realization dawning on you as the pain increases more and more.

“Satoru!” you call out, your voice laced with urgency.

Almost instantly, Satoru appears in the doorway, a sandwich in one hand and a look of confusion on his face.

“What’s up?” he asks casually.

But when he sees the expression on your face, his carefree demeanor falters in an instant.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I think… I think it’s time,” you manage to press out, your voice trembling as another contraction hits.

You see the color drain from his face for a split second before his usual grin appears bac on his face.

“Oh, it’s go time!” he exclaims, dropping the sandwich onto the counter and rushing over to you.

“Alright, don’t worry, babe. I’ve got this. I’ll just finish that sandwich later,”

You can’t help but laugh despite the pain.

“You…You really think about that sandwich now?”

 He helps you to your feet, his hands warm and steady as he guides you toward the door.

“Sure babe. Just breathe, okay? I’ll have you at the hospital in no time.”

He scoops you up with ease, carrying you to the car like you weigh nothing. As he settles you into the passenger seat, he is all smiles, though you could see the flicker of nervousness in his eyes.

“You ready for this?” he questions, his voice filled with excitement.

The drive to the hospital is a blur of lights and Satoru’s voice, a constant stream of chatter meant to distract you from the pain and Backstreet Boys crying out of the radio. He weaves through traffic with an ease that only he can manage, glancing over at you every few seconds while humming.

“You’re doing amazing, babe. Just keep breathing.”

You squeeze his hand tightly, trying to focus on his voice as another contraction hits. Satoru’s grip tightens in response, and you can see the concern creeping into his usually carefree expression.

But he still keeps talking, trying to keep you calm with jokes, stories and boy bands, anything to make you smile.

When you finally arrive at the hospital, Satoru is out of the car in a flash, helping you out and into a wheelchair with a surprising amount of gentleness. He holds your hand tightly as the nurses wheel you inside.

In the delivery room, Satoru stays by your side, his usual humor tempered by a seriousness you rarely saw.

“You’ve got this,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from your face while you brace for another contraction.

“You’re the strongest person I know.”

Despite the pain, you manage a small smile. You, the strongest?

“No, you’re the strongest”, you press out.

He simply beams down at you while shrugging in a playful way. Satoru might joke around a lot, but in moments like this, you know you can count on him to be there for you.

As the labor progresses, you find yourself leaning on him more and more, his voice the only thing grounding you through the pain. Satoru’s grip on your hand never wavers, even when you squeeze it hard enough to leave marks.

“Just a little more, babe,” he purrs, his forehead pressed against yours as he helps you through the final push.

“You’re almost there.”

When your baby’s cries finally fill the room, you see the tension leave Satoru’s body all at once. He looks down at you, a wide grin spreading across his face, his eyes shining with tears he will never admit to.

“We did it,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion.

As the nurse placed your baby in your arms, Satoru’s hand comes to rest gently on the tiny head, his expression one of pure awe.

“Hey there, little one,” he hushes softly.

You looked up at him, tears in your own eyes when you see the way he looks at your child:

With all the love and devotion he usually tries to hide behind jokes and smiles.

In that moment, you know that Satoru will be the best father, just as he’s the best partner.

“Now…are you in the mood for a sandwich?”

“Babies aren’t allowed to eat sandwiches, idiot.”

Ryomen Sukuna

You are lying in bed like you did those pasts days, trying to ignore the discomfort nagged at you all day. Ryomen Sukuna sits across the room, his crimson eyes watching you with a mixture of boredom and curiosity.

He was never one to show much concern, but you noticed the way his gaze had lingered on you more often as your due date approached.

Then, without warning, a sharp, intense pain shoots through your abdomen, making you gasp. You clutch at your belly, the realization hitting you hard.

“Sukuna…” you manage to whisper, your voice strained.

He’s by your side in an instant, faster than you ever saw him move.

“What is it?” he questions, his voice low and dangerous, as if he’s ready to eliminate whatever was causing you pain.

“I think… I think it’s happening,” you press out, trying to keep your voice steady as another contraction hits.

“The baby is coming.”

For a moment, Sukuna’s eyes narrow, his usual arrogance replaced by something you can’t quite place.

“So, it begins,” he mutters more to himself than to you.

Without another word, he lifts you into his arms, his grip firm but surprisingly gentle.

“You’re not going to die from this, are you?” he comments, a hint of irritation in his voice, though you know him well enough to recognize the concern beneath it.

You manage a weak smile.

“No, I’m not going to die.”

“Good,” he mutters, his tone gruff as he carries you out of the room.

“I won’t tolerate weakness from the woman birthing my child.”

Despite his harsh words, you can feel the tension in his body radiating from his firm muscles, the way his grip tightens ever so slightly when you wince in pain. Sukuna was always a creature of power and control, and the fact that he can’t do anything to stop your pain seems to frustrate him.

How ironic.

He carries you outside, where a car waits - something he arranged without you even realizing it. Sukuna isn’t usually one to rely on human conveniences, but for you, he obviously made an exception.

“A car?”

“Shut up, brat. Teleporting us into the hospital might be too dangerous. I…I don’t know much about a pregnancy…”

“I can tell that.”

The drive to the hospital is silent, save for the sound of your labored breathing and the occasional growl from Sukuna when you tense in pain. He sits beside you, his eyes never leaving your face, watching you with an intensity that borders on obsessive.

When you finally arrived at the hospital, Sukuna carries you inside, ignoring the shocked looks from the staff as he barks orders at them. His presence is intimidating, and no one dares question him as he demands the best care for you.

In the delivery room, Sukuna stays close, his usual arrogance tempered by something you rarely saw in him - worry.

“You’re stronger than this,” he tells you, his voice low and commanding as you fight through another contraction.

“You will not be defeated by something as trivial as childbirth.”

His words are harsh, but you can hear the underlying concern, the way his eyes soften ever so slightly when you cry out in pain. Sukuna was never one to show weakness, but in this moment, you can see that he’s in fact afraid. Afraid of losing you, afraid of something happening that he can’t control. Him, the king of curses, not in charge for this situation?

As the labor progresses, you find yourself relying on his strength, his presence a strange comfort in the midst of the pain. Sukuna’s hand find yours, his grip firm and unyielding, as if he tries to share his power with you, to keep you grounded in the storm of pain that washes over you.

“You will get through this,” he growls, his voice filled with an authority that doesn’t allow another argument.

“You are mine, and I will not let anything happen to you.”

When the final push comes, you can feel Sukuna’s grip tighten, his breath hitching as your baby’s cries echo through the room. He looks down at you, his eyes wide with something that might be shock. Or perhaps awe? You are too exhausted and filled with emotions to care.

“You did it,” he murmurs, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he looks at the tiny, wriggling form in your arms.

“You really did it.”

For a moment, Sukuna is silent, staring down at the baby with an expression you’ve never seen before - an almost hesitant curiosity.

Slowly and hesitating, he reached out, his large hand resting gently on the baby’s dark head.

“This… is ours,” he mutters, his voice filled with a strange mix of pride and possessiveness.

You nod, tears filling your eyes as you looked up at him.

“Yes, ours.”

He might be the king of curses, a being of immense power and cruelty, but in this moment, he is also a father, and you know that he’ll protect you and your child with everything he has.

Tags:

@arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld

@hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen

@magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut 

@mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0

@ynackerman9499 @keepghostly  @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife 

@coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain 

@risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny

@ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr

@sugu-love @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world

@oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo @kentocalls @cheesemachine44

@ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299

@okay-it-is-ivy @paridoliaaa

[chocum]

COMING DOWN !

— bunched up, sweet little whimpers, he always gets so sensitive under your touch feat. choso kamo

WARNINGS. femreader (she/her) x goodguy!cho :3 mentions of violence/death, sub cho, dom reader, overstimulation, begging, blowjob, premature ejaculation ;( crying + 1.2k wc note. i’m so insane abt choso it’s actually scary, he’s all i think about. tysm for all the support on my first post. love u all! feedback + reblogs are appreciated! also art by @/swag_yay on x. ty again & enjoyyy ᡣ𐭩

choso hated missions with a passion that pierced his very soul.

his cursed energy manipulation and combat skills are unrivaled, making him crucial to a mission’s success, but the relentless nature of them drained him beyond words— both mentally and physically.

they feel so repetitive: eliminate curses, protect civilians, prevent damage. eliminate curses, eliminate curses, eliminate.

he has always been driven by a deep desire to protect everyone he could, especially those who were unable to do so themselves, but the constant cycle of violence and death confused him—wrestling with self-doubt, doing mental gymnastics, trying to justify his actions. the cognitive strain became a heavy burden that compounded during missions, further exhausting him like heavy buckets of water dousing an already flickering flame.

and after meeting you — his sweet, sweet girl — his hatred for missions only grew.

the ache of missing you constantly gnawed at him. your homey scent. your taste still fresh on his tongue, preventing him from concentrating because, in his mind, he’s still tangled in your sheets, stealing sweet kisses that linger on his lips long after they’ve left yours.

when out scouting, he would catch glimpses of couples hand in hand in the streets sporting deep smiles, making his stomach twist— his brows pinching together, deepening the ridge between them.

his sole solace was the thought of returning home to his pretty girl once everything was over— it pushes him to keep going, to keep fighting, even avoiding shoko because he preferred your clumsy little hands to patch him up.

finally done with his latest three-week mission — a seeming eternity away from you — he was being driven to your place, to you, home.

head lolling back against the car seat, he spreads his legs wider, rolling his hips to adjust himself, before sinking, letting the leather seat swallow him whole. he tilts his head to the side, deep purple irises flickering, to watch the familiar scenery— large leafy trees crowding the darkening highway under evening skies.

after he waved his goodbyes, giving thanks to his driver, he stumbled up to the door, his fingers fumbling awkwardly with the keys underneath the dim light of the porch. on the other side, the distinct sound of the lock clicking open causes you to bolt up, rushing to greet him.

he pushes it open and there you are. looking up at him with that big smile he adores so much lighting your face— pretty eyes sparkling with relief. you squeal and fling your arms around him without hesitation and he does the same, burying his face into the side of your neck, feeling your hair brush against him, inhaling deeply.

you always smelled so good— a blend of your natural scent and hints of vanilla from your body wash. he’s been craving that scent for so long, growing dizzy now that it finally embraces him, his body falling limp, so weak in your smaller arms.

you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, fingers gently tracing the smooth lines on his face— lines that seemed deeper since you’d last seen him.

“i missed you so much” you hummed faintly as he cupped your face, nuzzling your warm cheeks against his rough hands.

“i missed you so much more”

he leaned down to find your lips. they felt so much softer than he remembered. kissing you deeply, his calloused hand cradling the back of your neck, drawing you closer into the warmth of his embrace.

and when you moan against him— oh, it sounds so sweet, the blood rushing to his cock so quickly. next thing he knows, he’s rutting against your thigh, pressing against you so, so desperately, almost mounting you.

“what’s wrong cho?” a soft whine escapes him at the sudden loss of contact, “tell me, baby, use your words”

“i’m sorry,” he breathes, a pretty blush crawling up his neck, “just missed you so much— got excited”

“i know, my pretty boy, but ‘m here now, okay? let me take care of you. i know you missed it.” you take his hand, drawing him to your room as he follows obediently, shutting the door behind him, “did you touch yourself without me?”

he shakes his head, his fluffy hair cascading down to rest on his shoulders. “you .. you told me not no”

“good boy”

you push against his shoulders, gently guiding him to sit on the bed, his breath hitching so sweetly watching you lift yourself to straddle his waist. connecting your lips once more, hips grinding against him so slowly— rocking back and forth. his mouth now tinted pink and tenderly swollen from your ardent kisses, you move down to his neck planting a trail of light ones along the sensitive skin, each touch eliciting subtle little quivers and soft exhales. his fists bunch up the sheets, he—

“sorrysorrysorry” he babbles breathlessly— endlessly, his pants turning damp, material darkening as his cock twitches and pulses so cutely, cum drooling out his sensitive slit, “just feel so good against me. been so long. couldn’t even touch myself when you sent those pictures. it’s so sensitive”

“shhhh ‘s okay, cho.” a finger pressed against his pout— pushing its way in for him to suckle on warmly before you slide down to your knees. trailing your hands down his thighs, tugging on the hem of his pants, “i’ll clean you up”

he’s still so hard— his tip blushing, crying white cream, and when you take him in your hands, his hips jerk up for you— body still coming down from his high and you’re already taking him in your mouth, cruelly, licking fat stripes up his twitchy length.

“fuck ‘s too much baby, i just- wai, wait, please.” he’s pawing at you, pushing against your head, but he sounds too cute, crying and whimpering around you for you to stop— looks too cute with the prettiest pink blush shrouding his body from the tips of his heated ears to his curled toes.

you gargle and gag around his cock— exaggerating the sounds because you know it drives him insane. he loves when you get so nasty and messy for him, foamy spit bubbling around where his cock plugs your mouth up. your hands move to cup his warm balls, caressing and squeezing gently, coaxing him to cum for you again.

“ah f- baby, i’m so fucking— please. wanna cum for— you. gonna be so good, gonna—”

he cums salty, thick stripes straight down your warm throat with a whine so pretty you wish it was recorded so you could play it over and over and over.

and he’s crying— it’s too much, feels too good — sweetly hiccuping, sniffing as he hides his face behind his hands. such a pretty boy. he’s growing limp in your mouth and you pull off with a whine before kissing up his shaky legs.

“did so good for me, cho, missed having you like this” lightly moving his hands to pet at his damp cheeks, watching keenly how he leans into your touch, wiping pretty doll-like tears with your thumbs.

knowing that he has you to take such good care of him once he’s home will forever ease his mind while he’s away, a comforting thought that lingers like a soft embrace, even in your absence.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Why write the usual when I can make everybody sad? This is a different take on the Yandere trope with the reality of being involved with someone who is obsessed with you (worse case scenario).

Yandere Short Stories: The Consequences

Yandere Ex Husband x Deceased Fem Reader

“(Your name)?” Alec stepped back in disbelief, his hands rubbed his eyes to make sure that the figure in front of him was really real. “(Your name)! Oh my god!”

Alec ran towards the young woman and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. His whole body trembled as his hazel eyes began to spill salty tears. He couldn’t believe it… he couldn’t believe this was real.

Her hair still smelled like (scent)… this couldn’t be a dream! This had to be reality! Yes… she came back to see him again.

They were together so many years ago and then she vanished into thin air. To see her again was like a dream come true! To know she was still on this earth and she had returned to his side was all the relief he needed.

Alec pressed a kiss to her head before he pulled away so his hands could hold her face. His thumbs traced over her pink lips as a sad smile crawled on his lips.

“You… you don’t look a day over twenty six…” Alec’s brow furrowed. How did she still look so young when it’s been over a decade since they last saw each other? How was that even possible?

(Your name) softly smiled at him, her hands rose up to gently hold the backs of his palms. Her hands were like ice… no. Her hands were as cold as death.

“This isn’t real, none of this is.” (Your name)’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I died, silly. Don’t you remember?”

“No… you’re not dead.” Alec’s lip quivered and his eyes became crazed. “You can’t be dead, we just had an argument was all.”

“Yes… and you killed me. Don’t you remember?” (Your name)’s form slowly began to melt away into that of a rotted corpse. “You stabbed me to death and buried me in the garden.”

“No! No, I didn’t…” Alec began to sob and shake his head. There was no way… he didn’t. He wouldn’t have… he loved her!

“It’s too late, Alec. What’s done is done.” (Your name) the crumbled onto the floor in a pile of bones.

Alec fell to the floor in a panic. Her tried to piece back together her bones back together but it was futile. “No! Please stay with me!”

Hot tears flowed down his cheeks, another sob racked through his chest. He pulled her skull toward his chest to cradle it. “I’m sorry… I just didn’t want you to leave me! We were so happy and… I wanted you to be happy forever.”

Alec continued to sob on the floor that slowly melted away into that of a white padded cell. Reality slowly began to slip in.

(Your name) would be happy forever in death while he would rot forever in this padded cell. This was the reality of his kind of love. This was the consequence of his actions.

[pin-k-ink]

Ryomen Sukuna X Reader

CW: mention of death and violence, extremely fluffy, soft sukuna

summary: instances where sukuna realized he was in love with you

a/n: hehehehe >:)

Sukuna realized he loved you when he stopped by a dandelion field on his way to massacre a village, just because you wanted to make a wish on one. He made sure to wait patiently until you finished weaving the delicate yellow flowers into an intricate wreath that soon ended up on top of his head. Imagine how ridiculous he looked, killing people in cold blood with a flimsy flower crown on his head. He didn’t care, though. Because it was you who made it. It was you who kissed his nose while praising him for being patient (for you, he’d wait for all eternity if he had to).

Sukuna realized he loved you when you both were ambushed. Immediately lunging down and cradling your tiny body against his as he shielded you from the attack, almost instinctively. He felt your dainty fingers grasping the front of his kimono, shaking. All he felt was pure, unadulterated rage that boiled over in waves as he felt your tears soaking his cloths. He couldn’t feel anything, not the rough gravel that was scraping his knees, not the myriad of arrows piercing his back, not the shouts of his enemies as they closed in on him. No, all he could see was your teary eyed gaze as they looked up at him with worry. He ended up ripping the foolish sorcerers apart, shielding the brutal display from your eyes. He ended up carrying your shaking form home.

Sukuna realized he loved you when you kneeled down at his feet with a colorful display of fruits that you planned on feeding him. He had promptly got up from his throne and gripped your waist to hoist you up on it instead. As uncharacteristic as it was, he was the one that took the platter from you, settling down by your feet to pick up a cube of watermelon, bringing it up to your lips to feed you. He said he wasn’t in the mood for fruits, and stuffed your face with it until the entire platter was empty. You didn’t notice the small smile he had on his face whenever he felt your plump lips brush against the rough callous of his finger.

Sukuna realized he loved you when he had accidentally caught you smearing charcoal on your face, recreating the exact tattoos Sukuna had on his face, down to the last detail. When you finally saw him standing behind you with a bemused look in his eyes, you sputtered and lunged to wipe the marks off your face. He had caught you just in time, gently prying your fingers away from your face. He sat down beside you and hoisted you on top of his lap. The both of you spent the next couple of hours perfecting the design - he even made Uraume bring a spare kimono of his. He would never admit it, but he thinks he fell a little more in love with you when he saw that his cloths entirely engulfed your body. But when you started imitating him with a highly exaggerated, nasally voice, he was quick to shut you up with a kiss.

Sukuna realized he was in love with you when he saw you wake up next to him for the first time. Unbeknownst to you, he had woken up a couple of hours before you, and had spent those hours admiring your beautiful face while you slept. He realized that he didn’t care if he was a monster in other peoples eyes. If this sweet person felt safe enough to sleep next to someone like him, then maybe he wasn’t so bad. When you’d finally woken up, you smiled up at him, and Sukuna felt a pang inside his chest. You gently reached up and brushed your lithe fingers against his jaw. You brought him down for a tender kiss. The moment was short lived when you caught your disheveled appearance in the mirror, promptly cocooning yourself in the blankets. Sukuna wouldn’t admit it outloud, but he thought you were the most heavenly thing he ever saw.

Sukuna realized he was in love with you when he cradled your cold, lifeless body in his arms. Your eyes, once full of mirth, were now dull and bleak. He couldn’t bring himself to curse this world, to curse the cruel people that took you from him. His mind was blank, as he hugged your body close to his, rocking back and forth while he slowly accepted the fact that he’ll never feel your warmth again. The tears didn’t stop, running a steady stream down his face. He brushed your hair away from your face one last time before he laid you to rest. Even in death, you were truly the most angelic being he’s ever had the privilege of seeing.

Sukuna realized he loved you when he spent the next few centuries incessantly praying to whatever deity out there, to please grant him the opportunity to see you again. Whether it was in death or reincarnation, he didn’t care. He knew his soul would never be able to rest in peace without feeling your touch again. He wanted to be able to see you smile at him, to kiss him, to reassure him that he’s done enough and that he’s earned the right to rest now. Until then, he’d spend his time making the sorcerers who took you away from him, pay.

Yūji realized Sukuna felt something for you when his nagging voice in the back of his mind quieted down to a halt when you appeared in front of him for the first time. You looked as beautiful as he remembered, maybe even more. He willed his body to move, wanting to hold you close. But you stepped back in alarm, your arms outstretched to shield Megumi from him as you activated your technique. Before, his chest would hurt at the mere thought of someone hurting you. Now, it felt as if someone had plunged their hand straight inside his chest and ripped his heart out when he realized you don’t remember him. Before he could say a word, Yūji regained control over his body.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

had some SAGAU thoughts this merry night

there's an old rumor that floats around the circles of the divine, that the Creator god will eventually and inevitably fall to the whims of the Abyss, consumed by the darkness forevermore. it terrifies the Archons and other divine beings to know that the one they worship and adore so much would have to endure such agony, so as all the devoted do, they try to prevent it. every law and order that is passed prepares only for the Creator's arrival, in hopes that the combined power of Teyvat will be able to keep their god safe and sound, sparing no expense to eradicate the Abyss' presence from the above world.

in their madness, they lay their eyes upon the one they worship and declare them- you- a heretic.

it was like a dream come true when you first woke up in Teyvat, the setting of your favorite game, but the dream quickly twisted into a nightmare as you found yourself hunted by every nation, seemingly every person yelling for your head on a platter. an imposter, they called you- a decoy sent by the Abyss- and for that, you deserved execution and death.

and execute you they did, when they inevitably caught you after weeks of running, your blood running a deep red on the pavement, speckled with nearly invisible stars.

when you wake up again, you first only feel pain, pain everywhere, from your head to the tips of your fingers. you want to cry out, but your throat is bone-dry, only faint, raspy coughs coming out. then suddenly you're surrounded by warmth, a pair of arms grasping your broken body gently with a soothing purr. Childe- Foul Legacy- cradles you lovingly, helping you sit up slightly to sip water before settling you back down with a soft croon, the entire Abyss silent and peaceful in your presence. Legacy traces the scar that runs the entire circumference of your neck with one delicate claw, letting out a quiet hiss at the thought of those foolish gods and mortals who hurt you before holding you closer and giving your head a comforting pat.

you smile, weak and faint, at the action, and Legacy rumbles in delight as the Abyss wraps around you; a dark, starry blanket of warmth and peace.

[peonysgreenhouse]

-`♡´- return.

summary: the obey me brothers react to mc coming back to life!

tags: obey me brothers x gn!reader, hurt/comfort, implied character death

i. lucifer

lucifer quietly steps into diavolo’s office, his usual professional mask quickly slipping onto his face, mouth set in a firm line as his eyes wander about the room. he freezes where he is when he sees who diavolo is talking to.

a familiar side profile, those kind eyes and soft lips he remembers so well, and he feels his breath hitch in his throat. this wasn’t real, he saw you die in front of his eyes. just how could you be here right now?

“lucifer!” you call, his presence being made known by diavolo, who grins wide upon seeing lucifer’s mesmerized expression. “oh, i missed you so, i–” you grip onto him tight, lucifer hesitating to return your affection out of both fear and regret. surely, he’d wake up any moment now in his own room and see that this was all a dream, remembering he had similar dreams after lilith’s fall. oh how his heavenly father liked to torment him so, even now.

“how did you…?” he clenches his jaw to keep himself from breaking. not in front of diavolo, not in front of you could he cry. lucifer hadn’t cried in eons, not since he was cast out of the celestial realm, but now, more than ever, he feels the weight of centuries of living creeping up on him, bubbling to the surface like a pressure he had let simmer for an eternity. “it’s really…?”

“it’s really me…” you whisper, putting your hand on his cheek. his hand comes up to cover your own, wishing he could shred the glove so he could feel the warmth of your hand on his. “it’s hard to believe, right? i was in the celestial realm for a while but… then i got sent back down here.” lucifer’s eyes flick to diavolo, who sits back in his chair with a smug grin on his face. he’s sure he now owes him two lifetimes worth of debts, one that he’d gladly work to pay off. you being here was worth more to him than anything the three realms had to offer.

“you’re never leaving again, understand?” his tone is more desperate than commanding, linking his fingers with yours. his other hand touches the spot where your mark is from making a pact with him, an eternal reminder that you both were connected. “from now until forever, you’re staying at my side.” 

you laugh breathily: “yes, i’m yours, lucifer.”

ii. mammon

an unexpected knock at the door resounds through the hall. he doesn’t have the energy to get up and open it, knowing it was probably asmodeus out from a wild night out. hearing the knocks once again, he sighs, slinking over and throwing the door open, ready to snap at whoever is there.

when he’s greeted by your smiling face, eyes bright and glittering as you choke out words that he’s been dreaming of hearing ever since that night you died, he grips the door so tight that it threatens to shatter under his grip. lucifer stands behind you, his arm linked with yours and the brightest smile he’s seen on his older brother since the days spent in heaven. 

he doesn’t care if he’s imagining things, he doesn’t care if it’s just a cruel illusion – mammon is greedy. he reaches out and pulls you out of lucifer’s grasp, holding you tight against his chest like you'd slip out of his arms if he let go. his breath hitches in his throat, hands running up and down your body, trying to commit this feeling to memory in case it turns out his hunch is right.

a flurry of emotions runs through his head, he has the urge to be angry that you left him, if only you could see the lengths he went to to get you back, all the restless nights spent bargaining with witches in back alleys and dark places. but he’s always cared for you more than he’s cared for his own pride, maybe even more than he’s cared for his own self. if this were an illusion he’s damn sure he’d sign over his own life to make it real, if even for a moment.

“hey,” your voice is more gentle than he remembers, “i’m here, i’m back, mammon.” when you push him back gently to cradle his face, he shatters, bursting into a fit of loud and childish sobs. he doesn’t care, he doesn’t worry about how pathetic he might’ve looked to you, you were back in his arms. 

iii. leviathan

levi hardly ever left his room, not since the night you had died. he only came out when he needed to eat, or when lucifer would forcefully drag him to class. the days were long and dull, not even TSL seemed to make him light up anymore – it was much too painful to face the world without his henry at his side.

he gets curious one night when he hears the sobs of his older brother downstairs; had something else happened? stepping out of his room, he could’ve never imagined seeing the sight in front of him: mammon sobbing in your arms, lucifer stroking your hair from behind, the two brothers sandwiching you in like a vice.

it’s you, his breaths grow shaky as he nearly jumps over the banister trying to get to you, it’s his henry, his best friend, his–

“you left me, but you’re–!” he quickly pulls mammon aside, tears of his own pricking at the corner of his eyes. “you’re back… why did you leave me? why did you–?” his tone is harsh, but the way he’s gripping onto your shirt, fists balled up and tugging you out of lucifer’s grip and into his chest, you know he’s more upset with himself than anything.

“…promise me you won’t leave me again,” his voice is small, and it has fresh tears running down your cheeks.

“i promise.”

iv. asmodeus

he comes home late, in the hours where the devildom was at it’s darkest, smelling of alcohol and the perfume of other demons. fully expecting another lecture from lucifer, he tries to open the door as quietly as possible, slinking through the doorway, making his silent entrance. as he sneaks up the stairs and towards his room, he sees that the door to your room was open.

that’s odd, he thinks, but not entirely strange – mammon would often tuck himself away under your covers, sleeping in your room as it was like a second home to him, even when you were gone. 

but then he hears it, the sound he so often dreamed of, so often tried to pull out of others as his fingers danced down their sides, but it was never the same. your laughter. 

he hurries in, a sight in front of him he never thought he would see again: you with your head in lucifer’s lap, levi cuddled up beside you, mammon hugging tight to your other side. as your eyes snap up to meet asmodeus’s, he feels his cheeks heat up, the shame of what he’s done since you’ve been gone creeping up on him slowly. 

but then you’re up and running to him, latching onto him like a vice and he finds himself smiling, the warmness of your body against his melting away his guilty thoughts like snow in the spring. 

“it’s about time you came back,” he kisses you over and over, not missing an inch of your face. you taste salty, and he doesn’t know who’s tears he’s tasting at that point – yours or his. “you’re mine. don’t you ever think about leaving again, ‘kay?”

v. satan

a quiet knock at his door in the early hours of the morning alerts him, and he stiffens, knowing it was probably lucifer here to check up on him. the thought of seeing his brother made him sick, so he continues reading his book as if he heard nothing.

“can i come in?” a soft voice that sounds like yours asks. has he lost it? has he been awake for so long now that he had finally slipped out of sanity? if he tells you to come in, it doesn’t register until the light from the outside hallway makes its way into his room, satan hissing at the way it blinds him.

the way the light wraps around you makes you look not much different than an angel, ethereal and as radiant as the sun. you reach down and touch his cheek, noticing how hollow his cheekbones and how dark the circles under his eyes are. he hadn’t been taking care of himself, had he?

“satan, i’m here,” you smile down at him gently, “i missed you. i missed you so much.”

“you… you’re actually alive?” he heart beats wildly in his chest, “but… but i researched this and… and it said there was no hope! how can you be here now?”

“i’ll explain later.” you kneel in front of him, hand still on his cheek. “now, i just want to see you.”

he wants to be angry at you. he wants to scream at you until his throat is burning, wants to make you feel every second of agony he had felt since the moment you died. but he can’t, no matter how angry he was at himself for his failures, he could never take that out on you. “this is real, right?” he grits his teeth, sure you could hear how fast his heart was beating. “i’m not going to wake up and you be gone, right?”

“i’m not leaving you, satan.” you shake your head, “not now, not ever.”

he finally cracks, pulling you into his lap and burying his face into your neck. you smell just how he remembers, and he pulls you close, close, closer until you’re flush against him. even then it’s not close enough.

satan doesn’t trust himself to speak, no words seeming accurate to say how he felt in the moment. he lets the tender moment pass by in silence, until his brothers come in after deciding the both of you had enough alone time.

vi. beelzebub

the darkness of the devildom starts to wash away as the morning hours come. of course, it was never truly bright as it was on earth. beel finds himself waking up after another nightmare, hand clutching at his pillow like he would often clutch onto your hand when he had dreams of lilith. 

in his dreams he sees you, shining like you always did, snuggled up against his chest. in the next moment, he sees blood staining your clothes, eyes wide in horror as you beg him to save you. beel is never quick enough, dying before he even had the chance to touch you, the last words of yours as cruel as a knife to the gut: why didn’t you save me?

beel makes his way to the kitchen, having left quietly as to not wake up belphie. he’s sure that it was levi’s turn to cook breakfast – not that levi would actually do it. levi didn’t leave his room unless forced to, after all. beelzebub could at least take over that job for him.

he passes by the common room, hunger pains keeping him from checking to see what his brothers were doing convened in there.

“oh, beel!” beelzebub whips around at the sound of your voice. he could never forget, not in a million years, just how sweet you sounded. like the brightest symphony or the softest lullaby. after you died, he found himself replaying your recorded phone calls with him over and over, to soothe him before he fell asleep.

“you’re… alive?” his eyes widen, and you pull yourself out of asmodeus’s lap to sprint to beel, who easily catches you in his arms, hoisting you in the air and spinning you around. tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and he crushes you into his chest. 

“yes, i’m here beel!” your voice is a bit strained due to how hard he’s squeezing you. 

“i’m sorry for not protecting you,” he whispers, “it’s my fault you were–”

“it’s not your fault.” beel leans down, letting you run your fingers through his hair, “not for lilith… not for me. none of it’s your fault. you did all you could.”

he smiles a watery smile, hands still strong around your waist: “thank you.”

vii. belphegor

as most nights go, belphie dreams about you. his head resting in your lap, your soft hands threading through his hair– it’s pure bliss, and he wants to cling to the dream as long as he can.

in fact, if he concentrates hard enough, he can feel something stroking his head in real life, his head resting on a surface both familiar and alien– did his favorite pillow always feel like this? but soon, beel’s voice pierces through the gauze, tearing his dream apart, and belphie opens his eyes.

blinking irritably, it takes him a second to process what’s going on– beel is smiling in a way he hasn’t seen in years. and his head is resting in your lap. you’re gazing down at him, something tender in your eyes, beel by your side.

it’s a dream. it has to be. there is no way you can be here, that you can be real– you were gone, and he was stuck, going around and around in his own head uselessly– but then you breathe, “belphie, i’m home,” and he turns and hugs you so hard you fall back on the bed, startled.

there is a flurry of limbs, of movement– beel has wrapped his arms around you from behind, and belphie is clinging to your front, head pressed in the crook of your neck, hands running all over to make sure you’re real.

hasn’t he wanted this moment forever? his two favorite people in the world, by his side? he doesn’t need an explanation, a reason. in fact, he’s sure mammon or lucifer will storm in in a couple more minutes, and he will have to tear himself from your side. belphie will have to share you with his five less lovable brothers.

but for now, you are his again. and it is enough.

[repulsiveliquidation]

Claire De Lune || Alexia Putellas

reader and alexia have a child together. angst. inspired by one of my favorite songs.

warnings : death, mentions of pregnancy. do not read if this makes you uncomfortable.

It all happened so fast.

“Ellie, stop running please!” Alexia begged, laughing as her daughter giggled loudly. You sat at the top of the hill smiling, plating up the sandwiches you had made at home. The picnic table was full of all your girls’ favorite snacks, and Ellie’s toys were scattered on the plaid blanket right next to you. She had her little football to kick around with her mother, her pretty sequin shoes abandoned next to your purse in favor of her custom bright pink cleats.

You hear your wife’s huffing and puffing as she treks back up the slightly steep hill. In her arms was a squirming toddler who had her giggle and cheeky smile. You stand and pretend to look mad, hands already on your hips with a slight smirk on your face.

“Did you run away from Mama again, sweetie?” you tease, taking Ellie from your wife’s arms. She nods and buries her face in your neck, skin hot and flushed from all her running.

“Did she outrun you, my love?” you ask Alexia with a smile, holding Ellie in one arm and popping a strawberry in your mouth with the other.

“Like a bat out of hell, she’s gotten that speed from you.”

Before you could clap back at your wife, Ellie tugs at your shirt and whines that she’s hungry. You sit with her under the warm Barcelona sky as the sun begins to set, handing her a little ham and cheese sandwich which is her favorite at the moment. She happily munches on her food and you look at Alexia who was looking at you. She reaches out her arm for you and you hold it across the table. It was a perfect little family day and you would trade it for nothing but a chance to do it again.

There was no time to think.

You wake up in the middle of the night to Ellie screaming for you. Alexia sits up at the same time and scrambles out of bed with you. You rush into her bedroom and see that she’s crying and sitting on the edge since she wet the bed. She rushes into your arms and you scoop her up, cradling her close. Alexia rubs her back and holds you close, soothing your daughter so she can tell you what was wrong.

“Bad dream Mommy,” she sobs into your neck, her clothes starting to dry and her body beginning to shiver. You take her into the bathroom and get her cleaned up as Alexia changes the sheets. You walk out of the bathroom 15 minutes later to Ellie’s bed made and her clean pajamas warmed up a little in the dryer.

Alexia dresses her and you find her nightlight to bring back to your room. Alexia walks into your room with a dead-asleep toddler and her favorite blankie clutched tight to her face. You plugged the little dinosaur nightlight into the wall next to your bed as Alexia gently climbed into bed with your daughter. You pulled Spotify up and turned on Clair De Lune which helped Ellie sleep. She nestled herself right into Alexia’s chest exactly how you did, leaving a soft smile on your wife’s face. You climbed in beside her and fell asleep immediately, Alexia’s heart feeling full as her girls fell asleep safe in her arms.

You never thought you’d come face to face with your worst nightmare.

“Ellie collapsed while playing football today. We’ve sent her to the nurse’s office but I think it’s best if you take her to the hospital just in case.”

Alexia ran. Faster than she ever has on the pitch. The sound of her cleats rang through the hallways of the Johan Cruyff stadium the moment she got off the phone with you. The look of panic on her face said all she needed to Jonatan and the rest of the girls.

The number of traffic laws she broke would guarantee fines that could amount to her entire week’s salary but she didn’t care. The fear in your voice and the sound of you being close to tears was all the more reason for her to have her foot on the pedal right to the floor. Her Cupra roared as she sped down the highway, tears threatening to fall.

She had one cleat and a slipper on as she rushed into the emergency room, eyes searching for you. You were sat alone at the end of the hallway, head in your hands. She called out your name and you looked up at her, unable to hold it together any longer. You broke just as she grabbed and pulled you into her arms. Alexia couldn’t hold it together the moment you cried in her chest and she broke down too.

“Where is she?” Alexia asked after your crying subsided and she managed to pull herself together.

“She fainted again when I picked her up and they took her…the nurses haven’t said anything either, I’ve asked.”

Alexia stood and kissed your hair, walking over to the nurses’ station just as she heard her last name being called.

“Mrs. Putellas?” the doctor asked, walking out of the trauma room with a look of concern.

“What’s wrong with my daughter?” you jump out of your seat and hurry over, Alexia’s arm immediately around you.

“I need you to come with me,” she said cryptically. You and Alexia follow her into a little discussion room and your heart sinks.

You sit and reach for Alexia whose hand finds yours immediately. She holds it tight in her lap and you listen to the doctor break the news no parent should ever hear.

“She’s dying.”

“No!” you wail, falling into Alexia’s arms. You sob and feel your heart break into a billion pieces, pain just excruciating at the thought of losing your daughter.

Alexia held you tight and listened to the doctor as she explained your daughter’s next steps on how to care for her and how to keep her comfortable. When the doctor left, Alexia held your face in her hands, her tears of pain and anguish mirrored yours.

“We’re doing to do everything we can for her, mi amor. I promise we will get through this.”

But she was a miracle.

Alexia stood in the bathroom with you, nervously biting her cuticles. You sat on the counter and swung your legs, eyes locked on the timer on your phone in your lap.

“How much longer?” Alexia asked, standing right in front of you between your legs.

“2 minutes,” you whisper, hesitantly looking up at her.

“Okay, don’t look so worried amor.”

“What if it’s negative again?” you say, watching the numbers on the timer go lower and lower. She takes your hands in her big ones and you feel their warmth. She kisses them both and caresses her hands up your arms. They gently move down your back and pull your hips closer to the edge. Your hands rest on her chest and she smiles up at you when there’s a minute left on the timer.

“We’re going to have the most beautiful baby, amor. He or she will be perfect in every shape and form. She will have your gorgeous hair and your silly laugh. She will have your mother’s eyes and your father’s smile. She will play football for Blaugrana because I said so.”

You smack her chest and roll your eyes, yelling in shock when the timer goes off. You physically feel your blood pressure skyrocket and your anxiety tingles in your chest. You gently jump off the counter and reach for Alexia’s hand. She takes the test in her hand and slowly turns it over. You’ve got your hands over your eyes and you can barely breathe before she gasps. You’re about to start crying when she whispers the words you’ve been waiting to hear for three years.

“It’s positive.”

She drops the test on the counter and picks you up, hugging you tight. She puts you down and your lips smash together, excited for your miracle baby to enter your lives.

Nine months and the easiest labor all the nurses told you, you held Ellie in your arms. She was the most beautiful thing you ever laid your eyes on. She was gorgeous, a perfect blend of you and Alexia.

She grew up in the blink of an eye, taking her first steps in the gym of Johan Cruyff, saying Mommy as her first word much to Alexia’s chagrin, her first birthday in Eli’s backyard with all the Barça girls, the girls doting on her every time she followed Alexia to training, playdates with Mateo and being pampered by Alexia when you were away for work.

Now at 6 years old, how do you explain to a child that she’s going to die?

I’ll hold your hand till the very end.

No parent should ever bury their child. Everyone knows there is no pain like losing a child. Ellie was in no pain as she deteriorated. She lost all of her beautiful brown hair in three weeks since you found out her diagnosis. She couldn’t go to school and could barely kick a football with Mama. It broke Alexia’s heart when Ellie could no longer pass balls to her in the backyard. You put Ellie to bed for the night and cradled an inconsolable Alexia in your arms for an hour till she stopped crying.

To everyone’s surprise, Alexia was the one whose face was not without a tear even for a second. You held it together well, making all the necessary arrangements to make Ellie as comfortable as possible. After everything was done, you drove home together, hand in hand in your lap. No words were exchanged but all the words that needed to be said were said.

The moment the front door locked, it was like a dam was broken. The wail you let out was a sound that even Alexia had never heard you make before. The pain in your chest was like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You felt your heart being ripped out of your chest at the thought of having to wake up without Ellie jumping on your bed begging for Alexia to make her breakfast.

Alexia could only hope that time would put you back together and that the loss of a child wasn’t something that would ruin you both past the point of no return.  

[naffeclipse]

One Soul to Another

Reader x Mermaid!Eclipse

Commission Info

I absolutely loved writing this darling hurt/comfort fic centered on Vanessa and Mer!Eclipse from In Deep Dreams Between the Waves for @counterbalance! The unlikely pair getting to connect while Y/N feels so much for their dear friend and dear mer is delightful.

Content Warning for mentions of death/violence/being eaten alive/mind control.

———

The Rustbucket II floats gently along a calm ocean as the dawn waits to spread rosy-tinged fingers over the horizon and lighten the darkness of the salty waves splashing softly against the side of your boat. In the cabin, you stir gradually, still caught between dreams and the black depths filled with stars where you spend your nights with your giant mer.

A calm warmth fills your heart. The beautiful weight of Eclipse’s presence sits tenderly within you, and you swear his fingers still curve softly around you, cradling you close to his chest. His bioluminescence glows behind your eyelids with the strong, orange light of a bonfire. His soft warbles and purrs fall against you but distantly, held at arm’s length by your waking consciousness.

Eclipse?

He withdrew from you softly, setting you back into your sleeping mind like he was tucking you into bed. You blink slowly, your eyelids weighed down with sleep. He doesn’t often leave you so early. He looks forward to your shared dreams the most. 

Slowly gliding your hand over the thin coverlet, you push yourself up on your bed, supporting yourself on your elbows as you force your eyes to focus on the gray-dark light touching the ocean. It’s still so dark. A cool mist hangs in the air. The smell of seaspray clings tightly to your senses. Working up your alertness, you slip your bare feet over the creaking floors of the cabin and softly slip towards the doors leading to the deck. The glass windows are slightly stained with ocean water and you mentally jot down a note to clean those when you return to shore.

Peering out onto the deck, you find a very beautiful, rare sight.

Vanessa. Her arms are folded, leaning against the handrails with her blonde hair outside of her usual ponytail. It’s gotten longer. It falls over her shoulders and down her back. Bangs fall into her eyes from what little of her face you see. A thick-knitted cardigan of cream warms her against the early morning chill. 

Just beyond her, nestled in the water with his head above the surface, is Eclipse. The leviathan hides his great size just below. His lithe four arms are the length of ships and his long, serpentine tail is dark and beautifully frilled.

His eyes don't shift you, his brilliant yellow colors set entirely on your dear friend, but a gentle pulse ripples through your heart. 

Hello, seashell.

You silently hide in the shadow of the cabin, unwilling to disturb this moment for Vanessa. She hardly ever wants to see Eclipse. He reminds her too much of the vicious mer who took hold of her and compelled her into his horrid bidding. 

She has nightmares of his song, but she didn’t last night. You would have heard her screams.

The softest sounds of Vanessa’s voice slip through the calm ocean air. You quietly hold your breath.

“I don’t know how they found you,” she says softly. Her hands nervously knit one over the other, wringing and twisting her fingers. She hardly lifts her eyes to look at Eclipse. He’s trying very hard, you realize, to make himself small and non-threatening for her.

He warbles a low sound, sending ripples across the settled ocean surface. The slightest twitch of her brow follows.

You lean closer against the door, your ear pricking towards her. Maybe you shouldn’t listen in. Vanessa might have told you much but she hasn’t told you everything. Now that she speaks to Eclipse, you can’t help but wonder if this might be therapeutic, a way to help undo some of the damage done by Glitch.

“There must be a difference between a mer meeting a human when the mer is small and when they’re grown.” Her head bows deeper. “Do mers grow up without a human and decide to sink their ships, just because they can?”

Eclipse shifts in the slightest, his brilliant arrangement of frills crowning his head in bright oranges and yellows sweeping in a soft, comforting gesture. His attention remains on her. A soft note slips from him. A soothing sound you so often hear when a terrible dread creeps over you and you feel the wet walls of Glitch’s stomach closing in around you again.

Her eyes still don’t stray from him. A confusing need to calm her sweeps through you. You stand silently, hugging your arms in the quiet dawn-gray light. 

“I don’t know why a bad one found me. Why did he choose me?” Vanessa’s voice wobbles wetly. You almost step closer, to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, but Eclipse rumbles gently. The sound seems to wash over Vanessa like a wave of sea foam. Slowly, she reaches up and touches her face, smearing something wet while clearing her throat. 

A radiance of patience and compassion fills you. The distant echo falling from Eclipse brims you with a warmth like sunlight dappling a watery surface. You shift and squeeze your hands together. You so often admire your mer in his wonderful care for you. Now you witness it for Vanessa.

She swallows thickly. 

“I think about it sometimes,” she says so quietly you almost don’t catch her words. “If he hadn’t chosen me, I would be dead like the rest of them. He would have eaten me alive.”

A tide of rage flows into your heart, not your own, but Eclipses. A shudder overtakes you. Closing your eyes briefly, you clench your teeth and breathe deeply, focusing on the wooden frame of the cabin and the soft creaking sounds of your boat.

Glitch is dead. Eclipse ripped him apart.

“But he did choose me,” she says quietly, haunted. “I’m alive.”

A low warble leaves Eclipse. He bobs along the surface and catches her gaze.

On the smallest ray of sunlight filling the horizon, you watch a tear drop into the salt of the sea off of Vanessa’s face. Her fingers clench, twisting in her cardigan sleeves. A rattling breath leaves her.

“He terrifies me still,” she whispers to Eclipse. “I think he’s hiding in my dreams, waiting to come back.”

A soft rumble leaves the giant mer. Eclipse slips the smallest bit closer, sending small waves out from his movement and splashing quietly against the boat. He softly parts his lips, keeping his teeth well hidden while singing a gentle note. A confirmation.

You feel his memory as if it were your own hands. One reached down into the gullet of the leviathan to find you and pull you free, and the other two pried Glitch’s jaw wider and wider until muscle and sinew ripped and bones cracked. Until the water turned red with blood. And he held you safe in his hands, your tiny body sinking into the safety of his grasp.

He’s dead.

Vanessa lifts her eyes to him. Her bottom lip trembles.

He cannot hurt you anymore.

You breathe out softly and clutch your heart. You wish Vanessa could hear his voice.

“I know,” she says, as if she did. She hunches lower along the handrails. Even when you were at her side in the time she couldn’t sleep and feared a singing voice, she never looked so small. Perhaps you are too used to her watching over you. She looked out for you when you were younger, always taller and wiser. Now you see her for the fragile state she remains in. Your heart squeezes within you.

A gentle wave of warmth seeps over your shoulders. You breathe again.

“I had no control.” Vanessa squeezes her hands into fists until the skin over her knuckles stretches white. “He forced me to lead every single soul to their death. I was burning. Resisting him was agony like he was going to cleave my soul from my body. I could never tell him no.”

She drags the heel of her hand into her cheek, eyes squeezed shut. Eclipse stays quiet, waiting until she can breathe again. You furl and unfurl your fingers but force yourself to be as patient as Eclipse. He knows what he’s doing.

“His song still lives in my head. When it gets too quiet, I hear it again. I think he’s back.” She trembles where she stands. Her hair falls around her shoulders and you wish to sweep it back to see her face and tell her it’s alright. Glitch is gone. 

“When I was face to face with him,” she stops and bites her bottom lip. Another tear fell down her face, “I was nothing. He could have crushed me. He could have speared me with one of his claws. I could do nothing to stop him.”

A wretched sob leaves her. Horror rips from her teeth. The breath drags out of her throat and you start, your heart breaking in the echo of her sound. Tears threaten to swell within your own eyes. No. You have to be strong for her now.

She doesn’t deserve this. She is as innocent as the ones Glitch killed.

Water softly sloshes down below. Vanessa stills. Rising to the handrails, one of Eclipse’s hands holds steady. He reaches the back of one crooked finger for Vanessa but leaves distance between true contact. Vanessa steps back once. Slick brine falls away from his skin and back into the water, dripping from his claws. Eclipse holds her gaze, steady despite the slightly bobbing boat. 

Her body is rigid, taunt like a prey animal about to race from a predator. Low, coaxing sounds fall from Eclipse’s mouth as he keeps his head below. Vanessa has the choice. He will not force it but a will of simmering need to comfort one so afflicted by Glitch, just like you, heats his very heart.

You touch your chest softly. You’re here, too. It’s okay.

In silent awe, you watch Vanessa ball up her hands and step closer. As slow as the rising sun now sending sharp rays of light across the sea, she loosens her fist and slowly, cautiously, sets her hand on one of Eclipse’s knuckles. He softly hums and warbles in encouragement. Vanessa stares. She still shakes—you fear she might fall apart and dissolve into another panic attack—but she breathes. Her shoulders heave. Carefully, she looks Eclipse in the eye.

A great swirl of pride opens within you, shared equally by you and your mer. 

“You’re so big,” Vanessa mutters, far away, as if she can’t quite wrap her mind around it. Or perhaps, she’s thinking of another mer entirely. Her eyes fall below the water. “But you can be gentle.”

Yes.

Eclipse shifts his gaze to you for the briefest moment. Your smile tugs on the corner of your lips. He chirrs gently before Vanessa looks up, and holds the leviathan's gaze once more.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I tried to kill you when I found you with them. You were small then, even smaller than them.”

He grumbles and trills, his grin splitting across his features as if he were allowing the incident to pass like water under a bridge.

She weeps once, her back shaking. She bows low and holds tight to Eclipse’s fingers and releases what you imagine to be a great flood of anguish over what’s been done. What Glitch did to her.

A whirlpool of revolt and hatred begins. The seaspray of Eclipse’s fury towards Glitch is a storm threatening to swallow all that draws near its spinning mouth. You lean deeper against the cabin door frame and brace yourself.

Wild visions cut across your vision, filled with violence and righteous anger. A soul bond is sacred. To take a human is to share a mer’s very being with them. The dreams, the pain, the love of a mer, anchored to a little human soul. To defile such a bond, to use it for mayhem and death is unforgivable.

Eclipse’s tail flicks below. A few gurgles of water flip and Vanessa stiffens in the slightest, her eyes straying to the movement. You feel the cords of his being tightened into control. The refusal to startle Vanessa just as he closed the distance between them, and listened to her woes. His frills lower and his arms calm, holding carefully still once more.

He can be gentle.

It is wrong what Glitch did. It is unfathomable to your giant mer, and you love him more for it.

You recall asking him if he would ever do such a thing to you. You were almost washed away by his revolt and disgust for such a notion, and you were stunned. You realized your error in even asking. 

No, Eclipse could never do such a thing to you. You look at Vanessa. She didn’t deserve it.

It’s alright, you soothe inwardly, brushing against his own heart. She’s safe. No mer will ever hurt her again.

A great rumble of agreement joins your thoughts. Vanessa slowly takes her hand back and wipes the slickness sticking to her skin on her cardigan. 

“Thank you,” she says at last. Her voice is small and weak, almost crackling with emotion. “If it wasn't for you and them…”

She rubs a hand over her face, pressing down on her eyes as if to shove the alternative out of her very mind.

“I don’t want to think about it too much,” she concludes. Her hand lowers and she offers a rare, small smile to Eclipse. “Thank you. For being good to them.”

Eclipse yearns to tell her more, to flick his fins and tell her all that Glitch did is wrong, but he can only warble. Gratitude softly blossoms within you.

You’ll make sure to tell Vanessa for him.

Using the back of her hand, Vanessa wipes her face and smears tears over her cheeks until the new sunlight shines on her skin. It will dry soon enough. A deep breath echoes softly as she fills her lungs and lifts her face towards the sky streaked with the pale light of dawn. Relief, you think, paints her eyes a softer green.

Eclipse lowers his hand with a gentle gloop of water as it falls below the surface. He turns his attention fully to you. His stunning frills catch the yellow light and brighten it. His eyes glow gently as he holds your gaze. Vanessa slowly turns to find you standing there. Her shoulders push back. She exhales a rattling breath.

“Did Eclipse wake you?” she asks in a thick voice.

“No. I just heard your voice,” you offer gently. 

Stepping quietly, you cross the deck. Her smile is wet but real.

You open your arms for an embrace. She accepts, falling into you with her hands hooking around you tightly as if you were a lifesaver at sea. You gather her together and hold her tight.

Eclipse watches you both. His soft trills echo before Vanessa pulls away and wipes her face one last time.

“I’ll start some tea,” she says. 

“Okay, I’ll be there in a moment,” you nod. The tiny kitchenette in your cabin is nothing grand, but it will do well enough to get a pot of tea going.

You let her go, slowly leaning back against the handrails as she disappears inside the cabin with a quiet click of the door. 

A gentle purr from Eclipse follows, and you glance up at him with a soft joy filling you to the brim.

“Hey, big guy.” You smile.

Eclipse offers his hand, water rises until it surfaces with a slickness to his palm. Without hesitation, you accept, crawling onto the pads of his fingers and ignoring how your pajamas grow damp with his touch. 

He lifts you gently into the air. With a soft flick, he leans back and slips away from the rustbucket II but stays well within sight. You settle into his palm as if you were coming home. A pulsing warmth trickles between your ribs and into your heart. You hold his big, yellow eyes softly.

“Thank you,” you murmur. You reach out and stroke his thumb. “You were very kind to listen to Vanessa. I think it helps her a lot.”

Eclipse whistles a happy sound and you’re nearly bowled over by his sweet joy for being able to provide comfort to a human he is still getting to know. But below the harmonic chords of cheer, you feel a bitter tang. Upset at the thoughts of a terrible fate thrust upon a human. A bond crafted not to use for love, but for control.

You watch his lips pull back into a silent snarl. His teeth are powerful and large, shaped like shark incisors, but they do not scare you. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” you say softly. You shift to sit on your knees, waiting until he holds your gaze and loses the sharpness of his eyes. “It’s over now. You made sure of that.”

He killed Glitch. He told Vanessa just as much.

“You would never do such an awful thing,” you also press. You don’t need to tell Eclipse that, but you believe the mere thought grinds against his fins and scrapes his scales. 

You think back to the tiny mer you found on the beach with a hook stuck in his lip. He was so tiny, so afraid then. You were an unknown monster reaching for him, but then you set him free. Now here he is, holding you in the palm of his hand.

You smile and open your arms, a silent request.

He answers you without hesitation. Gently lifting you to his large face, he sets you against his cheek. His nuzzle is joined by a thick, vibrating purr and you laugh softly, pressing against his slick flesh. 

“See? It’s okay,” you tell him and stroke softly down the side of his face and brush a few of his swaying frills. “You take good care of me.”

And you take care of me.

You close your eyes and press just underneath the curve of his eye. 

“Yes,” you murmur.

A gush of warmth envelopes you far more than Eclipse’s hands. Slowly, he pulls you back and with a gentle lick of his tongue, swipes half your body in his fishy saliva.

“Eclipse,” you half laugh, half chastise.

Love you.

He trills and sings and lowers you back to his chest where he gently washes you with drips of salt water from his claws. You close your eyes—this must be what kittens feel like being washed by their mother’s tongue—until you are less fishy and more salty smelling.

He hums low and gentle, and as the sun rises higher and higher, you rest above Eclipse’s heart. The beautiful beat within is steady. You drift upon Eclipse until Vanessa’s voice calls out from your boat. Tea is ready.

[sukunastoy]

Heian Era Sukuna

From an anon request <3

Pairings: Heian Sukuna x female reader

WC: 655

CW/TW: Death, blood, double penetration. It’s Heian era Sukuna. That’s its own warning.

Heian Sukuna! Who has just slaughtered some poor bastard who thought they could get out of this months tribute. Everyone knows the rules. At the end of the month, their tributes and offerings are given to the king, no exceptions.

Heian Sukuna! Who smirks as the blood from his victim was splattered onto the other now whimpering villagers nearby. They dare not move nor look up from their bowed stances, terrified they could be next.

Heian Sukuna! Who actually has both of his cocks buried deep in your cunt and ass underneath your kimono. Your legs have been quivering so harshly and your slick has been dripping down his thighs for hours now. He's yet to move you, but just being so full of his cocks has your mind in a trance.

Heian Sukuna! Who loves the feeling of your pretty pussy and ass clenching whenever he threatens a villager. And even more when he slaughters one into pieces across the room. Your soft sniffles arouse him and make his cocks throb enviously in your squeezing caverns.

Heian Sukuna! Who enjoys kissing your tears and savoring their taste every time you let them slip out from the overwhelming feeling of his fat cocks keeping you stretched painfully open. His hums of satisfaction echo in the otherwise silent room.

Heian Sukuna! Who casually flicks his hand at another villager that offered a pitiful tribute, yet not using his actual power. Instead he enjoys the screams of panic as the villager assumed it was their end. He rolls his hips up into yours when the villager breaks down sobbing, wanting a reaction from you.

Heian Sukuna! Who let's out a low growl of pleasure as your body stiffens, and your walls suck him in further. "You enjoy watching these pigs die?" He smirked as you struggle to keep your composure. Seeing you tremble and sweat as your holes are throbbing with angst is delicious in his mind.

Heian Sukuna! Who will eventually fuck you senseless in his lap, being surrounded by those who are still whimpering in fear. The splattered blood in the background paints a scenery that he finds grotesque beauty in.

Heian Sukuna! Who will later place you in the middle of the room, and unworthy villagers will be ordered to stand at your sides. Lounging in his throne, he'll use them as target practice for fun, but never hitting his precious toy.

Heian Sukuna! Who admires you as you stand before him, splattered in the blood from his work. Pretty, he thinks. Pretty enough that he'll take you to his chambers for a few more hours to melt your mind by fucking you stupid.

Heian Sukuna! Who will bathe you later, softly cleaning your flushed cheeks from the dried blood of his earlier victims. You're still drunk on lust, and nothing more than a malleable pile in his arms. He'll hold you as you finally pass out from exhaustion, cradling his treasured toy protectively.

Heian Sukuna! Who will keep you close to his side in bed as you sleep. He can't help but watch your face as it's expression is so relaxed and calm. The urge to gently caress your cheek with his knuckles always takes over before he allows himself to fall asleep.

Heian Sukuna! Who holds you safe in his arms as you both sleep. Who would move mountains for you. Who would burn the whole fucking world to the ground if you asked him to. Who loves you more than anything else that life could offer him. You complete him.

Heian Sukuna! Who will never say any of it aloud.

[vetteltea]

Love Will Always Show | CL16 & CS55

Summary: The choice of a lifetime is yours to make, your husband and lover both longing for your heart. They face conflict, choices and most importantly, one another.

Word Count: 8.4K [& a bit more]

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating and dishonesty, manipulation, hospital talk.

Note: The fact I was a newbie to F1Blr when this started and now...here we are. I want to thank each and EVERY person who has ever read this series. It's changed everything for me, it is truly my love letter to you all and I hope you enjoy the finale. You are all forever in my heart and I cannot thank you all enough.

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: ‘You Think, You Know’ | PART 4: 'Love Will Always Show'

Love is a gentle hand cradling your back. 

Time had suspended when your body had collapsed onto the rough floor outside of the Scuderia Ferrari hospitality. Immediately, several scarlet-clad personnel were running over, shouts echoing across the open space, somebody mumbling that they needed to get you somewhere safe and warm before your body temperature dropped dangerously. 

There’s a question of who to call; your father wasn’t in the country, ever since your mother’s funeral, he’s become silent, your siblings having been lovingly sent to stay with a close aunt. He had been absent from the previous Ferrari meeting, his assistant having sent a message to say he would be absent for a little longer. Clearly, the death of your mother was taking a toll. 

The next obvious choice of course, was your husband. However, with the win that he had been craving for oh-so-long, he was currently wrapped up in press, endless ‘congratulations’ messages from celebrities and presenters alike. Nobody would know where to find the monegasqué right now, let alone how to tell him of his wife’s status whilst surrounded by endless television cameras and sly reporters. 

There’s no need for him, anyway. Leaving the media pen after vigorous questioning of his loyalty to the team and his current emotions on a premature end to the race, Carlos’ dark eyes quirk to the side, registering the crowd of bodies circling the hospitality area. They only widen when the realization dawns on his clouded mind that it’s you, your body is the one thing they are all crowding around. 

His steps break into a run, no signal being given to his media manager nor his cousin. He speaks a few sharp, spanish words, creating a break in the circle, able to insert his toned body into the sea of red, immediately squatting, one hand coming out to elevate the back of your head. He knows how particular you could be with your hair, how you insisted on now sleeping on silk pillowcases to keep it healthy. Asphalt ground was not comfortable nor hygienic. 

There’s talk; talk about whether to take you to the hospital, whether to wait for your husband to return and make the decision. Carlos feels his blood curdle at the use of marital status. His teammate, the man who had treated you no better than the way he had treated bonds of trust, was the one to make a choice of your health and wellbeing. 

He simply cannot stand for that. 

“We need to take her to the hospital.” He interrupts the commotion, the strong tone settling over the panicked employees. “Surely that is the best place for her if she is unconscious, no?” The whispers and mumbles which echo the surrounding members of the team signify agreement. 

There’s a discussion of how to bring you in without drawing attention to the media. Surely, if a giant ambulance or even a medical car was to storm through the paddock, no doubt endless media outlets would be creating headlines before even bothering to speak to anybody present. The Spaniard is already making his own choice, using his arms to gently adjust your body.

He shouldn’t; he really shouldn’t be moving you, not when you haven’t been checked for broken bones or concussion. Yet, the idea of the most beautiful girl, Mariposa, lying on a hard floor with no form of comfort or safety sickens him to his stomach. Carlos is still gentle with the movements, letting your head lean into his stomach, one hand is supporting your back, tanned fingers digging gentle patterns into the curve of your skin. The other one traces once, twice, three times around your cheekbone, dark eyes transfixed on your features. 

You must have hit your skin when falling to the ground; there’s a graze dancing across your cheekbone, specks of dirt resting in between each knock. The man cradling you is gentle, moving his shirt just enough up his body that he’s able to take the hemmed end, feather it across your cheek in an attempt to remove the offending chunks. 

Someone nudges Carlos’s shoulder, more in an attempt to tell him somebody was just outside the Paddock; that they could drive you to the hospital right now. He…he can’t bring himself to leave you. A strong grasp lifts you from the ground, holding you close to his chest, murmuring that he would get you there, and he supposed somebody would have to find Charles. 

The area grows quiet; Carlos’ pace draws away from the Paddock and to the back entry. He was thankful that the entirety of the drivers were still either trapped in the media or with their own teams, celebrating or commiserating. He had enough of that for one day; an entire six laps was barely worth speaking about. 

You’re still unconscious, still limp in his arms. However, there’s a rise and fall of your chest, you’re still breathing. That’s all he could ask for at this present time. He silently promises himself there and then that when you wake up, he’s making his final move. Where Charles has been playing chequers, he is playing chess; he had proven that even whilst you were stuck with your estranged husband, he would love you regardless.

There’s a people carrier in the car park, he’s certain he’s seen various drivers use it before; a built-in stretcher lies in the back, it’s ideally a discreet ambulance. The media could be brutal with gossiping when any driver had to leave the track. It would look worse if Charles Leclerc’s wife was seen leaving the paddock with his teammate. The driver of the vehicle nods when seeing the two get closer, stepping to sit in the driver’s seat whilst Carlos adjusted his grasp. 

He lays you down onto the stretcher; it’s secured, you’ll be safe for the drive. The man can’t help but feel a draw of protectiveness over you. What on earth had caused it to collapse? Had he done something? Blood boiled, if your husband had done anything to cause this, he could personally guarantee that Charles would not be finishing any races for the remainder of the season. He would make sure of that. 

His attention is caught by the glimmer of silver on your left hand; your wedding band. When he reaches the car, tucks you into the seat carefully and makes sure the seatbelt is secure around your frame, his fingers glide over your hand, removing the band and putting it in his own pocket. 

‘It’s for your own good,’ he tells himself. ‘If your fingers swell up, they may need to cut it off.’ He could tell himself this story a thousand times; it doesn't hide the fact that his true intention in this moment is simple; for once, he could be the devoted husband, taking his wife to be nursed back to health. 

The Spainard leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, murmuring that you were going to be okay, that he would stay with you the entire time. The driver shouts, telling him to take a seat so they could get there before the press figured out something was wrong. He kisses your skin once more, before closing the doors, sprinting to the backseat, throwing his body in carelessly. 

Angst overtakes his senses, shouting at the driver to start the car, he doesn't care about being strapped in. This way, he’s able to lean over the backseat, one hand reaching out to clasp at your own. You need to know that somebody is there, that he is there for you. He’s always been there for you. The car pivots out of the parking space, beeling for the main road and to the hospital. 

Love is a scream for your name. 

“Charles, tu dois ralenir!” Joris is insisting he needs to slow down the car; turning the current Leclerc in hospital into a duo would not be a satisfying outcome. 

Ever since he’s been told, all your husband can see is red mist. One Ferrari employee had sprinted up to him whilst he was in the midst of cameras, the grin on his face as he’s finally able to seek his wife out, wanting nothing more than to skip on the Scuderia celebrations and take you instead, your beaming smile radiating the energy he had been bathed in. 

It’s funny how life can change in the matter of a few moments; one second, he’s on top of the world, the next, Charles is pushing through every media outlet, fan and celebrity, barging himself into his driver’s room. He doesn't have time to remove his fireproofs, to pick up any of his belongings apart from his car keys. He isn’t communicating, french profanities fall from his lips, shaking his head in rage that nobody could find him to tell him. Tell him that his wife had been taken to hospital. 

Joris had been the one to sprint after him; he knew better than most, when Charles saw nothing but mist, there was no getting to him, not whilst he was determined to do something. The driver knew in his heart his best friend was not to blame; after all, he had no idea of your disappearance, he had been with Charles almost the entire time. And yet…he can’t bring himself to even speak to Joris. Not until the duo make it to his rented car, Charles is adamant he is driving. 

He only starts speaking when his best friend tells him to slow down. The driver barely does, only drawing to a slower pace when he sees the traffic lights start to build in front of him. Even in a panic, he respects road rulings. Drawing to a stop, the man finally has a second to take a shaky, unbalanced breath, angry tears pooling at the bottom of his eyes. 

“Why did nobody tell me my wife was at the hospital?” His voice is strained, he’s clearly holding back tears, whether they’re angry or fearful is a different question. “She’s my- she’s my wife!” He can’t stop repeating it, as if it’s a prayer. His wife. His wife. 

“She’ll be okay.” Joris knows that’s quite possibly the worst thing he could say to his best friend, but it’s the only thing he can bring himself to say. “She will be. C’est juste par précaution.” 

“Putain!” Charles’ words are sharp, immediately pressing on the acceleration as the light switches to green, overtaking three cars in a matter of moments. He’s a man of regret, he has been ever since he realized how much he adores you. In that moment, he can’t help but think of everything he could have done differently that afternoon. He could have come and found you right after the podium, could have given you his jacket and told you to stay in his driver’s room, he would come and get you after. He could- he could of-

He could of waited with you after the funeral. He could have come and picked you up from Milan when you went to spend time with Carlos. He could have deleted his mistress’ number, and told her he was married. 

“Tourner à gauche.” Joris tells his best friend to turn left, the Hospital Car Park coming into view. Charles turns the car, immediately eyes are roaming for any space, anywhere he could put the car. A sharp whistle and point from his best friend shows him a space right by the Emergency Department, parking the vehicle in possibly the worst way he ever has done. Within three seconds, the engine is switched off, seatbelts are unbuckled, and he’s shouting to Joris to pay for the parking, he needs to get inside. 

For a driver, his sense of direction is becoming worse. It takes him a solid minute to read a sign, before his legs break into a sprint, skidding into a bustling Emergency Room. There’s old men, leant over in pain, convinced they’re dying. A child snuffling, masses of paper towels on her head. A woman with a twisted ankle, her attention engrossed by the magazine in her grasp. It smells of hand sanitiser and bleach, the yellow walls are hurting his eyes. 

A woman behind the desk taps the counter, drawing his attention. “Hey- Sir!” She snaps. You can’t blame her; it’s hour thirteen of her fifteen hour shift. “You can’t be in here unless you’re hurt-”

He shouts your name. It’s as if he completely forgets he’s in a building. Charles is embedded in a maze, even if a lady in front of him can pull up your immediate location, he needs to find you himself, and he needs to find you now. 

It isn’t until Joris comes in, having heard his best friend scream your name, that he overtakes Charles so overcome that he’s now hiding his head in his hands, unable to say anything that wasn’t your name. His ears prick up when the second man starts speaking, giving the woman your first name, your last name- Leclerc- and when you had been bought in. There’s a light tapping of the keyboard, she tells Joris you are in the department round the corner, room ten-

Charles is gone before she can finish her sentence, catapulting down the hallway, dodging round endless people, frantically searching for doors with numbers, not names. He sees the number four. Six. Eight. 

Number Ten rolls into view. Without a single word, his hand latches around the door handle, pushing so violently the door smacks onto the inside wall. His eyes immediately fly to the bed, you’re lying there, so unconscious, still so beautiful, some strips over the graze on your cheek. Still, arms to either side, one hand connected to an IV, clearly in an attempt to rehydrate you. His first question is the location of your wedding ring, where on earth was it? Has it been taken away? It’s a question he completely forgets about when his gaze travels further. 

The other hand is being held by a Spanish man he knows all too much about. 

Love is notes left on a coffee cup. 

Both men stood, silently hovering over your body whilst the nurse came in to run a course of tests, check your blood pressure, the IV line, make sure you were being cared for in the best capacity. Each held a coffee cup, Charles’ still primarily full, he couldn’t stomach anything; he felt sick from seeing you lie here, not laughing, smiling, speaking. Carlos had downed the drink bought in by Joris in a matter of moments; to him, it was fuel. Something to keep him awake until you woke up. 

Whilst Charles was the one to ask questions; ‘Do you know what caused this? Is she going to have any long-term issues? Does she need any assistance when she wakes up?’ Carlos has captured the marker which has rested alongside the clipboard of your notes, his tongue poked out in concentration. The marker grazes along the cup, leaving a note, drawing a tiny picture of a butterfly- Mariposa- and placing the cup on your table, a silent message for if you woke up and god forbid- he wasn’t there.

The nurse draws away from your body, diverting her next task to the two men. 

“I need to continue the examination but…” She looks to the door. “I cannot have you both in here. You need to wait outside, the Doctor will come in for further tests-���

“Can one of us wait here?” Carlos is the first to interrupt, the look on the woman’s face tells him he’s made a mistake. 

“Both.” She clarifies, pointing at himself, then at his teammate. “One and two. You need to wait outside. If she wakes up or there’s any…issues, we will let you know.” 

It turns out, both men are hesitant to leave you; Charles moves first, crouching by your side, running a gentle hand over your hairline, pressing his lips carefully to your temple. He’s murmuring, french words of adoration and comfort, that he will be right there when you need him. 

When one steps away, the other comes forward. Carlos doesn't say anything, instead tracing a gentle finger across your cheek. His touch tells you everything, it speaks volumes. He loves you, he’ll be outside, don’t be afraid to come running into his arms like you had done once before. The nurse begins to lose her patience, ushering both men out into the corridor, telling them to sit in the plastic chairs provided or go somewhere else; she really didn’t care. 

The scene is reminiscent of two boys sitting outside of the principal’s office; Charles’ head hides in his hands, leaning forward, still dressed in his fireproofs. He’s tied the sleeves around his waist, the dark undershirt now drenched in sweat from the driving, both on track and to the hospital. 

He feels movement next to him, Carlos’ hand dips into his pocket, pulling out something small, silvery. Her wedding ring. He supposes Carlos means it as a sign of goodwill, that he kept it safe. In the Monégasques mind, it’s the fuel to light the fire. Scoffing, he snatches the jewelry off of his teammate, placing the band onto his pinky finger, it’s the only one it would fit on, the only way he could keep it safe. 

“Funny. You took it off her.” He’s growing mad, aggravated that Carlos wouldn’t just go away and leave him and his wife alone. Hadn’t he done enough already? “Why don’t you go back to Natasha?” The blonde ex-media woman for their team is referenced. Carlos opens his mouth, ready to snap back, it was a low blow for Charles to reference his history with the woman. 

“I know what you did.” He huffs. There’s something…different. Different in the way he speaks to Carlos now compared to every other day. The polite, civil conversation is gone, the fact he couldn’t pass judgment because of his own actions has evaporated. “I know you invited her to Madrid just to make a move.” He remembers seeing the instagram stories, how your eyes were wide, full of life. He made you remember life is beautiful. “You kept her close. You wanted her and didn’t like that she was mine.” 

“Yours?” He scoffs. “She’s not your property, Charles.” 

“No. But she’s my wife. I’m the one she lies next to every night, I’m the one who will care for her in sickness and health, who’s shoulder was leant on through every bad time.” He pauses. “Who picked her up after you coaxed her into your bed.” He laughs. Actually, laughs. The memory replayed in his head, how sleepy you looked as he guided you back into the SUV, how your heart sank when seeing the blonde approach his front door. In that moment, you had convinced yourself you meant nothing to Carlos apart from lust. 

Charles was a jealous man; he had taken pride in stripping off his teammates' clothing, wrapping you in his own, soft hoodie. You were his. Carlos wouldn’t care for you the way he did, he was a man too full of lust. He was convinced the Spainard didn’t make you laugh, didn’t make you smile, didn’t make you come- 

“You corrupted her, Carlos.” He finishes. “I know what you did-”

“-And I know what you did.” Carlos snarls. He doesn't care about anything more; he knows all too well that his teammate could go crying to the Ferrari bosses, have him removed from the team in a blink of an eye, throwing some false information out which he would have to comply with. But he doesn't care. His affection has grown too strong for that. 

“I know everything, Charles.” He’s monotone, he’s stating facts. “I know how she waited at home for you on her birthday, whilst you were in your mistress’ bed.” Carlos remembers asking you about your plans the previous week, how you had brushed them off. “I know how she made you dinner every night, how you refused to eat it.” Charles feels his stomach drop, the endless leftovers stacked neatly in the fridge, the meals he had never bothered to try. “I know on your wedding night, you came into the hotel room drunk, covered in bites and she slept on the sofa-”

“Enough!” Charles’ voice shouts, standing up from the plastic chair in the corridor. He doesn't have to hear this, he can’t bear to hear this. One mistake a day was something he was always able to brush off. Hearing each and every one of his infidelities laid out in front of him sent his mind into overdrive. “You have no right to comment on-”

“On what?” The Spainard is standing up now, chest out and arms folded. “On your marriage?” He laughs, he smirks. “Can you call it that? A marriage is a bond between two people who love one another-”

“I love her!” Charles cuts him off, stepping closer. “I love her.” He repeats himself. Carlos looks gobsmacked, shaking his head in denial. 

“You have a really weird way of showing her you love her.” He continues to poke, to prod. “Sharing a bed with another woman is not how you show love-”

“I admitted to my mistakes!” He’s quick to defend himself, how the restraining order was placed and a lawsuit filed, how he promised if you wanted to know anything, see anything, he would let you. How he would spend the rest of his days always feeling dread and regret. “I fixed them-”

“Who says she still loves you?” Carlos has snapped.

Charles hates to admit that he may be right. Is it really fair for him to expect your love after everything that has happened in the past year? It didn’t matter how many times he begged, he pleaded or promised. The man you had married had spent the better part of 365 days in the arms of another woman, a woman that as he stood here, clinging onto any hope of his marriage, meant absolutely nothing to him. 

His slim fingers trail down, circling the cool band which rested on his left finger. He had decided there and then, he would keep it on, always. There would be no more reasoning, none. If Lewis could wear his earrings, Charles would wear his wedding ring. He looks back up, Carlos still boring into him with dark eyes, the anger he radiated almost entirely visible. 

“Do you love her?” He presses. He needs to know; he doesn't bring himself to care that you had spent a night in his arms, not when he had done it to you a thousand times over. The idea makes him sick, but nothing compared to the idea that you are in love with somebody that isn’t him, not when he needs nothing but for you to come home, back to your home with him. 

Charles swears he feels vomit rise into his mouth when Carlos nods. He’s not stupid, not really. He knows how he fell for you properly in the past few weeks, how for Carlos who has been in awe of your affection and attention, the center of every race weekend you had reluctantly attended. It may have been to support him, but you could still enjoy the fact that Carlos would be there, too. 

Your husband isn’t sure what he wants to do anymore. If there wasn’t an examination happening, he would have run into your private room and locked the door. Instead, his glassy eyes gaze up, catching Carlos’ dark ones. It hits him at once; his teammate, somebody who he once considered a close- no, best friend, was the one who had taken his wife away from him. His brain can’t catch up with his body movements, the red mist clouds over once more. 

Charles Leclerc punches Carlos Sainz in the nose. 

He doesn't intend for it to be a strong punch; Formula One drivers are a lot stronger than they realize, and the contact not only causes the Spaniard to knock back, shouting out in pain, but a sharp sensation rockets through Charles’ clenched fist, wiggling his fingers as they relax. Carlos’ nose is immediately red, becoming scarlet by the moment, though no blood has fallen. Your husband’s immediate reaction is ‘Should have punched him harder.’

He doesn't have time to think about anything else, not before he has two strong hands on his chest, shoving him harshly. The sudden sensation causes him to lose balance, falling to the floor and landing on his back. A shock radiates through his body, Carlos looming over him, clearly ready for a second punch. 

That thought is drawn away when the door to your room opens, both men immediately staring at the nurse, her hair worn and eyes tired. Before either man can throw a question at her, she speaks. 

“She’s still not awake, we’re going to bring her around in an hour, but she’s going to have to stay overnight for observation. If one of you could get her some overnight things-”

“I can.” Charles immediately cuts off the nurse, pulling himself to sit up and stand from the floor. “I’m her husband. I will get them.” It’s a subtle jab to the man in front of him, Carlos still holding his nose, convinced it was about to start bleeding any moment. He would have gone and sought out attention for himself, if he hadn’t felt a sharp vibration in his back pocket, a phone call. In any other time, he would have ignored it. But he knows who it is, he knows how important it is. 

Without a word, Carlos answers the call, rapidly speaking in Spanish as he walks down the hall. 

Love is a pocket square at the bottom of a suitcase.

The contrast of Charles leaving the hospital was night and day to him arriving. He hadn’t spoken a word to Joris, apart from expressing that he needed to go back to the hotel to get your overnight items. Although it was barely a ten minute drive away, every minute felt like a century; he wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel, sit by your side and hold your hand until you woke up. 

He could have sent Joris back, given him the room key and told him to grab some things, but it didn’t seem right. The idea of his best friend going through your suitcase didn’t sit comfortably with him. Moreover, he didn’t know. Charles knew; he knew what pajamas you found the most comfortable, what outfit would be easiest for you to travel back in, how you wanted your panties and socks paired together and how your phone charger had to loop clockwise. 

The ornate hotel room looks dull without you; your suitcase still rests in the bottom of the wardrobe; you had hung up evening wear, dresses for the inevitable after-parties. Folded in your suitcase remained your other clothing. Charles is quick to select his items; the tropical cotton pajamas. You had bought him a pair in the same fabric, telling him that they would be the comfiest thing to sleep in. Your stitched jumper and comfiest jeans. You had worn those jeans when you had tagged along to his photoshoot for the Ferrari livery, holding his water and the APM Monaco jewelry he couldn’t wear. Your outrageously expensive hairbrush. You had brushed his hair through after a particularly bad race, whispering promises that it would get better, that the car was going to evolve for him, the best driver on the grid. 

Bile rises to Charles’ stomach and with no warning, he sprints to the bathroom, dropping to his knees by the toilet and throwing up the barely-there contents of his stomach. He had barely eaten, barely drank any water, but couldn’t help the sickness in his tummy. 

He pulls away from the toilet basin, eyes watery, breath trying to catch up with the speed and cries.

Charles doesn't realize it’s happening at first, he hasn’t cried like this in so long; the kind of crying where you can’t fathom words, you don’t make a sound because you’re crying so deeply. The kind where your chest is exploding and your heart feels like it’s going to explode. The kind where all he wants is for his mother to cradle him like she did when he was five, run her hands through his hair and whisper him words of comfort.

This time, he doesn't want his mother, he wants you. 

It’s selfish, it’s so incredibly selfish and it hurts to know that it’s taken him until now to realize what you mean to him. It would never happen, but his wound-up head can only close his eyes and visualize you running in, pulling his head into your chest and running your hands through his dark tufts, pressing cool lips to his forehead and promising him over and over that it was going to be okay. You were going to be okay. 

He lets himself cry for five minutes; he times it because he wants to collect your things and make his way back, Joris was waiting in the car. When the five minutes are over, he pinches his nose, taking short, ugly gasps until his eyes remain bloodshot but not blurred. The sound of the toilet flushing echoes through the hotel room, making his way out of the bathroom and to the items he had hurriedly dropped atop of your suitcase.

Nimble fingers cradle each item, carefully rolling and tucking them into a pillowcase; he didn’t have a bag big enough to suffice each item and couldn’t bring himself to bring your entire suitcase along, it almost seemed as if once you had it, you could disappear from his life. At least this way, he could have one final farewell if you chose to leave. The items are almost secure, until his grip on the pillowcase folds, glassed eyes catching a glimmer of blue hidden at the bottom of the case. With no hesitation, he pulls on the fabric. His heart drops on the realization of the item. 

It’s a pocket square. More specifically, it’s his pocket square from your wedding. 

You don’t know when you had started packing it, but you supposed it was from your mother’s own doings. After her wedding to your father, she had always carried around her ‘something blue,’ as a gesture of good luck, of safety. After the first time you had found out about Charles’ mistress, you had discreetly tucked the fabric into your bag, carrying it around, a silent hope your husband would return to you. 

It hadn’t worked in Jeddah. In Imola. In Spa. In Monaco. You had reluctantly taken it from your bag one evening, on the plane home from consoling your family, using your pen to doodle in the very corner ‘Mr and Mrs Leclerc,’ a silent fantasy of the loving marriage you had dreamed of. 

That night was the first time you and Charles ever shared a bed. 

The fabric lingers between his fingers, the blue contrasting against the silver of your ring, still resting on his pinky finger. Now changed into his own clothes, he slides the ring off, wrapping it gently in the pocket square and sliding it into his trouser pocket. As he does, he recognises your handwriting, the titles printed in the bottom of the fabric. 

He can’t help the tears rolling down his cheeks once again. 

Love is a desperate telephone call.

Carlos is still pacing around the outside courtyard of the hospital, having been on hold for a grand total of seventeen minutes. He is not a man of patience, he is not a man of quiet. 

The phone buzzing in the corridor had been a welcome call, despite the situation. His lawyer, finally ringing him back after what felt like days of apprehension. He had dipped from the public eye to try and grab hold of some privacy, slipping in his wireless headphone so as not to hold the device to his ear for hours upon hours. 

Almost thirty minutes ago, his lawyer had called him, confirming his thoughts of the previous days. 

"You're not wrong." His lawyer has already clarified it once, twice, three times. "If there is evidence beyond a shadow of a doubt, then it is the correct term for a divorce.

Carlos feels his blood run cold. He loves her, he's as certain as that as he is of the fact that the sky is blue and his win in Silverstone. The man wants nothing more than to make her feel cherished, adored. Taking a bite out of his teammate was just a bonus feature. 

That had been a few days ago, when the anger had surpassed him after Natasha’s return, how that made him look as bad, if not worse than Charles. He’d immediately sent her packing, blocked her on every form of media, gone as far as to insist if she ever came for a visit, he wouldn’t be present. 

The second part, the evidence, had been laid out all too perfectly. 

The line suddenly clicks, signaling his lawyer had returned. Carlos doesn't wait for a verbal queue, the audible sign of his return is more than enough. 

 “Do you have it?” He asks, barely any time to let the man on the other end of the phone respond. “You must have it, no? It should have been sent. I made sure it was sent.”

“I have it.” He clarifies. “I have them right here.” A rustle of paper is heard from the other end of the telephone, content of an envelope being spilled onto his desk. “Are you sure you want me to send these to be confirmed as evidence? That the women in the photographs will not retaliate?”

Carlos had not been entirely honest with you. Not about his knowledge of Charles’ situation. Ever since the confession all those months ago, the understanding that you knew of Charles’ affair, he had been playing a long, patient game. He had photographs, evidence of the mistress’ appearance at each paddock, her arms snaking around Charles’ body, kisses between the duo. How he could continue to do so, whilst you, the epitome of beauty, sat in his drivers’ room, playing the doting wife.  At one point, he had considered going directly to the press, directly to Ferrari themselves to out their ‘Golden Boy.’ 

And then…he had seen you with him in the Paddock that one race, looking through the window of his driver’s room. How your fingers latched onto one another, how genuinely shattered you looked when she had shown up yet again, lingering outside of the hospitality area. The guilt snuck through him, how he had seen her arrive, and yet failed to mention to you, give you any warning of her presence. 

Even if he had been the one to invite her. Even if he had been the one to press her about sending the photographs to Charles, not blackmail. Merely a reminder of his actions, how much he supposedly missed his mistress. 

“She wouldn’t.” He’s quick to respond. “She wouldn’t care.” He’s not wrong, his mistress being in the limelight would only elevate her status, with the way his teammates’ brain worked, it would more than likely draw them back to one another. 

“And Mrs. Leclerc?” 

It’s the first time Carlos has hesitated. Even if he couldn’t admit it to himself, he knew that your relationship with Charles had grown, that ambient it was made paper-thin, the trust was slowly beginning to come back. He thinks about how your eyes blinked widely, in awe of your husband on the podium earlier that day, how it supposedly didn’t matter he had spent most of your marriage wrapped in her arms, you still looked at him like that. Did you look at him like that? Like the way he looked at you. 

This action could draw out a multiverse of reactions but at the end of the day, he had settled with two. The first was that you understood, that you would see the evidence, and understand the case. Divorce Charles and marry him, even if it meant he would give up everything. 

The second is that you would see the chaos he caused and you would never speak to him again. 

“Mr. Sainz?” The voice at the end of the telephone draws him from his questioning, running a hand across his red, swollen nose. It wasn’t broken, but god it was hurting. Bruised, most likely. “I need an answer.” 

He needed to speak to you. 

“Can you just-” He huffs, running a hand through his dark hair, his fingers almost getting caught in the strands. Of course his hair was tangled, he’d been doing nothing but pulling on it ever since he arrived at the hospital. “Let me speak to her. Hold it for 24 hours. You can do that, yes?” It’s not even a question now, nor a request. It’s a demand. He can’t do this, he can’t openly destroy your marriage for his own sake without speaking to you, without knowing for a fact that you love him.

Your name is carved onto his soul, onto his skin. The first thing he thinks about in the morning, and the last thing he would think about at night. There is no life he wishes to live in if you’re not there. Even as his friend. 

There’s suddenly a light tap against glass, snapping the man’s attention from his device. He mumbles something in Spanish, telling his lawyer he would call him back, dreading who was coming out into the private courtyard. 

He visibly relaxes when he sees it’s just a man, sneaking out whilst tears pool on his lower lashline, giving Carlos a warming nod. 

“You don’t mind if I join you, do I?” The Spainard shakes his head. “My wife- she’s just being induced and wanted some space. She’s…” He gestures, trying to explain to a complete stranger how a few minutes ago, his wife wanted to cry and shake her head, but wanted nothing to do with him. It was all his fault. 

Carlos offers a warm hand on his back, patting him firmly. “Congratulations. Do you know what you're having?” He’s invested, anything to distract him from his previous phone call, the weight of a decision on his shoulders.

The stranger grins. “A girl.” He smiles harder. “I don’t mind, as long as they arrive happy and healthy. But god- a girl, just like her.” He thinks. Carlos thinks. In an alternative universe, he’s sat by your side, pressing kisses and praises to your skin, holding you tighter as your daughter enters the world, ready to meet her mother and father. She would be like you; your eyes, hair, smile. It would be another you to love, to adore. 

“Your first?” Carlos presses his question. The man sighs, shaking his head, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks into the polished corridor. 

“No. She’s…” He pauses. “We got together after hiding how we felt for so long, how we wanted to be with one another.” He looks to Carlos, clearly ashamed and embarrassed of the situation. “I know how it sounds, but sometimes you can’t help it. I- I love her.” 

A band snaps in Carlos’ stomach; love knows no bounds. 

Love is waking up to think of your person.

The first thing you register when you come around is brightness. You’re not in the soft glow of the luxurious hotel room you and your husband had been given, nor the candle-lit bedroom of Carlos’ apartment. No, the light is bright, blinding. An off-white which made your eyes squint. 

Your senses are heightened; the only scent which flares through your nostrils is hand sanitiser and overpowering lilies. Nose scrunched, you attempt to wiggle your body upwards, aware of the IV line pinned into your hand. Panic immediately settled through your tummy, until your eyes flickered to the bag, realizing it was just water, they just wanted to rehydrate you. 

Hesitantly, you wiggle each part of your body. Arms, hands, fingers. You’re able to move, though you couldn’t…you couldn’t remember why you got here. Memories are hazy, you remember Charles’ podium, the way he kissed you so deeply, so lovingly. Carlos’ hand on your waist, pulling you back to stop you from the champagne trickling over your body. You were overwhelmed, overworked and…you guessed it just all became too much. 

You just about manage to turn your body, the first thing you’re aware of is that your cushion smells familiar. Warm nodes, sandalwood and seasalt. It’s a smell you’ve grown all too accustomed to, burying your face into their chest whilst you took refuge in his arms, in a hotel room. Charles had been there, already. His celebrations had clearly been cut short, whether or not it was for show or because he cared. 

The second thing is the coffee cup. Cardboard, the contents clearly already drained, but handwriting etched onto the side in a thick, black marker. The handwriting, the doodle of a tiny butterfly. Carlos had been there, too. 

There’s a sharp pinch on your cheek, fingers reach up to your skin and feel the butterfly strips against you. Immediately, a thousand questions come back to your mind, none of them being answered through your own memory. Instead, the door opens, a nurse in clean, bright uniform walking in, closing the door behind her. She beams at the realization you’re awake, shoulders relaxing. 

“You’re awake!” Her tone is incredibly warm, seemingly very happy you’ve decided to wake up on your own terms. She’s quick to move to your bedside, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead. “How are you feeling? Have you warmed up?” You’re not sure what she’s referencing, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She takes the look on your face as unknowingness, able to fill in the gaps. 

“You collapsed on the track.” She’s trying to get through everything she needs to tell you. “We did some tests, you’re incredibly dehydrated for a start, you need to try and get some rest.” She pauses. “It’s nothing to be concerned about, we have collapses from dehydration every so often, more than you would realize.” Her eyes flicker down, finding it hard on how to phrase the next part of the question. “You also seem…incredibly worried.” You’re not sure how she could tell that from simply examining you, but you nod in confirmation. “Your blood pressure, it’s incredibly low. That’s why you fainted.”

“Yes.” You pause. How on earth were you about to explain the past twelve months to a nurse, a complete stranger? “There’s been some…reasons. You know, for the stress.” Her eyes soften, but the questioning continues. 

“Are you trying for a baby?” You shake your head. “Moving house?” A shake. “Have you…lost somebody recently.” 

You freeze, memory flickering to your mother, how in the midst of fixing your marriage, discovering your affection towards another, she had disappeared from the world. This time, you nod your head, drawing your knees up to your body, shivering. The nurse is quick to wrap a blanket over your shoulders, closer to the answer. 

“I lost my mother.” You breathe out, shaking your head. “I lost my mother, and she’s the only one I can go to.” Now you’ve started speaking, you can’t finish. “I want to make them happy. I want to make him happy.” There’s tears glassing over your eyes.

You want him. You want him right now. 

She sympathizes, she understands. “Sometimes, all you need is for them to tell you it’s going to be okay, right?” She lets her words trail off, turning to the door of your room. “He’s outside. He’s been waiting to see you.”

Your blood freezes.

“Would you like me to get him?” 

You nod before you’ve even realized, your body clearly knows better than your mind. The nurse stands up straight, pacing towards the door as you feel your heart begin to race harder, frantically. She steps out of the room, a minute mumble on the other side, clearly a warning to be incredibly careful. It’s barely a minute before the door swings back open, dark hair and frantic panting. 

You glance up, your heart softens at those eyes. 

The eyes that you, the reader, wanted to see as you glanced to the door.

GREEN EYES [CL16 Ending]

BROWN EYES [CS55 Ending]

This is everyone who asked to be tagged! @Mac-daddy-210 @aundercover@barnestatic@omgsuperstarg@chimchimjiminie16@caelum-the-part-time-nihilist @magicalcowboyarbiter @gaslasysblog@junetto @beatrizmel-472 @motorsp0rt@crowdthena@screemqueen@lewislvr@styles-sunflower@itspaddockprincess@adeptustemptations @amalialeclerc @meetmyblondemuffins@formulanando@lorarri@christianpulisic10@gaypoetsblog@thisbitxhs-blog@goldsainz@ru-kru@magical-spit@hrlzy@nooshytushie@gaslysainz@marvel-at-stucky@sugarvibez@adeptustemptations@roseseraj@leclercdream@pjofics@hecatesfavoritechild@poseforme@thisbitxhs-blog @adalynneva @meganlikes2purr @sabrinaselina55 @laneyspaulding19@heavenlyiecreature@pink-teddy-bear@nooshytushie@strawberries-and-racing@milasexutoire@ohthemisssery@florkt@obsessedwiththeideaofyou@ru-kru@myhomeworksnotdone@ineedafictionalman@bregarc@allywthsr@summerslike11@wildcupcake@willowpains@marlenamallowan@leclercloml@katzenwahnsinn@be-your-coffee-pot

[llamagoddessofficial]

It was the best hidden room in his castle.

Nightmare appeared, emerging from within the liquid shadows at the far corner, taking on a solid form. The room had no doors- that was the trick to it. Only a being who already knew the room’s location in the castle, and had the ability to transport themselves through space, would be capable of accessing this place.

... Though there was no door, there was a window. Just one. A circular skylight, directly above the bed... it gave a perfect view of the stars.

It was a small, comfortable chamber, the obsidian walls draped with finely embroidered midnight blue tapestries to maintain warmth. Ancient murals, moons and interlocking patterns that had long lost their meaning, inlaid with silver- the silver caught the light from the small glowing blue stones that dotted the walls. The room was barely brighter than a dim twilight. 

Of course... the most important thing in the whole room was what was at the centre.

... Nightmare approached your bed.

A fine bed, of course. A large canopy draped luxuriously, for even more warmth, protection and quiet. Only the best for you. You were tucked under sumptuous sheets, your head upon a satin pillow, sweet little face barely visible under all the layers of comfort.

... He reached out, tucking the blanket down slightly, to get a better look at you. You were so peaceful. Your cheeks had regained some colour, over the past few days, as had your lips- but your eyelids did not move.

He knew what it looked like. If his damned brother found this room, and the sleeping human, he’d jump to conclusions (as he always did); Nightmare had stolen a human, cursed them with eternal sleep. Worst case scenario, Nightmare was tormenting this human as a sick game- best case scenario, Nightmare has grown so feverishly attached he would rather have someone sleep in his arms forever than be free to walk away from him.

...

And... well. It would be a lie to say that he wasn’t enjoying having you this way. But it was missing one crucial detail.

... You would wake up the moment you wanted to.

He sat on the bed, beside you. He reached out, and gently stroked your hair... enjoying the softness and texture.

You didn’t stir.

Nightmare had felt your pain far across your universe. Like a moth to a flame, he came to you- and though he originally had only the intent to feed, he loved you the moment he laid eyes on you. Your Soul, such a pretty thing, cracking under the weight of its pain; the fractures sparkled like fault lines in a diamond. You were holding the agony within, unwilling to let anyone know. You were on the verge of shattering. On the verge of your Soul going out.

When he came for you, you didn’t protest, you didn't even struggle.

You had looked at him with an empty, accepting expression.

Perhaps you thought he was death? Cute.

... So he took you, instead. You let him put his arms around you- he had never had someone accept him so completely, his jealous desire only intensified. He carried you back to his palace, he cradled you lovingly. Once your eyes had closed, he laid you down in the quietest room, in his finest bed... cuddled under his softest sheets and guarded by his most possessive magic.

The spell in question was one he hadn’t used in a long, long time. There was nothing on any Earth that could forcibly awaken you from your slumber. No sound, no touch, no pain nor magic. No power he (or any other great being) possessed, nothing in the wide multiverse. Nothing could awaken you from the outside.

But... the moment you wanted to open your eyes, you would. The tail of the Rupert’s drop. As if waking from a pleasant midday nap, the spell would shatter into dust around you.

It was a one-way spell. That was what made it so powerful.

... He continued to stroke your hair. Your dreams were safety- he ensured nothing crossed your mind but visions of peace and warmth. You curled deeper into his dreams like a hibernating rabbit. He could sense the injuries in your slowly Soul mending, your wounds slowly healing, as you were finally allowed to rest.

You had yet to even think of opening your eyes.

At that moment, the moon emerged. Its light passed through the skylight window... catching a small array of crystals that hung above your bed. Flecks of iridescence silently scattered across the walls, and over your face. 

“... beautiful.” He murmured. “no one will ever hurt you again, my darling. no one. i promise.”

...

... You, of course... did not even stir.

[xo-cod]

O.M.G! I love COD and Garcia from Criminal Minds (she’s my fashion inspo!) so you combine both, I’m on cloud nine!

Remember that episode/s where she got shot by an ‘Angel of Death’ unsub because he thought he was catching on to his crimes and tried/tries to kill her after taking her out on a date?

Well, imagine that happens to Penelope! Reader.

they'd take it so hard :( this can be read platonically/romantically i don't really know anymore LMAO 🤍

posted it again because i didn't like the way the first one looked <3 ooc/rushed!

part two

》》》 after the shooting 《《《

ghost was silent as his knee bounced while he waited for you to wake up, the room silent other than the beeping letting them know you were alive. and the occasional humming from soap who softly toyed with your hair, his fingers gently caressing against your cheek very tenderly. it had been like this for hours until heavy footsteps echoed through the corridors, letting them know the rest of the team were back

"got the bastard back at base" price spoke as he came back into the room with gaz. simon and johnny weren't to be trusted not to kill the man since they needed him alive so they both remained like glue, stuck to your bedside. even when one of the nurses tried to suggest to leave for a few hours to freshen up, ghost shot her a hard stare which made her back off in the same breath.

"she awake yet?" gaz was next, his voice gentle while ghost shook his head. his jaw clenched as his hands gripped the arm rest on the chair. seeing your state, seeing how vulnerable you were, seeing you dance upon the line of life and death and he couldn't do a thing.

"told her not to go on that bloody date. look at 'er now" simon's voice was harsh, angry at himself for not being able to protect you. hell, they weren't even the first on scene. your neighbours had heard the shot and worriedly called the ambulance.

"s'not her fault lt, she didn't know" soap spoke coming to your defence, his hand still cradling your palm in-between his big warm ones.

"christ's sake johnny, she got shot at!" ghost snapped, his brown eyes narrowing at the scot who sighed as he looked back down at you.

you were both the heart and brains of the 141, your intelligent analytical skills saving them more times than they could count but you were always so humble about it. you hadn't looked so frail before, gone were your pretty clothes and your little jewellery pieces. all you had on was a sickly hospital gown, catheters placed in different parts of your body accompanied with a breathing mask over your mouth

"how's the wound?" price interjected, removing his bucket hat as he came closer to the bed. his heart went out to the youngest of the team, it was never easy to see the sight of his soldiers injured and beaten down. it was especially never easy to see his soldiers laying cold on a bed, knowing their attacker was out and about

"she flatlined, messy wound. but one centimeter over and it would've torn right through her heart" soap spoke looking at price who nodded slowly as he came to the side of the hospital bed.

"a fighter" his voice was gentle, his thumb sweeping the apples of your cheeks ever so softly. silent for a moment as he glanced down at you, missing all the little eccentric pieces that made you you. but, you weren't dead. you'd be fine, he knew that. it didn't take the sting of not being able to prevent it any easier but you were a soldier, a capable one at that. you were fine, you were going to be okay

for now, they were to tend to pressing matters that lay for them back in base. and notably, none of them were going to be gentle about it. time was ticking, the quicker they dealt with the matter at hand the faster they'd be back to you again.

"take it easy, pretty. we'll be back soon" price bent down and whispered, his fingers fondly running through your hair before he straightened up with a swift nod and headed out the door to the car

"you're gonna be just fine, mama. i promise you" gaz whispered as he kissed your temple tenderly before leaning back, his eyes hardening as he remembered who put you in this position. the fear and pain you felt and they hadn't been anywhere close to you.

even if you were capable, even if you were one of the most intelligent soldiers on their team, you were the youngest. and each of them had taken you under this wing. someone had messed with you and subsequently, messed with them all collectively. he took a soft breath in, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your palm careful not to knock over the drips before he followed suit like price.

"when i come back, those pretty eyes of yours better be awake bonnie" johnny chuckled sadly, his thumb drifting over the bandage wrapped around your chest as he sighed softly looking back to your sleeping face again. he kissed your cheek hesitantly, too nervous to knock over the breathing mask.

he hated seeing you like this. you had grown to be one of his closest friends here and the fact that he couldn't protect you as well as he thought took a hit on him. soap had always taken things a little harder when it came to you, he couldn't wait to tear the bastard that had messed with you. he stiffened back up and followed the rest of his team out, one last lingering look before he left.

and then ghost eyed you, his brown eyes narrowing a little at your body. you were still, too still for his liking. and though he knew you were alive, he couldn't help but the rise of slight panic at the thought of you dead. it was irrational, he knew, but it happened to him before. being forced into a position he thought could never happen to him and then it did, his worst nightmare a living reality. but he'd be damned if he couldn't do everything in his power to protect you from the same fate.

"i'll be back, lovie. i'll make the sorry bastard pay for what he's done to you," his tone was cold, hard, determined.

"you'll be okay" a soft murmur, the reminder mostly for himself and to calm those nerves. he pulled his balaclava up a little to reveal his scarred lips as he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead. his fingers gently rubbing your skin, head leaning against your temple very slightly but still enough to feel you. to feel you alive and breathing, knowing that you were here and that you were going to be okay. a minute passed before he straightened himself up and looked at you with a nod.

leaving your hospital room with a new goal in his mind, to make the man pay for everything he ever did.

[simp2537]

Can you write a Darkling x reader fic where reader (who is his wife for thousands of years and he cannot live without) is accidentally hurt by his nichevo'ya. Angsty where Aleksander is really guilty and scared he lost the only person he loves, maybe some comfort from reader as well?

Scars

a/n : I heart angst so much, it’s angst with a happy end cause I heart that ❤️❤️❤️. Reader is a Tidemaker.

Warnings: nichevo’ya attack on reader, blood, Alina hate, guilty Aleks, mentions of reader having an abusive home life

Aleksander Morozova x fem! Reader

Aleksander stood froze staring at his wife’s blood on his hands. His darling wife, the one who’d stayed by his side through it all. Through all years, hundreds of years surviving together and he’d…. he’d hurt her. He stared at his wife’s form as she slept on there bed. He hadn’t meant to.. he thought they’d leave her alone.

Aleksander stood in his room after a coughing fit. Y/n walked in and gently grabbed his shoulder, in hopes of comforting him when the nichevo’ya appeared. They thought that his sweet wife had cause him pain. They dug its claws into her side.

“No! No! Not her!” He yelled but it was too late. They had thrown her across the room, her blood pouring into the carpets. Aleksander rushed to her, grasping her into his arms.

He cradled her as her eyes weld up with tears. He held her face as he apologized over and over. His dark irises soon flooded with tears as he called for a healer. Fruzsi ran in and gasped at all the blood surrounding the pair.

Healers rushed into the room and Aleksander brought her to there bed. He watched with worry in his eyes, he watched with fear as they healed her. His grisha had never seen such fear in his eyes, not when they were being attack by Alina, not when he was freeing other grisha, never had they seen such fear in his eyes.

The healers worked quickly to heal their Generals wife and the most powerful Tidemaker. Fruzsi watched as the healers finished with uncertain looks at each other. They whispered in her ear, words that made her shudder.

“She’s weak and has lost a lot of blood, she might not make it through the night.” The healer mumbled. Fruzsi shock her head fiercely, Y/n was strong, she’d been her mentor, her friend for years. Unfortunately for them all their General caught their curt and quiet whispers.

No, this would not take his wife- Aleksander would try to reason. His wife was stronger than she gave herself credit for. She’d survived hundreds of years by his side through endless battles. He couldn’t be the cause of his beloveds death, he couldn’t be.

“Not her, never her.” Aleksander mumbled to low for any to hear but himself. And his nichevo’ya. They were to never touch her.

Aleksander sat in his wooden chair staring down at his hands in horror. He swore to never touch her, never hurt her. It was in his vows he’d made hundreds of years ago when they were young. He swore when they married in that tiny ceremony, just them and the minster that he’d never lay a hand on her like her father, her mother.

Now she laid possible dying because he’d failed to control his own nichevo’ya. Y/n had never been fearful of his shadow monsters, they were a part of him so naturally, his sweet Y/n loves them as she loves him. A soft rustling on there bed caused Aleksander to look up, Y/n’s eyes were open, just barely.

“Darling!” He reach to grasp her hand but stopped. His hand was still covered in her blood. Weakly he watched Y/n reach for him, he wiped his hand in his kefta and gently took her hand in his. The bed dipped slightly as he sat next to her frame, Y/n hazily squeezed his hand.

With his free hand he held her face. She nuzzled in the warm he provided her, the safety. Her eyes blinked slightly as she tried to sit up.

“Sasha…?” She muttered softly as he gently pushed her down.

“Don’t, you’re still injured and still weak.” His voice cracked with pain as he spoke. Y/n grasped at his scared face and pull him down with all the might she could muster. Aleksander rest his forehead against hers as he listened to her soft breathing. “Sasha… I’m okay.” Y/n promised, Aleksander scoffed. He could practically see the lie, her lip was tight, her nose ever so scrunched. She was in pain and he knew it.

“No you’re not Y/n. You’re not okay and it’s my fault- I’m so sorry.” Y/n couldn’t remember that last time he used her name. She’d grown so accustomed to the pet names he’d use.

“It okay.. I’m okay.”

“No! No you’re not and it’s all my fault!”

“I will be okay.” Aleksander sighed softly. No matter what he did she wouldn’t care. Deep down he knew she was far too good for him. He was a monster and she… she was the ocean strong and beautiful. Still he feared one day she would realize how much better she deserved.

“Sasha? Lay down with me please.” Y/n mumbled. Aleksander shock his head.

“No absolutely not love, I’m not going to do that right now.” Y/n shot him a glare.

“I meant cuddle you dirty minded old man.” Aleksander laughed gently and kiss her forehead. He slowly laid next to her, not wanted to injure his beloved further. With an annoyed huff Y/n slowly and with a grimace moved onto his body. Aleksander instinctively wrapped his arms gently around her, bringing her closer to him.

“Sasha? Please don’t worry too much. I’ll be okay.” Y/n promised as she drifted to sleep. Aleksander laid awake for much longer as he monitored her.

“I promise, you will be.”

[dat1angel]

May I Have Your Name?

DP x DC au where ghosts are basically the fae. Danny being half ghost gives him access to the fun bits like the fae magic, trickster abilities, and being able to eat/drink fae food with little to no side effects while he is less affected by the not so fun bits like being incapable of lying(he can but he feels really weird when he does) and being burned by iron(it'll give him a rash if in prolonged contact). Due to fae having extremely long life spans, he has outlived all his loved ones and moved into the infinite realms permanently after their deaths. This has caused him to lean a lot more into the fae traits as the years pass. He occasionally takes trips into different dimensions to cause mischief.

One such trip brings him to Gotham. He's in a park and due to his fae-ness the local fauna are extremely trusting and drawn to him so he has a small collection of birds, squirrels, and maybe even a stray cat or two following him around. This catches the attention of Damian who just so happened to be at that park. Damian walks over to this strange boy who has such an affinity with animals, and starts a conversation with him.

"How do you get them to follow you?" Damian asks as he slowly approaches, voice low to avoid scaring off any of the creatures. Danny glances over at Damian, a smile flitting across his lips, before turning to the gathered animals.

"Patience," he replies, lowering a hand for a young squirrel to climb on, lifting his hand, and cradling it near his chest, "and kindness". He turns back towards Damian and reaches for his hands, which Damian let's him take, and gently deposits the squirrel in his gentle hold. The squirrel looks up at Damian curiously, looks back to Danny who gives an encouraging nod, and then climbs up Damians arm and settling upon his shoulder. "It takes a truly gentle soul to gain an animals trust," Danny says, "Something that I have a feeling you possess. You are intriguing."

If it were anyone else, they may have clocked the way Danny spoke as strange, but Damian was too in awe of both Danny and the squirrel who was currently snuggling against his neck to notice. Even if he wasn't, however, he wouldn't have noticed as he himself was often told he spoke strangely, though he never thought so.

"This is incredible," Damian said, ever so gently bringing a hand up to stroke the squirrels fur. Danny smiled as he watched Damian interact with the squirrel, so kind and gentle, his curiosity and interest in the human growing by the second.

"May I have your name?"

Damian, who takes great pride in his name and would never consider hiding his identity, proudly proclaims, "Damian al Ghul-Wayne".

Danny's eyes sparkle with mischief and his smile grows into something a little too wide and suddenly all his features look just this side of odd. His ears a little too pointed and his teeth and nails a little too sharp and his eyes a little too bright, did they always look like that?

"Well Damian," and when he says his name something shifts in him, like he has no choice but to listen, and... what was his name again? This boy just said it, why in the world can't he remember what it is? "I think you'll be coming with me."

Damian can't stop himself from allowing Danny to take his hand and lead him further into the trees. What was supposed to be a small patch of trees in a park seem to thicken before his eyes, fog rolls in and licks at his heels and they emerge into a clearing that definitely wasn't there before. When he looks around, he can't see any of the park through the tree line. The air in front of them seems to ripple and waver until it divides itself and creates a gateway of sorts to a place Damian doesn't recognize as anywhere in Gotham.

"Come along Damian," Danny says and once again, he has no choice but to comply, allowing this stranger to take him away.

~~~~~~~~

So basically Danny is a fae and meets Damian and decides, hey I like this one, I'm gonna keep it and steals his name and takes him home. I picture it as Dead Serious but it doesn't have to be taken that way.

Other things I envision for this au include:

Danny showing Damian off to his friends in the realms(Kitty, Johnny, Ember, Skulker)

they congratulate him on his "first catch" and coo over Damian as if he was a new puppy and not a whole human person

Damian being very distraught over his inability to remember his name

Danny tells him that it doesn't matter and his name(and by extension Damian himself) belongs to him now

But if he really wants something to call himself he may go by Dove

Damian always keeps a communicator on him which he uses to contact his family and tell them what happened

They try to track his location but as he is in another realm they cannot

They reach out to Constantine because they need a magic user's help

Constantine hears that Damian got taken by the fae and nearly shits himself

He gives the batfam a run down on fae etiquette and then takes them on a field trip to the fae realm to try to convince Danny to give Damian back

Danny does not want to give Damian back

Anytime Danny gives Damian an order in which he says his name Damian has no choice but to comply

Danny doesn't intentionally abuse this but after centuries without normal human interaction he's lost touch with what is and isn't considered cruel

As if stealing someones' name and kidnapping them is in any way not cruel

So sometimes he ends up being a little mean

Forcing Damian to shut up if he starts being rude

Forcing him to sit or stand or go here or don't move

Once, in an attempt at defiance, Damian refuses to eat and Danny gets this cold expression and his features once again take on that just-this-side-of-odd look and he says "Damian, eat"

Danny goes out of his way to get food from Damians universe because he doesn't want him to have any side effects from eating the fae food

He wants to keep him and doesn't want to risk anything potentially harming him

Time across dimensions is kinda fucky

Idk if I'll continue this cuz I don't really know the DC universe well enough to write it. Everything I know I learned through fanfics. If anyone wants to try their hand at writing it you have my full permission just please tag me because I'd love to see what you do with it. It's up to author interpretation if Danny ever gives Damian back or not. Maybe he makes the batfam do some tasks to prove themselves to convince him to give him back or not. Maybe if you take the Dead Serious route then as they come to truly care for each other Damian is able to convince Danny that he wouldn't be happy living the rest of his life in the fae realm, unable to leave or see his family, and that is what eventually gets Danny to release him. But at that point they really care for each other(maybe already dating) so they keep in touch and Danny visits often and starts getting accustomed to socially interacting with humans again. He is very embarrassed about some of the things he did while Damian was under his possession after relearning human social norms.

[redheadspark]

Here (Part Three and Final Part)

Summary - Azriel's mate pulls through, but Azriel sets a new target on the one who almost took his mate.

Warnings - Angst with a hint of fluff mixed in

A/N - Part of the Ocean Eyes Series. Here is the last part of this small three-part series, by popular demand. I hope you like it!

Part One

Part Two

Azriel felt himself flying out of the guest room, thankfully moving his son safely to the side of the bed to let him sleep. But you were in his mind, hearing your voice calling out to him so gently and yet strained simultaneously. He was beyond fast, going across the hallway in a mili-second and bursting into your room. He stood still at the doorway, seeing the blue tint of the room thanks to the moonlight and how you were squirming a bit in your position on the bed. Almost as if you were waking up from an unpleasant dream. You squinted, your nose twitching a bit as you took in a sharp inhale. 

Azriel…what happened…

"Honey, hey," Azriel said in such a rush and trembled as he made his way over to him, pushing the chair to the side abruptly to be kneeling and in front of your face. He reached up to touch your cheek, his palm against your cheek lovingly as you took in another breath that sounded a bit uncomfortable. Finally, he saw you open your eyes right at him and he finally smiled, tears in his eyes as your gorgeous blue eyes were looking back at his hazel ones. Azriel only said three words, there words that were simple but moved your heart:

"There's my girl,"

All the worry he had, the fears of you dying in front of him and leaving him this world, they no longer existed. You were there, safe and alive, watching him with weary but comforting eyes. Azriel felt like he could breathe again, finally taking in a long breath since it felt like he was holding it in for so long. The last several hours were filled with worry, despair, rage, and devastation at the notion of Azriel watching you slip away from him. He was already thinking over every scenario that could happen to him, but now he simply wished to fall to his knees in both happiness and exhaustion from being on edge for far too long. 

"Az?" You finally voice, your voice so raw and yet still gentle. Azriel beamed, tears down his face from hearing your voice finally. How he missed your voice, the warmth it brought like the sun rays on a summer day. Hearing it in the bond was one thing, but to finally hear It with his ears, made the tension that he carried fly away and out the window.

He took out a long breath, attempting to remain composed in front of you as you were searching his eyes, but it was all too much for him. He hid his face for a brief moment into his arm, the last thing he wanted to do was to show his tears to do since you were the one who was hurting and near death. Although you were still in the same pain and drowsy, you were concerned seeing your mate in such a way in front of you, 

"Azriel, what.." You were about to ask, not understanding what was going on, but Azriel inhaled sharply and looked back at you. You saw the pain in his eyes, pain that was mixed relief and grief as he scanned your eyes.

"I'm just fucking glad you're okay," He hummed, his voice sounding so broken but also ecstatic at the same time. He leaned forward, kissing your cheeks and forehead over and over while his hands cradled your face and stayed so close to you.  You heard it and saw it, how he was so worried and now relived that you were there and breathing.

"Cauldron, don't you dare scare me like that again," he said against your hair as he cradled your face in his palms, you feeling some of his tears hit your cheeks and nose. You carefully reached up to touch his wrists, holding him there like an anchor as you were letting him kiss you all over and touch you. 

The last thing you remembered was trying to fly into the sky, masked men chasing after you and attempting to ambush you, and then the searing pain that blossomed throughout your entire body. The scream from your lips was almost animalistic as your vision went cold and you fell from the sky, limp and cold.

But now you were there, warm in a bed and Azriel in front of you with fresh tears.

"Where am I?" You asked, looking around at the room you were in. Azriel moving the hair from your eyes and rubbing your arms soothingly.

"River House," Azriel explained, "Cassian found you out cold and brought you here. You've been asleep for a good 9 hours, baby,"

You attempted to sit up a bit, in hopes to maybe gather your bearings, but you froze and gasped out in pain. The entirety of your back had a spasm from the shocking pain and you whimper. Your wings felt so stiff and painful, especially your left wing, almost like it was on fire as Azriel wrapped you in his arms and helped you go back to your side.

"Your wings are still healing, rest for me," He urged you as you sighed and took in a few long breaths, "Madja got most of the poison out from your wing but there's still some left,"

It made you look at him in shock from the news that there's poison in your wing. No wonder you were feeling insane pain, to the point that moving your wing would be almost like torture so to speak. You recalled that searing white pain when you were flying up in the sky, the pain was large enough to have you lose your breath and then pass out cold, paralyzing you within seconds. 

You shot an alarmed look at Azriel, "Where's Alec? Is he safe? Is he—" You were about to ramble several questions all at once about your son, who was now in your mind at the forefront of your worries. 

"He's okay, sweetheart. Alec's safe and okay. Look, he's asleep right across the hall, see?" Azriel said to you, you looking out the door that was left abruptly open. Even from your spot on the bed, you could see Alec, tucked away in bed amongst the messy sheet and snoring away with his head on the pillow.  Watching your son shift in his sleep, his black hair was that was growing out a bit too long against the dark blue satin pillows, you smiled at the view. There was your son, safe and sound, sleeping as if nothing was going to harm him. 

Just the way you both wanted.

"He's worried about his momma, just like I am," Azriel explained, his voice solemn as you looked from your sleeping son to your mate, watching him scan your body up and down with his wide eyes. Although you knew his worry was valid from what happened to you, you also wanted to bring Azriel would have the current headspace he was in, which was dark and almost sickening. So you moved your own hands up to cup his cheeks and face, feeling how flushed he was along his skin and almost clammy. 

You leaned up and kissed him, his lips were soothing to you since it felt like years since you kissed him last. Azriel instantly caved and melted into your touch as he cupped your jaw with one hand and the other moving down along your waist to tuck you in close without harming your damaged wings. You both needed this kiss, not in a lustful manner but in such a way like lovers who have been separated for some time. It felt like it, you missing his warmth and his soothing touch for however long you were unconscious and slipping in and out of reality. It felt like you were in some deep sleep that had no dreams or nightmares, but almost like you were walking in the form of direction. 

Kissing Azriel was your direction, your guided path, and it felt like you were found again.

You barely pulled away from him, breathing in the scent that only Azriel would carry while you were still caressing his face with your fingers and watching him with love in your eyes, "I'm right here, Azriel. I'm right here and breathing and I'm not going anywhere,"

"You better not," He hummed, almost in a light joke but the emotion was still there in his voice, "You're not allowed to leave me In this world,"

"Never," You vowed, that single word rang in the air between you two in the small room. You still had plenty of questions about what happened, from what you remembered last and what occurred in between. Did Azriel know what happened to you? Did the others know and find out through him? 

Who was it that did this to you?

Perhaps your husband and mate knew you were thinking deeply, from the look on your face made him stare at you lovingly," You don't need to worry about it, my love,"

Of course, you were going to worry, waking up in a foreign bed and insane pain from almost being poisoned to death. Youknew you were in no unmarked territory or area that you shouldn't be in.  In actuality, you knew the woods for centuries and were familiar with the layout. So you weren't lost, nor were you in a nasty situation. Which only left…

"Who was it?" You croaked out, Azriel's eyes going a bit big from the sudden question from you. But you were alert and watching him intently, to which he was shocked by what you meant. 

Azriel shook his head, "No, no. Don't worry about it right now, okay?"

"Az—" You were about to argue, but he interrupted you.

"That's for me to deal with, not you," he stated to you, you searching his eyes and seeing something a pinch darker. Hetook in a long inhale, "I'm going to take care of it, I need to. Someone tried to take you from me, and I can't let that go,"

He sounded so broken in that moment with what he said to you, the protective side of Azriel was visible over his eyes and in how he was even kneeling next to the bed. Stiff, on alert, and almost mechanical.  This side of Azriel was more prone to inflict fears onto others, to bring even the strongest of men to their knees. You have only seen it a few times in all the life you had with him, and it felt like you were seeing it all over again.

"Stay with me, tonight. Stay Azriel, please," you pleaded with him, thinking having him with you would be the safer option than for him to go out on a rampage. Even with the several questions ringing in your mind, somehow you were willing to just be with your mate. You are also trying to distract him from doing something he would regret in the end, and Azriel reluctantly takes the bait. He sighed, inhaling deeply and then nodding.

"Okay," He hummed, the anger that was threatening to overcome him was now diminishing and evaporating into the air. Maybe he sensed your worry over him, the panic that he may do something that would make him be filled with regret. Carefully, but with swift movement that seemed so fluid, he scooped you in his arms. You clung to him, feeling a bit of the pain as he kissed your forehead and knelt on the bed. He gently got you back on the bed, though he was now on his back and having your head tucked into his neck.  Your arms around him, being able to use his body now instead of a body pillow that you were attached to for several hours, and breathing in his musky and yet gentle scent.

Azriel cradled you close in his arms, finding that love again as your body was against his, your hair against his cheek and nose, and feeling your heartbeat against his own.  This was his center again, the fact that you were awake and there with Azriel made him feel safe all over again. The last 9 hours were hell, torture upon himself since he had no way to help you or make you wake up for him. But not anymore, and the happiness he thought he lost was slowly coming again in wave after wave.

"I love you," You hummed, your energy was dropping as sleep was about to overcome you. Azriel held you a pinchtighter as you felt his fingers in your long hair.

"I love you more than the stars in all of Prythian," He vowed against your head, you feeling his fingers move along your hair and his lips along your forehead, "I got you right here, get some sleep,"

While you were holding him gently and falling back asleep, a smile was now etched on your lips with the sense of security in your mind that your husband and mate were both holding and protecting you, Azriel was already thinking of what he was going to do with your attacker and whoever else was behind this. Even while you were alive and well, he still had the protective streak about him and that side that was locked away. 

It's been some time since he let his Spymaster side come out full throttle, maybe it was time for it to happen again. 

"High Lord Beron informed me that Eris went rogue,"

Azriel rubbed his face in his hand, both in frustration and with the anger festering under his skin as he was sitting across from Rhysand in his office. Cassian was chatting with you in the room where you are recovering, Nesta and little Rose accompanying him as they were giving you some company.  Alec too was with you, not once leaving your side when he woke up and found you awake in your bed and happy to see him. Azriel knew then that he needed to talk to Rhysand and Cassian about the meeting they had with High Lord Beron the night before while he was with you. Though he was furious that they both conducted with him present, he also knew why: he would have torn the room to pieces in anger beyond reason.

"We showed him the arrow, and he recognized it from Eris's security and their stash of arrows. Not to mention the poison that the arrow was drenched in. He found out Eris left Autumn Court an hour before the attack happened, and hasn't returned since," Rhysand explained to Azriel, seeing how his shadows were fuming from near this news. Cassian side-eyed Azriel, feeling the tension himself as he cleared his throat. 

"Beron doesn't condone what he did, and he claims that it's not a representation of Autumn Court," He said halfheartedly.

"Cassian," Rhysand said in a warning tone, but Cassian simply glared back at him.

"I'm not gonna sugar coat it, Rhys. I don't buy what Beron said: it came from his Court and that makes me suspicious of him," Cassian explained in a shrug.

"I agree, but I also need to take into account that Beron would not place his own Court in the line of fire. He hasn't since the war, why would he do that now?" Rhysand countered back, Cassian huffed silently as he leaned back in his chair. Rhysand focused back on Azriel, who was still quiet throughout the exchange and looking down at his scarred hand that clutched the arm of his chair. Rhysand could talk to him through his bond with him, he's done it in the past. But something about this moment, seeing his Spymaster and his brother, trying to hold it together, he didn't want to pry his mind. It felt too emotional for him, too raw even, to even tap into his mind.

"Beron has soldiers looking for him, and he had made it his personal mission to search for Eris. We also have permission to find him with our men since this happened in our Court," Rhysand explained to Azriel, motioning his head over to Cassian, "Cassian volunteered Illyrians to comb the sky and the woodlands as we speak. If he is found in our territory, we can punish him as we see fit."

Once again, Azriel said nothing, to which both Rhysand and Cassian gave him uneasy looks since the calm demeanor that Azriel was giving off was unsettling. Neither one of them seen him so calm, so collected almost, especially considering his mate nearly died hours before. 

"I've already warned the other High Lords in case he does hide out in the other Courts, though I did not close the details and what precisely happened. All of them agreed to notify us if he does show up in their territories, and if he is found—"

"He's mine," Azriel finally spoke, his voice low and raw. Both Cassian and Rhysand shot a look at him, seeing him slowly uncurling his fingers from the arm of the chair. Marks were seen in the wood from his nails, to which his palm was facing up and he made a small fist.

"Azriel, you need to focus on your mate and your son, not Eris," Rhysand gently reminded him, but Azriel shook his head once.

"He's mine," He repeated, his eyes not swaying from looking at his scarred hand. Cassian was looking at him in concern now as Azriel was sitting so still, not blinking once.

"Az," Cassian was about to chime in, but Azriel jumped up abruptly for the chair with such force the chair fell back behind him and bounced off the floor.  The fury in his stance, the heated stare that illuminated his hazel eyes, even his shadows were radiating off his body as he glared at Rhsyand in front of him.

"HE WENT AFTER MY WIFE!" He bellowed, his voice booming off the walls with such a force that it was almost deafening.  Both the High Lord of Night Court and the Illyrian Army Commander were silent, almost afraid themselves as Azriel was still glaring at Rhysand.

"My…fucking…wife. He wanted her dead….and he went after Alec when he was a babe. I'm done with him and with this," Azriel growled, his scarred hands clenched so tight Rhysand saw the veins pop out in contrast to his scars, "I am done letting him sliding through my fingers. I watched my own wife nearly die in my arms Rhys, enough is enough. Don't you fucking dare tell me you wouldn't feel the same if it was Feyre who was nearly killed,”

Azriel was heated, he might have crossed a line mentioning his High Lady, but he was agitated and no longer wished to be composed. Rhysand felt the pain, and deep down he was right: Rhysand would feel the same if Feyre was the one who was hurt. He would have reprimanded Azriel for mentioning Feyre, but he wasn't going to. Not when Azriel was right. Azriel looked over at Cassian.

"Or you with Nesta," he said, Cassian inwardly growled from the thought of Nesta being in that position. 

"I want his head on a spike," Azriel stated as he looked back at his High Lord, "He needs to pay from these past years breathing fear down my family's back for his amusement.  I need to know, here and now, that he is mine when he is caught. DoI have your word?"

He was asking Rhsyand, both as his High Lord and also as his brother and friend. He could go against Rhysand if he needed to, his mind was simply on ending Eris and eliminating the threat against his family.  No matter what it took, the length and the commitment, he would. But this was one last ditch effort for Azriel to get his High Lord's permission, the last inch of sanity he had.

Rhsyand, giving him a solemn look knowing that Azriel was driven in this, took in a long inhale.

"You have my word," He replied, sealing Eris's hate.

The End.

Tagging - @valeridarkness @impossibelle @acourtofbatboydreams @prettylittlewrites @fxckmiup @sizzlingstarlightsky @iluvyewman-blog @masbt1218 @a-courtof-azriel @homeslices @zanzie @topaz125 @saltedcoffeescotch @he6rtshaker @tenshis-cake @pruvii