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coryosmin · 4 months

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reunited - finnick odair x reader

a one shot based off of this ask. reader is saved from the capitol and brought to district 13. she gets discharged from the hospital wing and is finally able to spend time with finnick.

warnings: MDNI mentions of mental health issues, trauma, mentions of starvation, female reader, smut, oral (f receiving)fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, this is honestly rushed so if it sucks I apologize lol

word count: 2,000 words

Finnick was distraught without you, to say the least. After you had been taken out of the arena by the Capitol, he taken by District 13, he didn’t know what to do, what to say, how to feel. He was lost. As though nothing had any meaning to him any longer. He wished you were dead. He wished he was dead. He wished everyone was dead because it would mean that no one would be suffering and therefore, nothing could go wrong.

Day in and day out, tying knots in a rope to ground himself so he didn’t get lost in his thoughts. Wake up, eat breakfast at the assigned time, space out, eat lunch, space out, eat dinner, space out, go to bed, and wake up in the morning. Repeat the process.

His only small sliver of hope was being gifted a trident to start practicing with. Just something to take his mind off of the horrors that you were likely going through. That was until he was asked to speak to Katniss’s PR team, to get filmed and broadcasted to all of Panem in the hopes that they rescue Peeta, Johanna, and you from the Capitol. And Finnick was more than ready to do so.

And when news came that you had been rescued and that the mission was a success, Finnick ran to the hospital wing, calling your name. “Y/N!” he shouted, busting through the doors.

And then came the shout of your voice. “Finnick!”

He looked over to you, seeing you on the hospital bed. You didn’t care for any of your injuries, tearing the tubes out of your skin to run up to Finnick. And he engulfed you in his arms, holding you closely as you wrapped your arms around him. Nothing mattered more to either of you than that you were together. No matter what happened, everything would be okay because Finnick finally had you.

A weight had been lifted off of Finnick’s shoulders as he realized that you were okay and now you were safe. He looked you up and down. You were thin, due to being starved by the Capitol, you had bruises all over your face, and you overall just looked worn out. But even so, Finnick thought you were the most beautiful woman to ever exist.

Eventually, he had to let go of you and leave. It was time for bed within District 13 and you needed to be attended to. So Finnick had reluctantly left you alone with the doctors and nurses. He had gone back to his room that night and cried happy tears, grateful that you were alive.

After that initial visit, however, you weren’t allowed visitors for a while. Apparently, the Capitol had really messed up with not only your physical health but also your mental health and being locked up in a bunker reminded you of being locked in the cell in the Capitol. Therefore, you needed time to adjust.

It took about two weeks before you could have visitors. And after that, Finnick visited you every night and talked to you about anything and everything. And it helped you so much. So much so that you were able to be released within a week, your injuries fully healed and a healthy amount of weight put back onto you. And you were allowed to share your room with Finnick.

When you and Finnick had gone to your shared room that night, nothing stopped Finnick from just grabbing your face and kissing you. And you of course kissed him back. The kiss was desperate and hungry, as though you both worried that if you stopped the other would just wither away into nothingness and you would be left alone once more. Finnick’s arms were wrapped tightly around you, not enough to hurt you but enough to be firm and secure you. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close to you.

Finnick pulled away from the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours. “I missed you so much,” He murmured, his voice cracking. “I was so lost without you, baby.” His green eyes had turned glossy, signaling the emotions he was feeling.

You felt yourself tearing up as well, bringing a hand to caress his cheek. “I missed you so much too, Finnick,” You sniffled. “The thought of ever seeing you again was the only reason I got through everything the Capitol put me through.”

And so Finnick kissed you again. His lips were soft against yours, kissing you slowly this time. His tongue traced your bottom lip, causing you to let out a soft moan at the feeling as you parted your lips. His tongue entered your mouth, exploring it. One of your hands went to Finnick’s hair, gently entangling your fingers in it while the other was wrapped around his neck.

Finnick’s hands were roaming your body, feeling you through the jumpsuit provided by District 13. He brought his hand up to the zipper. He was about to tug it down but decided to ask you first. He pulled away from the kiss. “Need you, baby,” he murmured. “Is that okay?”

You nodded your head. “I need you too, Finnick,” you murmured back, going back to kissing his lips. Finnick immediately kissed you back, tugging the zipper down on your jumpsuit and taking it off of you. You helped by kicking it to the side. You did the same to Finnick, unzipping his jumpsuit and taking it off of him.

Finnick gently pushed you to the bed, sitting you down at the edge of the bed. He reached behind you to unclasp your bra, taking it off of you and throwing it to the side. He pulled away from the kiss to look you up and down. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” he said softly, kneeling in front of you. “Gonna make you feel so good, yeah?”

You bit your lip, nodding your head at your wonderful boyfriend. Your cheeks were red as you looked at him. Finnick gave you a small smile, gently spreading your legs. He grabbed the hem of your panties, pulling them down. “If you want to stop at any point, my love, please tell me.”

You gave him a small smile. “I want this, Finnick,” you replied, caressing his face. “I need this.”

Finnick smiled up at you, taking your panties off the rest of the way and tossing them aside. He grabbed one of your legs, kissing you from your ankle and working his way up to your inner thigh. And when Finnick got to your pussy, he sighed in contentment as he placed a kiss onto your pussy lips. You bit your lip, spreading your legs further for him. Finnick gave you a smirk before bringing his tongue out, licking the slit of your cunt before tonguing your clit.

You let out a small moan, a hand moving to entangle in Finnick’s hair while the other gripped the sheets of the bed. Finnick let out a soft moan, sucking on your clit. You closed your eyes in pleasure, throwing your head back. Finnick continued to suck and tongue your clit, bringing a finger up to your hole and inserting it slowly. You let out another soft moan. “Oh fuck.”

Finnick moved his finger slowly inside of you, thrusting it in and out at the same time as he sucked your clit. He missed your pussy so much. You always tasted so divine and delicious. He just adored you with all his heart. Finnick added another finger, curling both of his digits inside of you. You let out a loud moan, gripping Finnick’s hair. “Oh fuck!” You moaned out, clenching around his digits.

Finnick pulled away from your clit to look at you, keeping his fingers inside of you as he thrusted them faster inside of you, hitting your g-spot. “That’s it, baby,” he said, looking up at you. You looked so beautiful. Your skin was flushed, you were blushing, your back was arched slightly. Finnick absolutely adored you. “Gonna cum on my fingers?”

You whined, nodding your head. Finnick smiled before going back to sucking your clit, making you buck your hips against his face. “So close, Finnick,” you whined, feeling yourself come undone. And with a few more thrusts, your thighs clenched together and shook as you came hard around his digits. “Oh my god!” You moaned out.

And when you came down from your high, Finnick removed his fingers from you. He pulled away, licking his lips as he stood up. His cock was painfully hard in his boxers. He palmed himself, looking at you. You opened your eyes, looking up at Finnick and breathing heavily. He smiled at you. “Do you want to continue?” He asked softly.

You nodded your head enthusiastically. “Please, Finnick,” you replied. “Need your cock inside me.”

And that’s all Finnick needed to pull his boxers down and throw them aside. “Lay down, baby,” he said, stroking himself slowly. You obliged, laying your head down on the pillow. Finnick crawled on top of you, holding himself up with one arm as his other guided his cock to your entrance. And without any hesitation, he eased himself inside of you.

You both moaned in unison. You wrapped your arms around his torso, holding Finnick close as he eased his cock inside of you. You both looked into each other’s eyes, not needing any words to be spoken. His green orbs looked into your beautiful e/c ones, making you smile softly at him. Though your smile quickly contorted into a face of pleasure as Finnick began thrusting his hips slowly.

“You’re so tight, sweetheart,” Finnick whispered shakily, leaning on his forearms as he moved his hips.

“You’re so big,” you whispered back, moaning softly. “Needed you so bad.”

“I needed you too, baby,” Finnick replied, leaning down to kiss your lips.

You kissed Finnick back. He continued his slow pace inside of you, thrusting his hips as the two of you relished in one another’s touch. Being able to be with you after having you gone for so long wore Finnick down a lot. And he just needed you desperately. Not just physically but mentally too. And soon, Finnick was quickening his pace and angling his hips to hit that spongy spot inside of you. You both moaned loudly at the feeling.

You pulled away from the kiss, throwing your head back in pleasure as Finnick thrusted into you. He began kissing your neck. “I missed you so much,” he practically whined in your ear.

“I missed you too, Finnick,” you whined back, gasping when Finnick kissed your sweet spot.

“I love you,” he moaned out, moving his hips faster.

“Oh fuck-“ you moaned, arching your back as you felt your orgasm approaching quickly. “I love you too!”

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” Finnick asked. “You’re clenching around me so good. Please cum for me,” he moaned, burying his head in your neck.

And so you came around Finnick’s cock, whining and moaning as you did so. And soon Finnick followed shortly after.

Finally, the two of you were reunited at last.

#the hunger games #thg #finnick odair #the hunger games imagine #the hunger games smut #the hunger games trilogy #the hunger games finnick #thg finnick #thg series #thg smut #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair smut #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #finnick fanfic #hunger games finnick #finnick x y/n

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bri-cheeses · 22 days

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Jerseys vs. Hoodies - Part 3

| Rosekiller microfic | Word count: 662 | Part 2 can be found here |

“Merlin, you two are hopeless,” Regulus mutters under his breath.

Evan goes tense and looks over to see Barty’s reaction, but Barty is much too preoccupied with staring at Evan’s torso. It’s slightly unsettling, to be honest.

“Bee?” he prompts. “What are you looking at?”

Barty’s eyes climb up from Evan’s chest to his eyes, causing Evan to shiver.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” he says.

Evan breathes in sharply.

“Oh,” he manages, then tries his hardest not to stumble over his words as he blurts, “I can take it off if you want. It was just the closest piece of clothing by my bed—” a blatant lie— “and I didn’t look at it before putting it on—” another lie— “and I’m sorry, I’ll take it off right now and—”

Barty’s hand covering his mouth cuts him off before he can start spiraling.

“It looks good on you,” he says, holding eye contact with Evan, who can feel Barty’s heartbeat against his lips. There’s something deeply intimate about the moment, and Evan doesn’t dare break eye contact as Barty slowly lowers his hand and opens his mouth to say something.

“Merlin,” Reg mutters again, because of course, “take the bedroom eyes somewhere far away from me, please.”

Evan immediately wants to scream at him, because that’s the second time today that Reg has ruined one of Evan’s moments with Barty. But the damage has been done, and he can feel the shift in energy before Barty even says anything.

“I mean, we can if Evan wants to.” Barty grins wolfishly up at Evan, eyeing him in a way that’s downright sinful. Evan tries not to feel too disappointed at the change in topic. After all, this is exactly what he had signed up for.

“Not today, Bee,” Evan murmurs as he turns back to his work. It might just be the hardest he’s ever had to try to focus on schoolwork. “I need to finish this essay.”

There’s a beat of silence as Evan scans through his previous work in an effort to resume his earlier train of thought, Barty a tempting distraction to his left. Barty tends to have this effect on him. Especially when he looks at Evan like he wants to drag him to the dorm and not let him come down for a good long while.

“Barty’s feeling neglected, Evan,” Regulus proclaims, breaking the silence.

Evan can’t help it. He looks over to the boy beside him, and sure enough, Barty’s gone back to pouting. Seriously, he needs to stop with this whole “wanting Evan’s attention” thing, or Evan’s going to get the wrong idea.

Evan aims his next words at Regulus, because it’s just easier.

“Tell him to get over it,” he says.

“He says to get over it,” Reg parrots, and Barty glares at him with enough force to make a weaker man wither.

But Regulus just blinks calmly and dips his quill into his ink pot, then writes his name on his essay with a flourish.

“Done,” he pronounces. “Now, I’m going to go get some dinner. Have fun and please don’t burn the library down.”

“Reg, we still have another twenty-ish minutes until dinner starts,” Barty points out, very obviously ignoring that last barb.

“He’s going to see Potter,” Evan stage-whispers. Barty snickers as Regulus’s face goes red.

“You know,” Regulus begins, narrowing his eyes at them, “before you said that I almost felt bad about leaving the two of you here alone together, considering everything going on between you, but now I’m actually pretty interested to see how this all plays out. Have fun dancing around each other like always,” he finishes, gathering his stuff.

Barty and Evan are both stunned into silence as Reg stands up and begins to walk away.

Only Barty recovers in time to call after him as he leaves, “Nice jersey, Reg,” and Evan groans because now is most definitely not the time.

Regulus simply gives them the finger in response, then disappears around the corner.

(Part 4 will be coming out on Saturday)

#regulus is so iconic let’s be honest here #rosekiller #evan rosier #barty crouch jr #slytherin skittles #marauders era #regulus black #jegulus #rosekiller microfic #my microfics

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lovelyjj · 1 month

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hey! Can you write insecure reader who stops eating and her boyfriend JJ finds out?

I love all your works btw! 😽🫶

Insecure

jj maybank x reader

a/n: thank you and thank you so much for requesting!

It was hard not to compare yourself to other girls. When you were at the beach all you could think about is the bodies of the other girls. They had tiny waists and long legs. Their hair was perfect and you just wished you looked like them.

The fact that you had to wear a bikini to the beach made you not want to go. Showing off your body is quite possibly the last thing you would ever want to be doing. So you would ether not go or wear a sweatshirt and say you weren’t tanning or swimming.

It was also hard to see the same girls at the beach flirt with your boyfriend. JJ would blow them off and reassure you that that you were the only one for him. JJ didn’t even glance in their direction. He was completely devoted to you. Yet you still felt like he deserved better.

All you could think about is how horrible you looked. You were far from how the girls at the beach looked, and you couldn’t help but think you were ugly. You were deeply insecure and you didn’t know how to fix it.

You felt uncomfortable in your own skin and not good enough for anyone or anything. You were tired of feeling this way, it was draining. You were also feeling hopeless. Your mind was your worst enemy. Every time you looked in the mirror you cringed. So, you tried to avoid doing that at all times.

When food was placed in front of you you would almost gag. You didn’t want to eat. It was too much. You thought maybe if you stopped eating you would become thinner and look like all the other girls with tiny waists.

You didn’t mean to it just sort of happened. You thought you were just not hungry, but then you were skipping meals. a lot of meals. You have stopped eating all together and you were hoping that you would get good results out of it.

JJ wasn’t stupid, he knew something was wrong he just didn’t know what. He noticed that he hasn’t seen you eat in a long time. He also noticed that you’ve lost some weight. Of course your weight didn’t matter to him but he was concerned for your health.

The chateau was busy with all the pogues in it. They were all getting ready to go in the hot tub. You were having a dilemma because you didn’t want to get into a swimsuit. So you decided you wouldn’t go in.

“What’s up buttercup?” JJ asked.

“Nothing just chillin,” you spoke.

“How are you, seriously?” JJ asked. He was concerned about you. He was watching you decline and he hated it.

“Um m’fine,” you replied.

“I think we need to talk,” JJ put forth.

“what about?”

“I haven’t seen you eat in a long time and I’m worried about you,” JJ confessed.

You let out a deep sigh. You did not want to have this conversation right now.

“Don’t worry about it JJ,” you instructed.

“No I will worry about it because i worry about you. You’re my girl and I care about you. I’m concerned. Please baby, talk to me.” JJ begged.

“I just want to feel pretty,” tears filled your eyes but you didn’t let them fall.

“I thought maybe if I stop eating, I would loose some weight.” You looked down on the floor avoiding JJ’s eyes.

“You know I think you’re the most beautiful girl in the world right?!”

“Baby please look at me.”

You did as you were told, reluctantly.

“I want you to listen to me when I say this. You’re perfect just the way you are. I love you and I love your body. I think you’re gorgeous. It breaks my heart that you don’t see it. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

You gave JJ a sad smile.

“Come here,” JJ opened his arms for you to get into.

Once you were in JJ’s arms he kissed your cheek. Then he kissed your forehead. He then kissed your temple. “My beautiful girl, love you so much!” Then he kissed your lips.

“How about I order a pizza?” JJ suggested.

“I don’t know jayj,” you shrugged.

“Come on please baby I need you to eat something for me. I don’t want you to wither away. I care about you and your health.”

“I’ll eat with you, I will even help you. If you want me too,” JJ shrugged.

“Jayj…”

“No come on, I’m ordering the pizza, end of story.”

You gave JJ a small smile silently thanking him but you were more so just done protesting. You knew JJ meant well you were just stubborn. It meant a lot to you that he cared so much about you. You thought it was sweet. You just really didn’t want to eat.

The pizza was delivered and you were dreading eating it. JJ took the pizza to his room so you could have some privacy.

“I know you don’t want to eat but i’m right here I’m not going anywhere and I want you to nourish your body.”

“okay jayj.”

JJ sat with you and helped you eat. He was understanding and considerate. He wanted to be there for you during this hard time. With JJ’s help you were able to eat something.

“There you go baby, good job! I’m proud of you,” JJ praised.

“Thank you J.”

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silverzoomies · 3 months

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Summer Wind

tate langdon x reader smut

warnings: existential crisis, death, afterlife, implied/referenced character death, murder, angst, aged-up tate langdon, fingering, fingerfucking, kissing, canon divergence

word count: 4,690

a/n: another drabble. y'know that thing people do sometimes? where they "age-up" a character, but don't really age them up? i initially wrote this in response to that. but it somehow turned into a means of venting my existential terror instead. i was gonna include more smut. but tbh i didn't feel right about it. this one's gonna stay unfinished. sorry about the abrupt ending !!

inspired by the song summer wind by frank sinatra

You were dead for an indiscernible span of time.

You couldn't be sure how long. But you suspected a few years, at least. Through one of the top floor windows of your eternal purgatory; you watched the trees. Nature alternated between skeletal displays of branches, to vibrant arrays of color. Withered. Blooming. Withered. Blooming. Withered. Blooming again. Rinse and repeat.

Once you accepted your fate, things started clicking into place. Trapped in a vintage hotbox of murder, you put together the pieces of a long lost puzzle. And though some parts were still absent, you pushed yourself to move on. You might never figure out how you died, or who you were before. But to worry so much would be senseless at this point.

Through acceptance, you began to feel again. If only in small bursts. Abrupt, but worth cherishing.

One memory remained ever present. You had the sense you were a school guidance counselor in life. And in death, you took up the mantle again. Offering your services to the other souls lost in the house. One of the ghostly residents shared a similar occupation. Way back in his breathing years. He didn’t do it so much anymore. Instead, he spent time with his family, working towards redemption for his past actions.

You steered clear of most residents, fearful of their unpredictable episodes of bloodlust. They allowed the evil within the house to lure them further into madness. On the days they came to you for your services, you spoke to them in hopes they’d find absolution. Change in the afterlife was extremely difficult to achieve. Your 'clients' rarely ever scratched the surface of their tainted psyches. And any progress they made, they always resorted to their old habits in the end.

Only one of them ever found true change. Of course, he had to be the most wretched of them all.

You once felt sympathy for Tate, making excuses on his behalf. In the years when his heart still pumped blood through his veins; he was young. Misguided. Perhaps the pressures of his upbringing took too much of a toll on him. And in the afterlife, he suffered under the influence of the house itself. The evil buried deep within channeled through his broken soul.

But if such an evil did exist, it never took hold of you. Nor did it sink its venomous teeth into Violet, or her innocent mother, or that pure of heart baby, or even Ben Harmon himself - sinful a man as he was. They resisted, and so did you.

Tate was pure evil. Carnage incarnate. Maybe that made him susceptible to the influence of dark forces. But after talking with him for a few years, you accepted him for what he was. Foul from birth, deplorable in death. No matter how often you tried guiding him to goodness, he remained forever loathsome. The evil in him burned eternally, needing no kindling.

His own acceptance of that fact allowed him to change. In a more physical way, much like Moira. Tate embraced his fate, convinced the house was where he belonged. A punishment until the end of all things. Simultaneously, a safe haven from whatever lay in waiting after purgatory. Tate’s progress was very much real. Albeit, not the kind you aimed for.

You could see his growth in his features, rather than his morals. Sitting across from you during another weekly session, Tate fidgeted with a frayed hole in his jeans. With his blond brows creased, he stared down at the denim. As you watched him like this, you picked apart his finer details. Where his skin once beamed with the pale, ghostly image of youth; creases were now etched in. Faint, but noticeable lines curved under his eyes.

An aura of maturity emanated from him like a light much too dim. Tate carried the same mannerisms from his heyday - if one could even call it that. But he had long since graduated from his mentality of that era. Tate spoke of his past actions as if he regretted them, though you suspected he felt no real remorse. He used to cry all the time. He used to throw childish tantrums. But you couldn’t remember the last time you saw his soulless, black eyes water. Now…

He carried nothing but cold desolation. Common amongst those trapped in perpetual limbo.

“I saw her again today.” He admitted, his lidded eyes flitting up to meet yours, “She hasn’t changed any. Not like me. Not like…” Tate made a gesture at his face, his thumb grazing the angular shape of his jaw. Tiredly, he blinked, “Not like this. Fate’s a funny thing, isn’t it? I always thought we were fated to be together forever, but…”

On the sofa across from him, you kept your cheek perched in a hand. As you scribbled in your notebook, you took note of the way Tate’s features bled misery. All at the mention of her. It must have been painful for him, watching her stay the same. While he finally outgrew himself. Those changes only further separated the two of them. Obliterating any chance he had to make amends. If there ever was.

There especially wouldn’t be now. Even Tate was on the tailend of coming to terms with it.

“How’d it make you feel this time around?” You pressed in a soft tone, shifting on the couch. His dark hues zeroed in on your thighs, bare in a simple dress. The lining appeared cheap, glittering with sequins reminiscent of childhood nostalgia, “When you saw her?”

“Fuckin’...I dunno…” Tate put his face in his vascular hands, fingers curling into his hair, “She’s like a kid to me anymore. What am I supposed to think?”

“Maybe she’s content like that. In the same way you’re content the way you are now.” You shrugged, tenderly laughing, “Maybe teenage angst suits her that much.”

He shook his head, shifting from a criss cross position on the loveseat across from you. Bouncing a leg, Tate gave you a pointed look. His brows turned downward.

“We thought it fit me too, didn’t we? But look at me now."

You were. You were looking at him a lot. And he wasn't wrong. Teenage angst once paired well with Tate's immature nature. Back when he thought like a kid, and acted on impulse. These days, he'd become more lethargic. When he wasn’t consumed with blood lust. Rugged virility was his partner now. Coupled with the melancholy existentialism of a man pushing thirty.

“You wanted to move on.” You clarified, your teeth clicking the edge of a pen at your lips.

“Did I?” Tate bitterly laughed, the empty vacuums of his eyes caught your tongue in motion, “Doesn't seem like anyone else here wants to. ‘Cept Moira.”

“Well, they only think they can’t. They believe they’re tethered here, frozen in time at their moment of death. I used to think growth was impossible too. Until you…”

You took in his masculine features again. The scruff around his chin. So fair, and not too noticeable. Catching yourself in the midst of ogling him, you redirected your gaze to Tate’s eyes. Imposing. Starless. Easy to get lost in. He wasn’t ignorant to your attraction. A hint of grin pulled into his laugh lines and dimples.

“Does it scare you?” He asked, “What’s your excuse then?” Tate threw a condescending nod of his head, “If you’re so enlightened. If you know better than all of us - with your morals ‘n bullshit like that. Why haven’t you changed any since you died?"

Shrugging, you looked bashfully down at your notes.

“Why would I want to? If I can stay young for eternity. If I can keep these curves, and what’s left of my youth. What’s the point in growing older?” You admitted in truth.

“That’s a little superficial though, isn’t it?” Tate leaned back into the loveseat cushions, “Shit like that doesn’t matter here. Who are you tryna impress? And what’s anybody living gonna think? When they meet you, and find out you’re nothin’ but food for maggots now.” He teased, legs spread, one knee bouncing, “There’s gotta be another reason you haven’t moved on. You’re not like us. I dunno why you and the Harmons don’t just…y’know…go.” He trailed off, his gaze falling to his lap.

You saw his bitterness return in full force. Another miserable wave of longing washed over him. Yearning for something that didn’t exist anymore, and never would again.

“I…” You paused, doodling hasty flowers in your notebook. You avoided Tate’s eyes, “I wanna know how I died first. I wanna know who I was. Before I even consider moving on.”

Sinister acidity flashed through his vision, “Seriously? That’s what’s stopping you?” Tate huffed a harsh laugh, admitting without missing a beat, “You wanna know how you died? I’ll tell you. I stuck a knife in your back and stabbed you to death.” He confessed, monotone, “You know it too. You’ve known since we met. You’ve just been in denial this whole time.”

You sat up in an abrupt movement, scooting forward and tossing your notebook away.

“What?! What are you even talking ab-…I’ve been trying to figure this out for years, Tate! Years!” You threw out your hands, “You…you can’t be serious! Why would I be in denial about something like that??”

Tears of betrayal stung the corners of your eyes. Tate shrugged, seemingly unbothered. He crossed his arms, his eyes dark under the ridges of his brows.

“‘Cuz you feel bad for me. Or…uhm…you wanna feel bad for me.” He shrugged again, “Fuck if I know why. I’m the last guy you should have sympathy for.” Tate said, his black hues narrowing in thought.

“You didn’t…did you really stab me? Really? You’re not lying about that?” You almost shouted, clawing your fingers through your hair, “Please. Please tell me you’re lying!”

Tate appeared unfazed, ignoring you, “Do you love me or something? Is that why you’re so broken up about this?” He asked, desperate in his infinite search for validation.

“Why the fuck would you stab me?!” You shouted, full of wrathful turmoil.

You stood off the couch, surging toward him with your fists balled at your sides. Tate didn’t flinch. He pursed his lips, thoughtful again. With an insufferable aura of nonchalance, he shrugged once more.

“Wanted to.”

The blank emptiness in his expression told you everything you already knew. Tears streamed down your face, painting your cheeks and chin in damp threads.

“Where? Where did you stab me??”

Tate gestured with a nod of his head, towards the only window in the room. A summer breeze fluttered, catching the curtains in its dance. You wanted to find the radiant light of nature beautiful again. But it only served as a haunting reminder - the environment remained symbiotic with time. And you were forever left behind.

“Over there. By that window.” He said, watching you pad over to said window, the skirt of your dress fluttering.

The window. In the one room you always felt so drawn to, for reasons unknown. Now, you knew. Bracing your hands on the windowsill, you peered your head outside. Ghosting your skin, the air breathed an essence of life. Something you were no longer a part of. You used to be content with that fact. But now? Knowing your life was unfairly ripped from you, how could you ever move on? Your death wasn’t an accident. Nor had an irreversible illness seized your physical form. Just Tate.

His low voice droned from behind you and in your ear. A faint vibration followed, along with a presence at your back. You felt the soft texture of his sweater, but no body heat with it. One of his icy hands met your shoulder. He reached his other arm out. Tate pointed to a spot near the entrance gates.

“I didn’t wanna tell you. Because I didn’t wanna lose you too. But…” He paused for a beat, “It was on Halloween. Ten years or so years ago, I guess. I was gonna leave. Make my rounds. Y’know…like I used to. The house was-uh...up for grabs back then. You came up to the door. One of the kids here opened it for you. And you kinda...walked in. Tried lookin' for 'em. Wrong place, wrong time.” Tate lowered both his hands to yours, after sliding his fingers down the sides of your arms, “You were holdin’ hands with some kid the whole time. He had to be, like…seven? Eight? I don’t even remember what his costume was.” His lips curved in a grin, “But I still remember yours.”

Your fingers curled into the sill, scraping wood, indenting the paint.

Ten years.

“So, you stabbed me in front of a child?”

Another breeze blew by. The steady air picked up your dress with it, flitting delicate fabric. Glitter along the seams of it fell away, sparkling like microscopic crystallites in the wind. Tate’s long fingers drew patterns over the cold surface of your skin. Tracing infinity symbols onto your hands.

“Rapunzel.” He whispered, “That dress was kinda pretty on you. Sucks about all the blood.”

You remembered then. When death imbued you with unexpected consciousness, you wandered around the house in a blood-stained dress. And ever since, your afterlife wardrobe alternated only between dresses of similar styles. Always cheap fabrics. Decorated in craft materials. You assumed you must’ve loved playing dress up in life. The thought of perishing in a store bought Halloween costume never crossed your mind.

“Who was he?”

You sniffled, breath hitching without any need for oxygen. Tate brought a hand to your cheek, wiping away your tears. He loomed behind you. A cold-blooded apparition of your nightmares. His casual talk of violent depravity made your blood boil.

“Who, the kid?” He asked.

He lowered his hands to the sill. Looking out the window over your shoulder, Tate squinted in the sunlight.

“Yes! I don’t-” You burst into tears without warning, sobbing into your hands, “I-I don’t remember anything! Nothing! I had no idea…who was he??”

“Dunno…” he dropped his head, pressing his cheek to your hair, “I didn’t really stop to ask. He ran away. Right after I pushed you out of this window.”

“You pushed m-what?! You’re a fucking monster.” You whimpered. Wishing you could leap out and disappear with the oscillation of the wind, “You know you’re never getting out of here, don’t you? You’re never going to change, Tate. You’ll always be a monster.”

“Probably.” He droned, wrapping his arms around your middle. Pulling you closer, he added, “You’ll be stuck here too. If you don’t let go of that anger. If you let your rage consume you. All that bitterness and hatred. This house feeds off of it.” Another pause. He nuzzled the top of your head with his cheek, “Uhm…I know this won’t fix anything. But…I really am sorry I took your life from you.”

You huffed, staring teary eyed out the window. Taking in the vast, effervescent world you’d never be a part of - through the border that brought your demise.

“But I’m really stoked you’re here….’cuz it’s not as lonely with you around.” He admitted.

“I could always tell you to fuck off.” You choked, venomous in your revulsion.

“Yeah. You could. But you won’t.” He grabbed your arms with gentle hands, wheeling you around to face him. He took your tiny fingers in his palms. You refused to meet his eyes, “If you made me disappear, you wouldn’t have anybody.”

You decided to hit him where it hurt, strangling through tears, “I could always talk to Violet. She has such a good heart. Not like the rest of you. You’re all just…awful. So horrible and cruel!”

Tate clenched his jaw, dropping his forehead into yours.

“You’re right. She’s not.” He woefully mumbled, “How come I still miss her, huh? Been missin’ what we had for, like…forever. Now I’m pushin’ you away too. And you’re all I have left.”

“Maybe stop killing people, Tate?” You snuffed, tears catching your eyelashes. He wiped them away all the same, “Who knew death could be so miserable. I…I finally found out the one thing I’ve wanted to know after all these years. I thought a little closure might help me, but…” You cried, “I feel even more messed up.”

“Why? Do you love me?” He pressed with so little confidence, you felt he only said it to convince himself.

“I…” You hesitated, brows furrowed, “I cared about you. Even though you’re a lunatic. I wanted to give you a chance. But now…now I just want to shove you out this window like you did to me. I want to scream at you, Tate! I want to make you suffer! I want to-”

He shifted closer. Within this vicinity, his maturation became all the more clear. Your weeping hues glazed over the creases under his eyes. The blond bangs of his hair had thinned by a smidgen, losing its youthful shagginess. He was all fine lines and outward exhaustion. Had you met him like this in life, you’d think him a mere decade away from a mid-life crisis.

“Go ahead. If it helps. I don’t mind.” He reached down again, grabbing your hands and guiding them up to his chest, “Just let all that rage go…you can take it out on me.”

This was just another tactic of his. An attempt to appease you, in desperate hopes you’d forgive him. Still, you didn’t think twice. Whatever wrathful anguish you kept buried inside finally erupted. The soul crushing weight of loss tumbled down over you, sending you into a frenzy. You thrashed your arms, throwing your fists in shallow, but sharp strikes. Battering against Tate’s chest, you landed every blow - inspired by betrayal. He remained still, watching you with a hollow look.

Hits turned to scratches as your grief took hold of you. You clawed into Tate’s sweater, wailing, powerless to the pain of his disloyalty. Taken aback by your overwhelming emotions, you wondered how the afterlife could bring so much suffering. Tate wrapped his arms around you again, and you buried your nose in his sweater. Your sorrowful tears stained the stitching.

“I hate you. So much. So fucking much.” You whimpered.

“You said you cared about me.”

“I hate that I care about you.” You cried, sobbing into his sweater, “I-I want to hate you. I need to hate you. But you’re right. You’re fucking vile, and you’re right. If you were gone, I wouldn’t have anybody else.”

Shifting again, he tilted your head up with a cold hand under your chin. Tate stared down at you, weary with lonesome desolation. The endless monotony of purgatory brought forth nothing but turmoil. And that turmoil linked you both in all-consuming angst. When he dove in to kiss your lips, you allowed it. If only to feel something far less painful.

Tate hadn’t kissed anyone in over a decade. But he flowed naturally with you, wary of applying too much pressure. The last of your tears fell, and again, he wiped them away. Separation came slow, as he parted from your lips. He blinked, leering like he couldn’t believe you reciprocated. Another beat, and he dove in all over again.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

Kissing in your ghostly state felt bleak as the dull air of winter. In the throes of lonesome yearning, death nuzzled death so intimately. You opened yourself up for him, moving back until you hit the windowsill. In your negligence, you sat on it. A calm, easy breeze enveloped your back, tickling your neck. His desirous kisses swallowed you in, his hands claiming your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He mumbled, his words weaving through every kiss.

Fate had yet to deliver you closeness of this kind. You couldn’t fathom how intimate connectedness might work in death. As Tate’s cold lips fell to your neck, the atmosphere between the two of you shifted. Something akin to the radiance of life saturated the air. Like the summer’s glow shining from outside. A few seconds more, and coldness turned to heat. Sensual heat.

“What does it feel like?” You asked, breathless without the need for air. You tipped your head back. Tate took this as an invitation to ravish more of you, “To make love after dying?”

The glossy warmth of his tongue painted gradual lines across your neck. He caressed you with a thumb, gliding the digit over your cheek. Under the newfound heat of his palm, you felt burning intensity. No one else brought you physical touch like this. Not since a time before you perished, so long ago.

All because of him.

“Feels kinda the same?” Tate muttered in a hushed voice. Capturing your lips again, he kissed you with cautious tenderness, “It’s a lot like being alive…from what I remember. Some of us get addicted to it. Like a drug. They suffer without it. Drives ‘em crazy.”

His forehead fell to yours once more, and Tate’s eyes fluttered shut. He continued stroking your cheek, cradling your face. As if you’d disappear once he let go. You noticed the way his chest heaved. Slowly, like his lungs were still infused with the essence of life. But when he moved in for another kiss, you felt no breath on your lips.

“Does it drive you crazy?” You whispered between kisses, “Do you suffer without it?”

“Not really.” He said, dragging his thumb over your lip, “Missed this, though. I miss it all the time.”

“What? Kissing?”

Tate nodded, blond brows creasing as his smile faded. For a beat or two more, he fell silent. Staring down into your eyes with all the liveliness of a barren void. You gazed into a cave-like abyss, lost with no light to guide you. Beckoned by the promise of something unseen.

“This feels…different…with you.” He whispered.

“Different how?” You shivered as his soft touches moved elsewhere, "Are you feeling guilty? Does it hurt? I hope it fucking hurts."

Dragging the tips of his fingers up and down your arms, he drew invisible lines with his nails. So careful. Like you’d shatter if he treated you too roughly. His palms settled over your hips, and again, he kissed you. Tate just couldn’t seem to stop doing so, even as you spoke to him with poison on your tongue.

“No. It’s warmer.” He squeezed your hips a little tighter, “Why…why’s it so warm with you?”

The initial kisses between you both were so frigid and lifeless. But now, somehow, so heated and real. You locked your legs around his hips, crossing your ankles. Inviting him forward, you loomed in the sill of the window. Your body tilted. In the arms of the summer’s air, you almost fell backwards. You had every reason to believe Tate would let you plummet.

But he didn’t. Not this time.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he kept you from slipping. Under your dress, his free hand sought the heat between your legs. His palm cradled warmth over thin cloth. Discreetly, he pressed the pads of his fingers to your sex over your panties. And the contact amplified a scorching fire within you. A vigor exceeding the bitterness of death.

You wondered if Tate had less experience than he claimed in therapy. It took him a few tries before he found your clit. His sizable fingers circled your little nub in easy motions. Drawing long, needy noises out of you. Silence lingered between you both in calm, but tense quiet. Until the rasp of his voice caught your attention.

“Do you feel this? Do you feel, like…anything?”

You whimpered in response - timid like a churchmouse - as wetness stained Tate’s fingers through fabric. Cotton once so pure and untouched became damp. He chuckled, the sinister rumble in his throat making your blood run cold. Until the warmth of desire lured you in before you could second guess yourself. Savoring the hot friction on your pussy, you allowed sin to taint your clarity.

"For you? No. Never. You're sick. You're twisted. You're-" You cut yourself off with another whimper, once Tate caressed you with more pressure.

“Oh, shit…” He hastily tugged your panties down your thighs. Cupping your bare cunt, he pressed firmly into your clit. Thick digits teased the blazing heat of your folds, “You do, don’t you?”

Tate’s fingers dipped into your slick valley, his digits predominantly larger than your own. You rolled your hips just a smidgen, careful not to lose your balance - lest you fall out the window. Again. Though, maybe a rough tumble onto the lawn would knock some sense back into your muddled head. His other arm stayed iron locked around your body, keeping you safe. He eased inside you with all the hesitance of a man out of practice.

"F-Fuck! Fuck this. Fuck you." You mumbled, hushed under airy moans.

Following the squeeze of pleasure in your core, came something you lost in the afterlife. You almost felt the pumping of your dead heart again. A ghostly sensation of life blossomed under your ribs. Warmth flowed through your veins in syrupy bliss. Cozy wind billowed from outside, tickling your skin. If you closed your eyes for long enough, basking in the ecstasy of true feeling - you might’ve believed you were somehow revived.

Flitting your lashes, your eyes gradually opened. The sunny glow of afternoon light painted Tate’s aged features, showering him in golden rays. An image far too heavenly for a cold-blooded monster birthed from sin. You looked lazily into his hues. A whirlpool of guilt intermingling with lifeless cruelty; all within his dusky eyes.

“Feels like…” He mumbled, clumsily nuzzling your clit with the pad of his thumb. Biting his lip, Tate stifled a groan. He buried his fingers to the knuckle in your cunt, “...like I can feel your blood pumping.” Adding a third digit, he stretched you open. Your walls made effortless room just for him. You whined, making him smirk, “Fuck, this is hot. You love it, huh?”

"No. No. No, I'd never! Not with you. I'm just-" You swallowed, feeling your cheeks burn, "It really does feel like-"

Post-mortem coldness became lost on you now. Left behind, alongside your broken hearted resentment. Instead, you were overcome with the lively spirit of beingness. The afterlife had been so unkind to you. For a decade now. It abandoned you to stew in the longevity of solitude. With no one but Tate to provide you true company. Bringing your hands up to his cheeks, you pulled him in for a kiss. Your fingers threaded through his blond locks. Winding your tongue sloppily with his, you whined.

"Make me cum." You asserted, your legs sealing tighter around him, "Make me cum, and I might forgive you."

A flash of vulnerable sweetness overtook Tate's face, his puppydog eyes lighting up. An almighty flood of euphoria built up to a radiant crescendo, as his digits fucked you into oblivion. You clamped around his fingers, squirming with such intensity - he almost lost his hold on you. Tranquility found you at the peak of your climax. A divine miracle. As you cried little pleas into Tate’s lips, you felt as though you grew angel’s wings. As if some ethereal being descended from the heavens themselves, stole you away, and led you to the golden gates.

As you shuddered, your paradisal tremors eventually subsided. Blissful nirvana faded, and the hollow nothingness of death’s touch came again. Outside, the world continued on in slow-moving seconds. And in the distant horizon, the sun began its steady fall into night. Tate’s nose brushed yours. Looming in so close, he withdrew his drenched digits from your pussy. Leaving even more forsaken emptiness behind.

“I could…do that kinda thing for you every day…if you wanted me to.” He whispered, peppering your forehead in kisses, “It feels really good, doesn’t it? Just…please don’t make me go away? Please…”

#tate langdon x reader #tate langdon x y/n #tate langdon x you #tate langdon #american horror story #ahs

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kiyoobi · 2 months

Text

we all are small particles holding very tightly together in a very large universe • pt 1

Soulmates are given to every child when they turn five through their dreams. You were never assigned one. Growing up and coming to terms with never having a soulmate, you find another Tamaki with a similar fate and become happily engaged. What happens when you start to dream of an old classmate though, his ruby eyes and caramel scent haunting you in and out of your dreams?

ao3 link

minors dni

-(-)-

It’s him.

Your eyes meet his and you remember it all.The folds of his school uniform from years ago. His blonde hair in the wind as he blasts his way through the air, racing to be the first pro-hero on site. He stands there, watching you go through the motions. Watching you unsure of yourself, palm over your heart as it aches for him. You step forward, not sure if you’re making the choice to walk towards him or if your heart is still the one in control.

He watches with a careful expression, as if he’s known for years that he’s been the one. He watches as if he’s been waiting. Waiting for your eyes, once clouded, to look into his vermilion ones and see for yourself who he is.

Katsuki, your voice is barely above a whisper and there’s tears starting to sprout from your eyes.

His eyebrows furrow, as if he can’t tell if you’re relieved or questioning the weight of his name on your tongue.

You hold out your hand, outstretched fingers aching to brush his skin.

You okay? The palms of his hands are warm as they hold yours, and for the first time in forever,

you tell the truth.

-(-)-

The room is still dark despite the streaks of light filtering through the blinds. Your mind is foggy, the remnants of your dream withering away with each second. You blink back tears, unsure of what it was you were dreaming about now that you’ve started to wake up. Still half asleep, you mistake the man in your arms for blankets and pillows until he starts to stir awake. For a brief second, a scary moment, you forget who he is and why he’s in your bed.

“Tamaki,” you whisper. You didn’t mean to say this out loud yet he groans in reply, mistaking your answer to your own question for a greeting. “G’morning.”

“Mm,” he hums. Your arms squeeze tight around his shoulders and now that your eyes have adjusted to the dark, you can finally make out his indigo bedhead against your pillows. “Mornin’.”

You smile, ignoring the strange sadness settling inside your belly. “When did you get in? You were still working when I went to bed last night.”

Tamaki doesn’t answer for a moment and you think he’s fallen asleep until he turns onto his back. People mistake him for being thin, wiry. Yet you can feel the ropes of muscle in his arms as he pulls you in close by your waist, you can feel his broad chest and his stocky build against your soft curves. His quirk revolves around food and he’s a damn good pro-hero, a prospective top 10 hero this year, of course he ain’t skinny.

“Three,” he replies. “Stay in bed.”

“The Clash is in full swing, Tama.” You joke but you curl into his warmth nonetheless, allowing yourself the few minutes of peace before you go into work. ‘The Clash’, meaning your conflicting schedules, happens at least three times a year. A few weeks of one of you having graveyard shifts while the other keeps to the normal day-time shifts for a pro-hero. He sleepily groans again, yet Tamaki loosens his arms around you.

“When’s your shift done?” His words slur, and it takes you a moment to comprehend his question before you answer.

“I’ll be going in by then,” Tamaki sighs.

You kiss his jaw, soft and clean shaven. He still shaved after his graveyard shift last night, knowing that you prefer the feeling of his skin smooth over the prickle of a five o’clock shadow, AM or otherwise.

“Should’ve gone to my agency instead of staying with Fatgum,” you tease. Tamaki never would’ve changed agencies, and he reaffirms that with a displeased hum. A soft giggle slips out from your lips and you roll your eyes.

Your agencies aren’t that far apart, yet it’s clear that Fatgum’s is far superior than the one you’ve started at a few weeks ago. Your manager nearly quit on you when you transferred, ignoring her pleas to move somewhere that’ll help you climb the ranks instead of plateau. You waved off the questions people threw, ignoring their confusion as to why you’d ever leave such a high ranking agency for a… mediocre one. He doesn’t put up much of a fight when you start to peel away from him, stuffing his face into your pillows as you fumble around the room. The apartment is quiet when you slip on your running shoes, you sling your work bag over your shoulders before you give one last quiet goodbye to your fiancé.

-(-)-

There’s a nagging feeling that you’ve forgotten something. All day you couldn’t shake it. All day your fingers drummed against every desk and flat surface, you bounced your legs on the balls of your feet until your coworkers threw heated glares in your direction. You ignore them now, you ignore their exasperated sighs as you continue to bounce your leg while you type away your paperwork. You chew the inside of your cheek, resting your chin in your hand as you scroll through the file one last time before submitting it for review. These arrests won’t help your rank, it won’t make you popular, they won’t even make it to the front page of the Esuha Daily News let alone the fourteenth page. But it’s a good day.

You’ve made good arrests today, all without casualty. You even meal planned your fucking lunch. So why the hell are you on edge?

Of course your arrests didn’t have casualties though, they didn’t even have injuries. You barely used your quirk today.

Did you even use your quirk today?

The highest activity your watch took track of was when you took a light jog back to your agency building after capturing a runaway purse snatcher. In fact, that was the first and only time you had to use your quirk. He thought running sporadically would throw you off your balance, and maybe it would’ve for a low ranking hero. In a split second you activated your quirk and he teleported right into your arms instead of turning the corner like he had planned. You’ve been working on this trick for months, teleporting objects or people in your place but catching them halfway. Meeting them in the middle. In seconds he was in handcuffs and you left it to the police to get him into custody. You jogged back to work for lunch.

The inside of your cheek starts to bleed as anxiety gnaws inside you. Whatever it was that you had forgotten, is probably gone forever. Irritated at the realization, you sigh and decide to burn off this extra energy with a walk around the building. Tamaki is probably getting dressed by now, stuffing his hero costume into his work bag right from the dryer. He’s got a terrible habit of not folding his clothes, you both do. It’s why you invested in a wrinkle releaser spray, and you hope he’s remembered it for tonight’s shift. Civilians recognize you still, you can’t help a sense of pride and relief when their eyes brighten at the sight of you. A child stops you from your anxiety-ridden walk for a quick autograph, begging you to show them your teleportation quirk before their parent bashfully drags them away.

Your hands twitch, begging to be useful and aching to be used again. You turn the opposite away and head back to the agency.

-(-)-

I cooked u dinner!, you text Tamaki, don’t forget it. it’ll help ur shift tonight :P

Your head bowed low as you stroll down the block, your shift just ending according to the time in your phone. It’s why you don’t see him, it’s why you feel the split second heat of his body prickles against you before you activate your quirk to avoid further disaster. He stumbles in your previous spot, his cheeks pale from nausea as he leans forward (usual symptoms of being teleported without warning).

“Watch where you’re fucking going,” he spits out before straightening up. An eerie sense of dejavú washes over you as you stare back at Dynamight. His eyes haven’t been painted with eyeliner yet, and he’s carrying a gym bag over his shoulders that’s most likely holding his costume.

“Right- sorry.” You let out a laugh, not sure why you’re feeling flustered. You have work to finish before going home, a few more files to mark as “important” even though they’re technically insignificant. You have a home to go to. But his eyes are still on you. And you can’t look away. You’ve forgotten something today, and it’s nagging at you even more now than ever.

His eyebrows furrow and he watches you carefully as your thoughts race. “Shadow Step,” he greets you curtly.

“Dynamight,” you nod and give him a polite smile. Your eyes cut to the athletic compression band on his left arm, surprised to even see a kind that begins from your shoulder and ends at your fingertips. “Are you going into a shift or coming from one?”

Bakugou looks you up and down for a moment before answering, “Coming from one.” There’s an awkward pause before he clears his throat. “You look like you’ve got a long night ahead of ya.” Yeah because you haven’t fucking done anything all day and you’re bored .

“Shift just ended actually,” you smile and look behind him towards the agency building.

“You okay?” Bakugou’s words snap your attention back to him, that feeling of dejavú even stronger now.

You both stare for a moment; you, deciding on telling the truth, and him patiently waiting for you to answer or just move along.

“Yeah,” you lie. You hurry back inside the building before he can reply. He used to call me Bambi, you distantly remember. You don’t know why your heart is still racing after seeing him again.

-(-)-

For the next week, it keeps happening.

You wake up with either tears in your eyes or the ghosts of one’s still on your cheeks. Yet whatever you dreamt of is long gone, no matter how much you try to cling to the memories. Until one morning it lingers, the feeling of his hair between your fingers and the warmth of his body against yours. The smell of caramel.

The realization settles slowly, until the weight of guilt is heavy against your bones.

“Fuck,” you mutter. Out of fear, you reach behind you only to feel a cold empty bed beside you. That’s right, Tamaki is on a plane to China for a mission. He’s not going to be back for another week. You stuff your face into the soft blankets, hoping that the smell of home will dampen the heavy caramel still filtering in your mind.

You’ve never even had a real conversation with Bakugou since… ever. With the exception of last week when you inexplicably ran into him, you always saw him in passing from your years at UA. Neither of you had spoken much, maybe paired against each other’s classes for training but other than that…

Today is your day off, you give yourself the luxury of staying in bed for just a little bit longer. The warmth in your chest from your dream is finally lifting, leaving you to breathe once again.

It meant nothing. Just a random dream.

But as your day continues, you can’t get rid of the thought of him.

Why weren’t you guys ever friends? Maybe because he was a major asshole who looked down at everyone like they were a piece of shit.

You snort, shaking the very idea out of your head until a memory springs forth.

Cherry blossoms were floating in the air and the weather just started to turn warmer. It was your third year, the excitement of graduating buzzed through all your classmates and it meant that you all had trouble concentrating on courses. You had gotten in trouble for doodling during the fire quirk safety course, and was forced to stay behind to clean the classroom all by yourself before heading back to your dorms.

You bumped into Katsuki right after, both of you stunned that another student was still around the school so late that neither of you said a word just yet.

“God, Bambi, you’d think that with your stupid quirk you wouldn’t bump into anyone,” he rolls his eyes.

“Fuck, I’m sorry-! Bambi?” You instantly retract your apology, glaring as he brushes you off.

“Yeah, Bambi. Baby deer who can barely fucking walk?” His stupid smirk makes you see red, especially when he starts to step away from you. I nstead of his heavy boot meeting the ground, his face does instead when you activate your quirk. The checkered tiles don’t match now since you’ve switched their spots, but you’re cackling too loudly to care. Just as you try to leave, Katsuki’s hand grabs your ankle and trips you. It’s too quick for you to even think to use your quirk, and the smack of the tile stings.

“What the- fuck you!” You turn and snarl, his annoying little sneering frustrates you more.

“Relax, tit for tat.” Bakugou towers over you, the same hand that tripped you is now offered to help you stand. Reluctantly you take it.

You both help pick up the other’s things, his papers that flew with perfect grades and messy drawings on the tests that you finished early on. It’s quiet between you both. To be honest you were feeling awkward, wondering if maybe you are just a lowly piece of shit as you stare at Bakugou’s perfect marks. You glance at him, not wanting him to catch you marveling at how absolutely genius he is, and find him with one of your essays in his hands. His thumb traces over a messy sketch of a face, the angles harsh and the eyes sharp, but the rest was a blur.

“Soulmate?” He grumbles, his red eyes looking up at yours and you feel your insides freeze at being caught.

“Uh, no. I don’t think so. I don’t think I have one,” you mumble and take the essay from him. Morbid curiosity takes over and you ask him the same.

“Yes,” his answer surprises you. Something in your belly flips, not wanting to know why exactly that upsets you.

You didn’t expect him to have one, not with his attitude and ego. It shouldn't be surprising that he has one, it’s rare for someone to be like you: one without a soulmate. Fated to be alone. By the age of five, right around the time a child has gotten their quirk, they start to dream of their soulmate. You’ve heard of soulmates meeting in sleep, talking and laughing and holding each other in dreams. Waking up knowing they’re out there, remembering every detail of them. You didn’t get these dreams. Maybe you saw people, indistinct faces. But everyone did.

“But how do you know they're your soulmate and not just a random person your brain made up? How do you know it’s not just chemicals?”

Your friends shrugged, a dopey smile on their faces as they imagined their future partners, “You just do.”

That wasn’t helpful.

“Oh,” you replied. “Congrats.” You wanted to reach out and fix his tie and a part of you yearned to run your hands through his hair and see if it truly feels as soft as it looks. Instead you stuffed your papers into your bookbag and stood, muttering an apology for tripping him.

Bakugou looks at you and nods, “It’s fine. I was being a dick.” The sun setting outside streamed through the glass wall and washed over his cheeks, his eyes are rubies in the sunlight. “See ya around, Bambi.”

You nodded, turning away before he could first.

Almost immediately, the feeling of warmth in your chest turns to guilt. A chill runs down your spine, prickling your skin with discomfort. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

You’re engaged. He has a soulmate.

None of it matters. You’re happy.

You’re happy. You’re happy. You’re happy. You’re happy.

You mutter this to yourself all day. You tap the words onto your lips with your pen as you fill out endless paperwork. Today you avoid going out on patrol, not wanting to bump into him again. Nearly every time you’ve gone on patrol, you see Katsuki,- Bakugou,- Dynamite . The screams of children as they swarm towards him would catch your attention, and of course the moment you glance towards the commotion you meet his gaze. Time stands still for just a millisecond, and the vague feeling you woke up with that moment would come back like dejavu. Or you’re getting lunch, rushing towards the food stand with the older auntie who loves to squeeze your cheeks and demand you eat more, when the smell of sugar lingers for a moment before disappearing. You hate how your heart races at the smell of sugar burning, you hate that you think of his soft blond hair and his eyes, only to see the treats being sold to the families passing through. All of your shifts are so sleepy, so goddamn boring, that you never noticed the stands selling sweets like American brittle or caramel dipped apples until now.

Caramel follows you everywhere now. Or maybe it’s always been there and you just haven’t noticed. So you decide to stay inside the office, at least until Tamaki gets back from his mission and you can feel like yourself again.

I’m happy. I’m happy. I’m happy.

You stare at the photo of Tamaki and you on your desk, doing everything you can to ignore the ghost smell of caramel determined to linger around you.

-(-)-

You train harder at night. You do everything to avoid sleeping and if you do pass out, you hope to not dream. You can’t take it, seeing him instead of Tamaki. As you go through the motions of hitting the punching bag, ignoring the way your body screams for you to take a break, you nearly miss Tamaki’s call.

“I haven’t heard from you,” his voice makes your chest tighten with guilt. “How was your day?”

The same. It’s always the same. You walk and catch the occasional kid who tries to steal a phone. You sit in your office and do the mind numbing paperwork that follows. Rinse. Repeat.

It’s always the same. You hardly use your quirk, you hardly use the special moves you worked so hard on back in your high school days.

You go home to an empty apartment and an empty bed, left wondering why the hell you aren’t doing more. You go home and eat a dinner you always make for yourself and wish for once that someone else can just do it for you. You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, still brimming with energy and pent up rage, wondering why you are here. Longing for a home that doesn’t exist.

“It was fine,” you chug water in between breaths, the muscles in your arms quivering as you finally take a break.

“That’s nice,” his voice is sweet. You hate how annoyed you’re starting to feel about how compliant he is. There’s a long silence and you wonder when you both got so comfortable.

When did you get so comfortable? When did you stop trying? Why did you decide to settle for less?

That thought stops you cold. Settle for less? Did you mean your career or… Tamaki wasn’t less. He’s a good man, a brave hero, a loving partner. He took care of you. He takes care of you.

He’s never pushed you.

You both never fought, you were both so compliant.

But he loves you.

“I love you,” you say.

Tamaki keens out a shy noise, still not used to your affection even after all your years together and you smile. “I love you too.”

“I want to leave my agency,” you blurt out. “I hate it. It’s so boring.” Everything spills, the way you feel so useless each day, your dreams of being the best being swept away by his shadow, you tell Tamaki everything. Leaving out the smell of caramel that haunts you each morning.

Tamaki is quiet for a moment before responding, “We have a position.”

“You do?” You sit on the gym mat, wondering why you ever doubted your faithful fiancé, your ecstatic laughter rings through the training center.

“Yes,” Tamaki joins in on your laughter. “You’d have to start as a sidekick, really just think of it as the transition period before we get you to debut as a pro hero. But-,”

You can hear your blood rushing through your ear drums, flooding out whatever else Tamaki is saying. Start over? Can you do that, start from the beginning and rise up?

“We can even work together, it’d be- God, that’d be fantastic. I can see you more-,” Tamaki is getting excited, but all you can think of is how once again, you’ll just be overshadowed by the Suneater himself. You wonder if he can hear how hollow your voice sounds, when you tell him how great that’ll be.

A few days after the phone call at the training center, Tamaki tells you that his mission was extended and he won’t be home until the end of the month. You can’t sleep hours later after you told him goodnight, and decide to go on a run. The sound of your feet hitting the pavement helps drown out your thoughts. Lately you’ve been so preoccupied with transferring agencies as soon as Tamaki gets home, that you’ve almost forgotten your soulmate dilemma.

Almost.

You run faster to avoid thinking about it, about him. You’re totally not thinking about him, and you’re doing an excellent job not thinking about him that you run into the asshole.

“Fuck,” you barely feel the scrape on your knee before activating your quirk to save yourself. “Sorry, I-”

“You’d think that with your quirk, you wouldn’t bump into anyone, Bambi.” This time, it’s amusement and not annoyance that he says this sentence to you for a second time in your life. Kat- Dynamite holds out his hand, looking down at you with a faint smirk as you graciously take it. You activate it again, switching places so that you’re looking down at him instead.

“You’d think that with your attitude you’d be at the bottom of the popularity poll.” There’s no malice in your tone, and instead you find yourselves smiling at the other. You help him up easily before cleaning off yourself.

“You’re stronger than you look,” Bakugou compliments. Many thought that, and even had said that to you, and while most times it irks you, this time you feel pride.

“I’ve been training.” You stand taller.

“I’ve noticed.” It’s dark, but you swear the tips of his ears start to go red.

“Yeah?” You smile, and if anyone would’ve called it out, they might call it flirty. “Didn’t realize you’ve been watching.”

“Shaddup,” He laughs and crosses his arms, one still clad in the compression sleeve, the ropes of muscle more prominent in his chest and biceps. “Everyone has been noticing.”

“Really,” you cross your arms and grin. “Everyone?”

“Ever since Elf Ears fucked off on his mission, everyone has noticed you been trolling for night shifts.” He’s right of course, not that you’d freely admit to him. Your restless energy has boiled over and you’ve been picking up more shifts. Shamefully you’ve felt free.

“Not tonight, though.” Tap your shoes against the sidewalk, ready to run. Whatever confidence you had in front of him is fading quickly, and your head is dizzy with the scent of caramel and musk wafting from him.

“No.” Bakugou agrees, watching you carefully. “Not tonight.”

Electricity pulses through the space between you both, and you decide it’s time to end this interaction.

“You okay?” He asks again. The familiar pangs of distress and love floods into your chest and guilt starts to sting you at your core.

Yes. “No.”

“My shift just ended,” Bakugou says nonchalantly, shrugging. “Want to get a drink?”

No . “Yes.”

-(-)-

Drinks didn’t mean what you thought. You and Bakugou walked down the lamp lit streets in silence. A third person could walk between you both, you thought to yourself. You made sure to not pay any attention to his frame, you tried your best to not compare him to your fiancé. All day you haven’t heard from Tamaki, not that you expected him to contact you during a mission. But as you and Katsuki walk to get drinks, you realize it’s the first time in months that you haven’t been riddled with anxiety over your partner.

“This isn’t a bar,” you step through the tea shop and give Katsuki a passing look.

“Never said it was, Bambi.” Your heart flutters at the nickname, yet you don’t give any of it away as you look around the tea shop. His eyes watch you taking it in, the decor that’s been outdated for about thirty years already and the countless porcelain tea cups being reflected by the hanging lights. “Pick a cup, then pick a tea.” Katsuki grabs a ceramic yunomi painted with the colors of a sunset. You bite back a smile, remembering how much he favored the color orange back in school. Not much has changed.

“Hōchija, please.” He sets his cup down and gives a polite nod to the younger boy behind the wooden counter.

Your eyes scan across the once white now faded yellow menu, “May I get the sencha please?”

It’s quiet aside from the music playing the top 100 over the speakers, and then both of you take a seat at the bar. The younger barista hums while measuring out the dried tea leaves, the two of you doing your best to ignore the warmth from your shoulders touching lightly. A few minutes pass and your yunomi is handed back filled with hot tea, it’s heat spreads across the palm of your hand and you ignore the way it stings. It’s delicious.

“This is amazing,” you give a smile to your barista and he bows his head with a shy smile. “How did you hear about this place?”

Bakugou sets his tea back down and you catch the smell of charcoal, vaguely you wonder if it’s the remnants of his shift and you inch closer. “My pops would take me here,” Katsuki’s voice is low and you lean in to catch his words. “It’s the only damned place that we went to that didn’t involve someone screaming at each other. He told me once, ‘Katsuki-chan every cup you drink is one drink closer, I hope, to calming the fuck down.’” Your snort is sudden and loud, and while you struggle to keep your laughter down, you miss the way Katsuki smiles at you before taking another sip of his tea.

“Did it work?” You smile at him, not wanting to think about your chest warming and deciding it’s from the tea.

“I think so.” He answers truthfully, this time he glares when you laugh. “What?” Bakugou sets his tea cup down almost too roughly on the wooden counter, and you notice the same compression band on his left arm still.

Shaking your head and holding your hands up to your defense, you giggle. “The amount of articles I’ve read of the ‘Great Dynamite Hero’-,” your fingers mine the air quotes, “-having his blowouts. It’s hilarious.”

“Didn’t realize you were keeping track of me.” Your eyes look up and find that his are already tracing your features, the curve of your jaw and the tip of your nose. How long have you been this close to him? Close enough to see that he hasn’t slept in a while and close enough to briefly wonder if his lips would taste like burned sugar too.

“I haven’t been. You’re usually on the front page,” your voice wobbles and you shift farther from him. “Tamaki and I like to read the paper together.” At the sound of your fiancé’s name, Bakugou gives a slight nod and shifts back too. Your fingers ghost over your ring. You catch him looking at the silver band briefly. Subconsciously you wish you haven’t said anything at all, and you swipe your thumb over your ring.

The conversation dies, and when Bakugou pays, you go home to try and sleep.

-(-)-

“What happened to your soulmate?” You ask Tamaki, who has gotten back from his trip now, over breakfast. You watch his face wince, the pain of her loss still stinging even after decades. Shame takes its place quickly over the jealousy you feel for him, to have someone you love so much that every piece of you belongs to them and them you.

“She… died. In a car accident.” Tamaki picks at his pancakes, doused in maple syrup. “When we were five.”

Shame burns hotter for you now. “That young?” Tamaki nods, taking a bite of the breakfast he made for you both. “You must’ve barely met her by that point.”

He smiles sadly, “She used to be in my class with Mirio and I. At first, I thought I was just having dreams about school. I used to beg my parents to not send me to bed, I would get hives just thinking about school being in my dreams again.”

“How did you know she was your soulmate?” You think back to all the times in your life that you’ve asked this question. To your partners over the years who didn’t have their soulmates anymore or tried to cheat the system. The friends you had who swore to be single but fate gave them an emptiness to be filled by their love.

And now him. When you and Tamaki started dating, you had the talk with him. The talk you had with everyone. You don’t have a soulmate. You won’t be fatefully theirs, they won’t be yours. If you have an assigned soulmate, please don’t waste my time. The way he looked when you said this, the immensable sadness that washed over his features before giving you a small smile. His words were simple, enough to end the topic and enough to scare you from asking more. Well, good thing I don’t have a soulmate anymore.

“We talked for hours in our dreams,” he sighs at the memory. “I learned things about her that I couldn’t have known if I didn't actually talk to her, so it was pretty much solid. Mirio didn’t meet his soulmate in real life until after high school, they both decided to wait and then exchange numbers. He couldn’t stop jumping and cheering when he heard their voice on the receiver,” Tamaki laughs and looks back at you with a melancholy smile. “You also just know. It’s like suddenly, your body just isn’t yours. It feels like you’re being pulled to them and as much as you want to escape, you can’t run. You don’t want to.”

“What was her name?”

He pauses. “Shinju.” There’s a softness in his voice you haven’t heard before, and you wonder what Tamaki’s life would’ve been like if his soulmate hadn’t died. Maybe they’d even be heroes together, fighting villains side by side with an unspeakable bond that no one could penetrate. He wouldn’t have a partner who would settle for less out of fear of being let go for someone else. He wouldn’t have someone who is a shell of who they are, destined to-

Destined for what?

You don’t know what destiny has for you anymore. Before you were destined to be alone. But now Katuski appears in your dreams, sitting under fruit trees that you always wanted to have in your backyard, never facing you. Or he's by the ocean with waves softly crashing in front of him, warm sand underneath you both.

Before, you accepted that you would be alone. You refused for anyone to tell you that you must feel empty inside, for how else can anyone live without a beloved fucking soulmate? You told them to go fuck themselves, you proved them wrong by becoming a pro-hero despite having no natural goddamn cheerleader and you did it with a beaming ass smile and the ego that weighed more than what All Might could bench.

You were fine. You were happy.

Until you made yourself small.

You aren’t empty inside. You’ve made yourself small.

Tamaki was dreamy, he was shy and dreamy and sweet and romantic in all of his awkward ways. You allowed your light to be diminished under his shadow.

Because eventually, all those people pitying you for being so alone, got to you. You’re human after all, isn’t it normal to feel melancholy when you see a couple laughing and holding hands? Isn’t it normal to wish to have someone love all of you, imperfections included? Isn’t it normal to want to have somebody be there for you? Isn’t it normal to not want to go to bed and wonder what it is like to have someone hold you? You weren’t as tough as you thought. You felt like you let down those people you met in forums for those without soulmates, the civilians and heroes who never was bestowed a soulmate who said “Fuck them, I’m my own person” and never even wanted to date. They were complete because they had family, friends, a career, sexy one night stands. They could rely on themselves and no one else.

You don’t know where you fall anymore.

-(-)-

#death’s scrolls #mybigbangacademia #mha x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #katsuki x reader #bnha fanfic #soulmate au #uhhhh what else lmao #i’m so bad at tagging #tamaki x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki amajiki #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x you

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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 years

Text

König Headcanons

Warnings: Implications/mentions of smut, mention of pegging, König is a sub/bottom, FLUFF, implications/mentions of masturbation, no pronouns used for reader except for 'you'.

This man is W H I P P E D for you.

Regardless of whether he met you in a civilian setting or on the battlefield, you have captured his interest immediately.

And every time König sees you, hears you, his mental image of you grows, his daydreams become more vivid.

Over the course of a month, König’s light daydreams, wonderments of the type of person you were, what you’d be like as friends, became more frequent.

And, as a romantic at heart, the daydreams became gradually…well, romantic.

König didn’t mean to! The slip into an alternate universe wherein you and him lived happily together, holding hands, sharing secrets, laying close together felt natural and easy.

He was ashamed of himself, to say the least.

He felt awful that he’d even dared think of such quite frankly wholesome scenarios about the two of you without you ever having even met him.

Though, König had to admit that the more loving his daydreams because, the more he felt satiated.

After all, the life of a soldier in his position was a lonely one, especially considering he could tell practically no-one about it.

As the weeks trundled on, König tried putting you out of his mind. Tried focusing on hobbies instead.

He’s a big fan of crochet.

It calms him down.

Though, he struggles sometimes due to his anxiety making his hands shake.

He's also a big fan of literature, particularly 19th century romantic.

His favourite book is definitely Pride and Prejudice.

But alas, even his hobbies fell just short of fulfilling him.

And, luckily, he didn’t have to suffer for much longer.

Your meeting was purely accidental.

König had dropped his almost withered, well-loved copy of Pride and Prejudice and you, appearing out of nowhere, picked it up for him.

“Here, sweetie,” you said, passing it to him.

König’s heart dropped into his stomach.

His face blew up into flames yet his body felt as if it were encased in ice, frozen and stiff.

He could scarcely hold his book in his hands, shaking.

“Th-th-“

Speak, you fool!

You smiled up at him, your tone as sweet as your face.

“Hey, are you okay?” You tilted your head, body contorted in an air of concern König had never experienced first-hand before.

He’d seen it in romance movies and novels, but never this close and never in real life.

Don’t get ahead of yourself; say something, god damn you!

“Th-ank you!”

Nailed it!

You kept smiling. König’s heart skipped a beat.

And thus König’s liking-from-afar grew into a night full-blown obsession.

You had quite a lot in common!

Your love of books, appreciation of art - things of that nature.

After your initial encounter and your bonding over the book he dropped, you gave him your number.

Given that you didn’t have König’s number, he had to make the first move and call you.

He sat by his phone, shaking, poised over the ‘Call’ button with your number typed in.

After much deliberation and thorough consideration of every conceivable way he could get rejected by you, he clicked ‘Call’.

The phone rang.

Once. Twice. Thrice-

“Hello?”

König’s heart skipped at the sound of your voice.

“H-hey,” he said, voice thin and wavering. Watery.

You chuckled on your end of the line. “Hey, sweetie. Thought you weren’t going to call me for a hot minute!”

Never, König wanted to say. Oh, all the things he wanted to say.

His daydreams could not compare to the anxious joy he was experiencing in this moment.

And every moment together you shared after.

The two of you began to hang around together, more and more frequently as the months progressed.

And all the while, König could feel his heart swell with nothing short of euphoria whenever you were near.

He watched you more than he read his book whenever you got together for library visits.

He studied you as a writer would literature, committing your every quirk and preference to memory.

On days when you weren’t together, König would spend every spare waking moment thinking of you, fantasising about you.

His daydreams grew more and more vivid, almost seeming to bleed into his real life.

And König absolutely believed he was hallucinating one day when you asked him out on a date.

He couldn’t say no. Every fibre of his being urged him, screamed “Yes!”

König had never been more anxious in his life.

He was terrified he’d mess the date up, arrive in the wrong attire, say the wrong thing (or nothing at all).

But when he arrived and saw you, saw how wonderful you were with him, holding his hands in yours as you recounted stories, how you looked him in the eyes whenever he spoke, his anxiety just seemed to melt away.

Though you may not have known it yet, König loved you.

He’d fallen for you long before, yet he never expected you to feel for him even a fraction of that which he felt for you.

Your relationship began not long after.

He worships you.

Can’t stand to be without you.

And when he returns from his post and you’re together.

Oh boy.

He’s nervous to ask at first at if you’d like to do the deed.

Would try and transition into it.

Do the classic yawning-arm-around-the-shoulder trick.

You clocked what he was doing, and, wanting to spare him the torture, cut straight to the chase.

“König, are you too shy to say you want to sleep with me, or are you just a terrible, unintentional flirt?”

König froze. His kind went blank.

Long story short, you ended up sleeping together.

And König had never known anything like it.

Man has absolutely zero rizz, zero experience.

He was quite insecure about that, but you made it difficult for him to think about anything else when you got started.

König loves being topped, btw.

Likes feeling vulnerable when you peg him.

Definitely cries because you make him feel so good.

Your pleasure is his top priority, though.

He's absolutely massive so it's not difficult for him to fill you.

You can see the outline of his cock when he's inside you.

And if you poke him or clench while he's buried, oh my god-

This man's a moaner. No arguments.

König could hardly see by the end of the experience, convinced he could see smells and taste colours.

And there you were, beside him, panting, smiling.

And it only confirmed what König already knew.

He wanted to be nowhere else but with you.

After that, he’s basically horny 24/7, brought in solely by the thought of you.

Nothing else can get him off (not that he’s tried; he’s too loyal for that; more on this later ;-) ).

You share and partake in hobbies together.

König teaches you how to crochet. Or, if you already know how to, he’ll just crochet beside you.

Makes you things 🥺.

You try and help him with his brain freezes whenever in a social situation by getting him to read his favourite literature to you out loud whenever you're at his apartment.

You make it bearable to just be in public, reassuring him or speaking on his behalf when he’s overwhelmed.

He loves holding hands.

Lives for your soft touches.

Forehead kisses send him absolutely silly.

He goes feral whenever you rake your fingers through his hair.

Will start muttering in German, probably moans too tbh.

Loves laying his head in your lap/on your chest.

Is fully aware of how large he is, though. So he tries to hold back some of his weight so he doesn’t crush you.

You tell him to relax, that he doesn’t need to withhold anything from you.

And that’s why he loves you,

You love him for him for who he is.

You’ve never teased him for his height, or his stutter when he’s nervous, or his social anxiety.

He tells you how much he loves you daily.

“I can’t live without you, maus,” he’d say while you played with his hair.

“And I you,” you’d say, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Power couple.

König uses his sheer mass to protect you from people who even look as if they want to hurt you.

He may be socially anxious, but he has absolutely no qualms about killing someone for you.

Considering that death is part of his job description, he’s accustomed to it. Kind of enjoys it, to be honest.

It would take a while for him to come clean about his occupation, afraid he’d scare you off.

He loves and trusts you, but he doesn't want to lose you.

He ended up admitting his occupation to you after he’d been called back into action.

Knowing he couldn’t just up and leave without telling you where he was going, he confessed.

You didn’t even blink an eye.

“Alright, cool. Now, do you want pie or curry for dinner?”

Whenever he’s away, he’s always thinking about you.

Calls you whenever he gets the chance.

Thinks of you in...compromising ways when you’re apart for long periods of time.

The first time he did so, he ended up admitting it because he felt so guilty.

You just laughed on your end of the call, a delightful habit of yours.

“Don’t worry,” you reassured. “I do the same.”

He spent a lot more time in his room after that.

The thought of you keeps him going, gives him a reason to live rather than survive.

Whenever he's in a tight situation, he imagines you there with him, telling him everything will be fine.

Btw, please validate him.

Call him a good boy, tell him you're the love if his life - anything.

Makes him feel like his efforts are being rewarded.

König can’t imagine his life without you.

He loves you, you love him.

And he’ll do anything to keep you.

Please reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself out tremendously :-)

Masterlist

Masterpost

#konig x reader #konig mw2 #cod mw2 #konig headcanons #konig call of duty #mw2 #mw2 fanfic #mw2 x reader

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separatist-apologist · 15 days

Text

Never Not Mine

Summary: Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate.

That doesn't mean she has to like it…or that she has to make it easy for him.

Chapter 1 | Read on AO3

Feyre and Nesta come to Autumn the night before Elain’s wedding, tanned and a little blonder than normal. It was too late to intervene—Elain had already been fitted for the dress she’d wear tomorrow and was, essentially, under lock and key. No guards, but an endless parade of servants that seemed to pop up any time she tried to leave the room.

Elain knew that was Lucien’s doing. He’d been sleeping on the sofa she now sat on each night, keeping watch so she didn’t try to escape and vanishing before she woke up. They’d barely exchanged a sentences worth of words since she’d foolishly climbed over the balcony.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre asked as Nesta paced back and forth. If she told her sisters the truth, they were likely to do something foolish. Something that got them all in trouble. Nesta was already trying to angle out of her marriage and didn’t need Elain mucking that up.

“Excited,” she lied, catching the way Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “And nervous, of course. We barely know each other.”

“Is he kind?” Nesta demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes,” Elain replied, not bothering to add that he was rude in equal measure.

“All mother talks about is how handsome the Vanserra’s are,” Nesta said with a dark scowl. “I see nothing special about them.”

Feyre shrugged. “They’re not ugly.”

“They’re hardly beautiful, either,” Nesta argued. If Feyre said the sky was blue, Nesta would argue it was gray and if Nesta thought the Vanserra’s were ugly, then Feyre found them to be impossibly beautiful. They had always been that way, leaving Elain to mediate.

“There is a charm to them, certainly,” she agreed, not taking any particular stance. “I am acclimating well. How are things at home?”

“Dull,” Feyre said as Nesta opened her mouth. “I paint and Nesta plays piano and we wither away, waiting for our turn to be good, dutiful wives.”

“They’ve banned arranged marriages in Summer,” Nesta said sharply, her tone rife with implications. Run to Summer, she seemed to say. As if Summer would risk a war with their neighbors simply to harbor her.

“Perhaps other courts will follow suit,” Elain said noncommittally. It was too late for her. Tomorrow she’d walk willing with Lucien through a priestesses temple, watched by her family and his as they pledged fidelity and honor to the other. It was a farce and one Elain was committed to seeing through, now. If her sisters managed to escape their own prescribed fates, she wished them well.

But there was no more escape for her.

“Have you seen anything?” Feyre questioned. Elain bit her bottom lip.

Yes, she wanted to say. How did she explain that what she’d seen was a particularly steamy affair with the man she had sworn she wouldn’t touch until she was forced to. Elain refused to think about it lest Lucien scent the accompanying arousal that always followed and got the wrong idea.

Visions were imprecise, a snapshot of what could happen and not necessarily what would. A wrong turn, a different word spoken and the entire world rearranged itself.

That did nothing to remove the image of Lucien without his clothes shifting over her, or the expression on his face—

“Elain?”

She blinked. “No, nothing. I haven’t looked, though, either.”

“Well, maybe you should tonight,” Feyre suggested. Elain only smiled, certain she did not want to know what the next day had in store for her. Let it remain a mystery, even from her. If she saw herself beneath him, she’d panic and never make it down the aisle.

There was something she wanted, though, and Elain found exactly how to get it later that afternoon. Cadmus poked his head in, expression guarded.

“Lady Elain?” The second eldest Vanserra looked the most like his father, his red hair browner, his russet eyes lacking some of the ringed gold the rest of his brothers had. Even his features were those of the sharp elegance of the High Lord rather than the softer edges the Lady bore. “How are you?”

“I…” A dagger glinted off Cadmus’s belt, silver hilt inlaid with vibrant rubies. “Can I borrow that?”

Cadmus looked down at his body, hands hovering over the weapon. “My dagger?”

Elain made her eyes big and round as she bit her bottom lip, and hoped Cadmus was no better than the males back home. “I don’t know how to use it, if you’re worried for your brothers safety”

“What’s to know? Stick the sharp end in anything soft,” he said with a wry smile before unstrapping the hilt. “If you do stab my brother, try not to kill him.”

Elain blinked. “Just…just like that?”

“It’s become almost a tradition to provide my new sisters with a weapon to use against my brothers. I’m starting to think Vanserra’s like to be threatened.”

She frowned. “It’s not like that.”

“For you, maybe,” he chuckled, watching as Elain quickly hid the dagger beneath an ornate pillow. “If you’re frightened, though, you could tell me.”

That was curious. “Why? What would you do?”

“What any good brother would do. Knock him around like he’s a youngling again, and hope his good sense returns to him.”

“That’s…unexpectedly kind,” she murmured.

“We’re nearly family, right?” he said gruffly, glancing back toward the hall. “Anyway ah…don’t kill him. And uh…if you need any help, ask Arina. You know, for plausible deniability.”

“Right,” she agreed, holding back the urge to laugh. The Vanserra’s could be so unintentionally funny when they wanted to be. Absently, Elain wondered what Nesta would make of Cadmus. Nothing positive, she decided.

Nesta was supposed to marry a High Lord, which was a tragedy given how she hated all of them. Maybe all men, truthfully—Elain had never once seen her sister betray any interest despite the numerous men who had been interested in her.

Elain hid the dagger beneath her pillow once Cadmus left, just in case Lucien decided to try anything. Elain knew she was likely going to have to let him touch her, but if he tried anything she didn’t like, she’d whip the dagger out just to remind him that he might be married to her, but he didn’t own her.

It made her feel a little better, though only marginally. As she made her way through the palace, Elain found servants hanging floral arrangements and cleaning every surface for the upcoming spectacle. Everything smelled like cinnamon somehow and if Elain was braver, she might have made her way to the kitchen to see what they were cooking.

If she was braver still, she might have asked to help.

Instead, Elain emerged into the gloomy afternoon with a heavy sigh. It felt like the world was mourning, too. She intended to meander through the apple orchard again, kicking the rotting fruit on the ground with the toe of her boot until she didn’t feel so angry anymore.

Instead, she found Connall and Tanwen standing off to the side, flanked by two smoke gray dogs, each holding a rather large axe. When they saw her, their eyes lit up.

“Baby sister!” They called in unison, making their way toward her. “Want to smash some pumpkins with us?” “Smash some what?” she repeated as one of the large dogs wound its way through her legs, sniffing at her clothes with curiosity.

“Pumpkins,” Connall said, russet eyes glinting with mischief.

“It’s an old tradition,” Tanwen added. Of the two, Tanwen was taller and built more like a warrior. Connall was slighter, with a prettier face and hands that didn’t look like they’d done a hard day's work in their life. Tanwen’s hair was longer and braided off his face while Connall sported a shaggier look that seemed like it was popular with whoever he was courting.

With a face like that, Elain guessed everyone.

“Smashing pumpkins is a tradition?”

They nodded solemnly. Connall added, “Whenever the Forest House is overrun, we come out here and destroy the heaviest looking pumpkins we can find. C’mon, join us. Beats sulking through the grounds.”

“I wasn’t sulking,” she replied, though she fell into step between them.

“Sure you weren’t,” Tanwen said, elbowing her gently. “I’m sure you are merely contemplating the marital bliss you’re soon to find with little brother.”

“I don’t know how to swing an axe,” Elain admitted. Connall’s smile sharpened.

“We’ll teach you.”

The pair, accompanied by a dog she later learned technically belonged to Arina—Apollo—and another that Tanwen was fond of—Artemis—made their way toward a sprawling pumpkin patch. Elain was fascinated as Tanwen and Connall picked out three large pumpkins, hauling them each one by one before dropping them at her feet.

“Ladies first,” Tanwen said, cheeks ruddy from exertion.

Elain considered them, before pointing at one that was still a little green and covered in warts. Connall picked it up for her and set it atop a tree stump before handing her the smooth, wooden handle of the axe.

“Hold it like this,” Tanwen began, positioning himself behind Elain so his arms were wrapped around her. Warm, callused hands covered her own as he positioned them on the handle.

“Pull it back like this—not too far or you’ll drop it and hurt yourself. Use the power from your thighs, okay? And then swing hard—”

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

The three turned and Elain realized Tanwen and Connall must have known Lucien was nearby. He looked furious, though it was hard to take him seriously with Arina skipping merrily at his side.

“I’m debauching your wife, what does it look like I’m doing?” Tanwen said, throwing a rather charming wink in her direction. “She doesn’t know how Autumn Court females treat a male on their wedding night—”

A snarl ripped from Luciens throat before he settled himself, running a hand through his windblown hair. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

“Am I not allowed to be here?” Elain demanded, pointing the axe at her soon-to-be husband.

“Lucien’s just grumpy—”

“I’m not grumpy,” Lucien interrupted as Arina laughed, hands clasped in front of her body.

“Your sisters gave him a good dressing down.”

“It was pretty funny,” Eris Vanserra chimed in, wrapping an arm around his wife's neck to kiss the top of her head. “Nesta Archeron has a barbed tongue and no sense of propriety.”

“That’s not true,” Elain protested, interested in what her sister said. “You’re thinking of Feyre.”

“It was both of them,” Lucien grumbled as he rubbed his jaw. “I thought the ladies of the Spring Court were sweet.”

Elain took that moment to swing, her sharpened blade slicing easily through the pumpkin. Tanwen whooped as Connall and Eris laughed and Lucien…Lucien merely watched, his expression unreadable.

“Who told you that?” Elain asked him, dress covered in pumpkin guts.

It felt good, though, in that moment, to wipe the look off his face. She was sweet.

Just not for him.

LUCIEN:

Lucien tugged at the golden cuffs on his maroon jacket. He was deeply uncomfortable and somehow sweating despite how early it was. He hadn’t slept at all the night before and given the noises coming from behind the door that they were about to share, Elain hadn’t either. It hadn't been crying, exactly…but something akin to mourning had been happening. It occurred to him that perhaps Elain had her own Jesminda that she missed.

Lucien couldn’t bring himself to care much. Instead, he perched himself in a tree outside the palace, closed his eyes, and prayed.

Bring her back to me. Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll give you anything.

Easy words for a male who knew the Mother would not indulge this request. Lucien would have traded anything to see Jesminda right then. To hear her tell him it was going to be okay and somehow, someway this was all going to work out in their favor. He wanted to feel her hands on his face, her mouth slanted against his. He wanted to bury himself inside her and sob into her shoulder as he told her about the nightmare he was living.

And to do so would be the ultimate betrayal of the love he felt for her. To see her was to condemn her to death. She was gone, and Lucien knew she wouldn’t come back, and if she did, he wouldn’t touch her. Wouldn’t acknowledge her.

Wouldn’t look at her.

It didn’t stop him from pretending anyway. What kind of male was he, he wondered? His wife was inside preparing herself to marry him and he was outside wishing she was someone else. Daydreaming about another female. Would he think of Jesminda as he betrayed her later that night?

Lucien half hoped Jesminda hated him. He certainly hated himself.

Lucien remained outside until Eris tracked him down, dressed in a deep brown jacket and cream colored pants. His brother swung himself easily into the tree, grunting softly as he sat on the opposite branch. “Brooding?”

It was almost comical. It was a scene they’d played before, only in opposite roles. Lucien had once gone looking for Eris the day of his wedding, finding him in the same tree likely with the same look of frustration on his face. Eris had wanted a way out, too, and he’d known what was waiting on the other end for him was his mate. There was something to work toward, at least.

Lucien didn’t care what Arina said—he didn’t believe he could love someone as deeply as he loved Jesminda and not be mates.

“Just thinking,” Lucien said, wishing Eris would mind his own business.

“You’ve got ten more minutes to find a last minute loophole,” Eris warned. “Though, I think you should marry her.”

“Of course you do.”

“She’s better than the females at court. Do you want father to pick one of them?”

“I want him to let me choose my own wife,” Lucien snarled, unable to keep his anger down.

“Love is for the lesser fae,” Eris said, ignoring the fact that he was in love with his wife. That was merely luck, Lucien supposed. “You are simply a cog in fathers political machinations. You know that.”

“Why not Tanwen? Or Cadmus?”

“Because Elain is a second daughter with no magical ability, unlike her sisters,” Eris reminded him, a cold edge creeping into his voice. He ought to have known better than to look for comfort from his brother. Eris had done his duty no matter how little he’d wanted to, giving Eris a mate and Beron a foot in the solar courts. “He needs sons he can marry off to all his most important nobles. Count yourself lucky that isn’t your fate”

“Is this luck?”

“Elain is nice,” Eris reminded him. “She’s not scheming and you’re unlikely to find her in Tanwen’s bed.”

“Are you sure about that?” Lucien asked, a surge of jealousy flooding through him. He didn’t want her, and yet didn’t want anyone else to want her, either. She was merely off limits. If he could have, he’d have ordered them all not to speak to her, either.

Swinging his legs out of the tree, Eris landed smoothly back on solid ground. The world was mocking him—after two weeks of rumbling thunder and moody fog, the sun had come out blazing, igniting the world in a golden glow.

“I’m certain. Now get down before father realizes you’re missing and takes the lash to your back on your wedding night.” Lucien considered it only briefly, but ultimately chose to join Eris on the ground, heart thudding painfully in his chest.

Eris didn’t look at him at all, adorned in a crown of burnished leaves similar to the one Lucien wore. As they stepped back into the Forest House, Lucien felt the full weight of it for the first time in his life. Never had he ever felt more like a High Lord's son, the weight of his responsibility and duty dragging behind him like chains wrapped around his ankles.

He was drowning, and it didn’t matter. Lucien followed Eris through the labyrinth of halls toward the adjoining temple that spiraled deep into the ground, housing their family jewels and a private library you need permission to enter. Lucien knew on any given day, Arina would be down in the dark reading by faelight.

Priestesses historically were not welcome in Autumn. Beron found them too scheming, but feared angering the mother by shutting them out entirely. His solution was using daughters of Autumn, deemed unlikely to marry by their families, and making them priestesses with fathers that had a vested interest in curbing their ambition. Housing them in the palace allowed the High Lord to keep a watchful eye on them via his wife, who was charged with overseeing the priestesses along with the ladies at court.

Now the head priestess stood at the end of the temple, adorned by multicolored light from the stained glass behind her. Rows of benches held their families, though Beron sat behind the priestess on a throne built specifically for him, lest anyone forget the true power of Autumn.

Elain was waiting in the atrium just outside, dressed, hilariously, in a fluffy gown of white lace and pale pink ribbon. Her hair was piled high atop her head, as if someone with a grudge had decided to try and make the beautiful Elain as unappealing as possible.

It was working, too. Lucien couldn’t help his barking laugh when he saw her, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceilings overhead. Elain turned, eyes wide with horror that melted into irritation.

“Be quiet,” she hissed, shoving the traditional red ribbon of Autumn against his chest. His brothers filed in behind them, not daring to make eye contact or otherwise react.

“Who did you piss off?”

“This was my mothers wedding dress,” Elain informed him, chin held high in the air. “And the traditional bridal clothes of Spring.”

Lucien only shook his head, thinking of how lovely Arina had looked draped in red. There was no point in starting his marriage by telling his wife she looked awful, but…well. Lucien wondered if Elain felt beautiful right then.

“Come on,” he murmured, offering her his arm. Elain took a breath, eyes glassy, but otherwise nodded her head. She had more conviction on her expression than Lucien felt, and it was sobering. This was happening, he realized. Under the watchful gaze of not just his father, but the High Lord of Spring, Lucien was marrying this stranger. Lucien could barely breathe, couldn’t think as he stood in that beam of light, eyes trained on Elain without actually seeing her. Elain seemed to be employing similar tactics, repeating the words when demanded but otherwise standing utterly still.

Something was building, some emotion Lucien thought must be radiating out of him. It wasn’t fear and it wasn’t hatred, though it felt somehow like both mixed together. Holding the ribbon in his hand, Lucien began winding it around their wrists until the long sleeves of her ugly dress pushed upward, pressing them skin to delicate skin.

The scene of Elain invaded his senses once again, making him dizzy. He needed fresh air, to get far, far away from her. Elain looked up at him through dark lashes, their eyes connecting just as the priestess pronounced them married. Something solid slammed into him.

No, not slammed.

Snapped.

Lucien stumbled backwards, forgetting for a moment they were still tied together. Elain came with him, falling into his chest and oh, he wished she wouldn’t touch him just as his traitorous body ignited with pleasure.

Touch her, smell her, taste her—

Lucien righted Elain, trying to apologize but unable to get the words out. If he spoke, he might just blurt the truth out.

You’re my mate.

If Elain knew, she was doing a far better job than he was hiding it. Her expression was one of confusion but not of recognition. If she didn’t know, good. There must be some way out, he reasoned, even as every other part of him rebelled at the thought. The Mother was mocking him. Elain Archeron was mocking him, with her beautiful face half lost under the weight of her gown and hair. Who had done this to her?

Lucien wanted to kill them.

“Are you okay?” Elain whispered, ignoring the crowd promptly descending upon them.

It wasn’t a lie when he said, “No. I’ve never been less okay in my life.”

And it was all her fault.

ELAIN:

Elain wanted to cry. The Lady of Autumn had done her best to try and make Elain look presentable, but it had been her mothers wishes to see her dressed like a traditional bride of Spring—the sort that had fallen out of fashion centuries before. She could still hear Lucien's barking laugh in her ear and the look of disgust on his face once he’d tied that ribbon around them.

It shouldn’t have mattered, truthfully, but Lucien had looked every inch an Autumn Court prince and she…she’d looked ridiculous. Embarrassing. Only her mother was happy, which seemed to be the only thing that ever mattered. Who cared if Elain was suffering internally so long as everyone else got what they wanted?

Stomping from the great hall, where a lavish feast in her honor had been prepared, Elain made her way outdoors into the sunshine. It was only there that she began pulling pins out of her hair like a petulant child, tossing them to the leaves with reckless abandon.

Why couldn’t she make peace with what was happening? Everyone else in her position had. Arina and Eris were in love, her parents were in love, the Lady of Autumn and the High Lord…tolerated each other. And Elain couldn’t even muster that.

She hated Lucien with a passion that clawed at her chest and threatened to strangle her. She didn’t want him to touch her, not like this. Not when the sight of him cringing away as he disentangled himself from her and promptly walked away without so much as a reassurance that things would be okay.

She’d left him downing a cup of wine and imagined he’d be so drunk he was incapacitated for the night. That was a good thing, right? So why did it make her feel so awful? So ugly, so…so unwanted. Cast aside by everyone, loved by no one. She wanted to curl up somewhere and wait to see how long it took them to notice she was missing.

Elain turned her attention to the forest, determined to march right in. She bet Lucien noticed when it was time to do his husbandly duty. Then he’d be missing her. That's all she was good for anyway, right?

Elain didn’t make it two steps before someone stopped her. It wasn’t Lucien or his brothers, nor was it her sisters or anyone from the Spring Court. The male standing before her oozed darkness, with shadows trailing after him like a cape and eyes so vividly blue they looked like twinkling, violet stars.

Elain took a step back on instinct. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, knowing exactly who stood before her. She’d never met him, nor his father, though she had heard the rumors about the High Lord of Night. They said he’d killed Tamlins father.

They said Tamlin killed his.

Rhysand didn’t need to wear a weapon to seem lethal. Tall and powerfully built, she was certain if he wanted to, he could end her right there. His lips curved upward into a smile and too late, she remembered the people in his court were rumored to read minds.

“I hear congratulations are in order. Married to little Lucien…how delighted you must be.”

“I…” Elain trailed off, heart hammering like a jack rabbit.

“I don’t think I’d leave my new bride to wander the grounds,” Rhysand continued, jamming his hands into his pockets absently. “But perhaps the males of Autumn are more…liberated…here.”

Elain’s mouth was dry. “Can I help you with something?”

Rhysand cocked his head, a lock of blue black hair trailing into one of his eyes. “Can you help me?” he asked, pondering this question with faux concentration. “I suppose you can. I’m looking for—”

“Rhysand!” Eris Vanserra barked, crunching onto leaves without ceremony. “Decided to show your ugly face for once? Or will I find your spy lurking in my woods again?”

“There’s no need for hostility,” Rhysand purred, eyes trailing behind Eris toward Feyre, who’d clearly been trailing Eris. “I’ve come to speak with your father.”

“Does Elain Archeron look like the High Lord of Autumn?” Eris demanded, his annoyance plain.

“She is far lovelier, I’ll admit, though your father has his charms—”

“Stop talking,” Eris muttered, nodding his head toward the doors so Rhysand would follow. Elain watched the High Lord of Night even when Eris’s fingers curled around her wrist, dragging her back inside with him. Rhysand was looking at Feyre in her spring green gown, hair half braided off her face. There was something curious about his expression—as if he’d never seen a female before and wanted to study her.

Feyre wrinkled her nose back, betraying her unguarded disgust before turning on her heel and flouncing back inside and to Elain’s surprise, Rhysand chuckled. He didn’t know how skilled Feyre was with a weapon, training in secret with a sentry she’d once been friends with before Tamlin found out and had him sent to the border. It was too late, then. Feyre was a menace with a bow and arrow and not horrible with a sword, either. No one could control her and in truth, not many tried.

Elain wondered what Tamlin would do with a wife that liked to stalk the woods for monsters. Monsters like Rhysand, Elain thought, wondering if Feyre hadn’t sensed his presence and come looking for the disturbance. She half wanted to see the showdown, if only to watch a High Lord get trounced by a noble's youngest daughter.

Feyre was nowhere to be found by the time they all landed in the Great Hall. The once lively feast fell silent—even the musicians stopped their playing to watch, wide-eyed, as Rhysand strolled into the room. His eyes slid over the long tables piled with food, the people stopped mid-dance, and those that sat at tables holding goblets, drinking until their fair skin was ruddy from wine.

He grinned when he saw Beron. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, not sounding very sorry at all. Beron looked murderous, though he stood quickly while eyeing Eris trailing just behind. Elain watched as Cadmus fell into step beside his elder brother, the two flanking their father when he came down the elevated platform that held the throne he’d been lounging on. Everyone tried to pretend this was merely business as usual.

The music restarted and chatter resumed as Beron and Rhysand made their way out of the room, but Elain knew every immortal ear was straining to hear what was whispered between them. Why now, she wondered? Tamlin was gripping his goblet so tightly Elain could see the whites of his knuckles and Nesta’s eyes danced with silver flames, arms crossed over her chest.

Elain started to make her way to Nesta to ask when Lucien caught her attention. He was drunk, she realized. Stumbling forward, he grinned broadly not at her, but at someone behind her. Elain didn’t turn to see the female he was making eyes at, unwilling to even acknowledge how humiliating his behavior was.

“You reek,” Elain hissed, catching Lucien by the arm and turning him around. “Go drink some water.”

“Telling me what to do already?” he asked, eyes strangely glassy as he looked down at her. There was an intensity to his expression she didn’t think she liked. It was as if he was undressing her with his gaze.

“Yes. Water. Now,” she hissed quietly enough that no one but Lucien could hear.

“And if I say no?” he challenged. Elain wanted to cry.

“You are not the only one experiencing misery, Lucien, and yet am I out here making a fool of you?” she demanded, hating the way her voice cracked beneath angry tears. “You could at least keep it behind closed doors.”

Lucien considered this. “You’re right. I…” he swallowed, sliding his hand over hers in the crook of her elbow so she had to join him as he went for water. “Sit down and eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Do it, or I’ll feed you from my hand like a baby bird,” he threatened, pulling out a chair from a neglected, empty table. Lucien dropped beside her, gulping down icy water as Elain picked food from a platter in front of her and spread it over two plates.

“Here,” she said, pushing a plate toward a wide eyed, strangely ashen looking Lucien.

“I—I’ve eaten already,” he said, gingerly moving the plate further from view. “You’re kind to offer, though.”

He was so strange, she decided. If he didn’t want to eat, he could suffer, then. No one could say she hadn’t tried, though. Elain began chewing, lost in thoughts of Rhysand just outside the forest grounds and her family that would vanish before the night was over. Her stomach tumbled as she thought about what the night had in store for her. Perhaps if she closed her eyes tightly it would be over quickly without a lot of fuss.

“Was there another male?” Lucien asked abruptly, interrupting Elain’s considerations. Looking at him, she found that same burning intensity from a few moments before. She didn’t think she liked when he looked at her that way.

“What?”

“Back in Spring. Was there a male you…preferred?”

Elain shook her head, though she wanted to ask why it even mattered? She was here, wasn’t she, wishes be damned?

“None?”

“No, Lucien. I’ve been set aside for you my entire life.”

“Sure, but…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “That didn’t mean you had to…”

Elain wished a hole would open beneath her and swallow her up. Surely he wasn’t implying that he wished she’d been with someone else mere hours before he was about to be with her? If she’d been less of a lady, she might have launched herself across the table to throttle him.

“Please do not worry about it,” she implored, desperate for this conversation to end. “Let’s just…lets just get through this afternoon.” Lucien eyed her dress again, but kept whatever comments he had to himself. “Fine.”

His reluctant compliance was better than expected. And Elain would take what she could get.

LUCIEN:

“You’re acting strange,” Arina said, catching Lucien in the hall on the way to his new bed chamber. His old one had been cleared out without ceremony, and he’d bet if he went to Elain’s room, he’d find her folding his clothing like a good little wife

“I’m not,” he lied. Lucien was desperately trying to avoid his brother and Arina, if only because he was afraid that might see him and just know somehow. Or smell it, more likely—the way he could currently smell the mating bond Arina and his brother shared wrapped around her like a lingering perfume.

It smelled like sex. Lucien hated it. It was like a warning pushing up against him, reminding him that she belonged to someone—a male who might rip Lucien’s throat out, should he feel like it. Elain seemed oblivious to what was happening which was the only mercy Lucien could find in their miserable situation. How long could he keep her in the dark before she realized? Before she felt the pull, the urge to touch him, too? Before someone scented him on her and told her?

“What’s going on?”

“Besides being actually married to a stranger, nothing at all. I, for one, have never been better—”

“Don’t use that tone with me,” Arina snapped, clearly irritated. “There’s something else about you.”

“I’m just…” Lucien ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “It's my wedding night, Arina, and my wife hates me. Put the pieces together.”

“I doubt she’ll be upset if you put it off.”

“Or she’ll run and tell her father to get out of the marriage,” Lucien retorted, though truthfully, Elain simply didn’t seem like the vindictive sort. His mind drifted back to lunch, watching as she put together two plates as his mind warred. On the one hand, the part of him driven by instinct had been screaming and clawing for him to simply accept it from her, thus cementing the bond before she ever had a choice.

The other, more rational part of him, wanted to throw that plate across the room before cursing at the Mother for what she’d done. It was supposed to be Jesminda. It was Jesminda. Lucien’s heart beat erratically at the realization that all the times he’d laid with her and sworn she was his mate, when they’d laced their fingers and talked about when it might snap…all of it had been a farce.

Lucien couldn’t stop thinking about Jes’s own mate. He was out there somewhere. Maybe she’d find that male and she’d realize what they had paled in comparison. Would she laugh a little at their silliness? How young they’d been, how foolish to believe what they had transcended the gods.

Lucien would have left Elain if Jes appeared right then. If she’d asked him—he wouldn’t make her beg—he would have left. Damned Elain, his life, his mating bond, just to see her again. And he knew that if Jes learned he had a mate, she’d bow out entirely. When the bond snapped, there was a finality to it.

He was a mated male. He owed it to Elain to try and make things work, and maybe he owed it to himself, too. That didn’t mean Lucien wanted it, either. Gods, he didn’t know what he wanted other than to drink himself into oblivion and wait for some obvious answer to present itself.

“When Eris informed you that you were his mate, what did you do?” Lucien asked, interrupting Arina’s self-important lecture about being a good husband.

“I suffocated the air in the room until he got on his knees and apologized,” she said, eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s different, Lucien.” Elain probably couldn’t nearly kill him—he’d been told she had no magic to speak of—but he imagined her reaction would go nearly as well.

“Just…let me deal with my marriage my way, okay?” Lucien ordered, unwilling to be nice to Arina at that moment. Butt out, he wanted to add, though slipping into his bedroom and closing the door behind him was response enough.

Inside was something out of Lucien’s personal hell. Elain rose to her feet when she saw him, eyes bright from what seemed to be some amount of crying. Her hair was unbound and artfully arranged around a night dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Lucien blinked, frozen in place as his eyes moved of their own accord.

BETRAYER

“I—put on a robe, please,” Lucien managed, turning in a circle like some kind of animal. She was his. He had no claim to her at all. The competing desires threatened to unmake him. Lucien heard Elain sniff.

“Shouldn’t we…”

“Not like this,” he breathed, certain he would have felt that way even without the mating bond. “I—we could just…go to bed?”

“What about…you know?”

Lucien took a steadying breath and turned again, relieved to find Elain had wrapped a throw around her body. Her face had a little more color, her eyes a little less red.

“If I offered to just…pretend…would you tell someone?”

“No,” she breathed with the saddest look of hope on her face. “I would swear we did.”

Oh, thank the Mother. “Then we’ll turn the lights off, get into bed, and in the morning go about our business as if we did.”

Elain nodded, dropping the blanket gently to walk to their bedroom. Lucien nearly choked at the sight of her from behind. Mother spare him, she’d be the death of him. Lucien didn’t need to like a female in order to admit she was appealing and Elain…Elain was just as pretty from behind as she was from the front. His eyes slid down her spine, landing on the soft curve of her waist, the flare of her hip, the sway of her ass.

Cauldron damn him.

Elain turned as Lucien steadied himself on the frame, wondering if sleeping beside her was a good idea at all. Servants talked—and everyone was nosy. If he was caught sleeping on the sofa, his father would know and put Lucien in a deeply uncomfortable position. Lucien wouldn’t put it past his father to demand to watch. He’d like enjoy knowing that he ruined every other coupling they’d ever have.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she warned, holding up a trembling finger. Was he looking at her in some particular kind of way? Lucien was certain he wasn’t. Still, he merely crossed his arms over his chest as he eyed his new wife.

“I was lost in thought,” he said, forcing himself to look only at her face. As if that made things any better. She was so heartbreakingly beautiful it made his teeth ache. She’d always been beautiful, which had warranted the space—if he spent too much time in her presence, he might find he liked her, and liking the woman who’d been forced upon him felt like giving in to his fathers demands.

Or worse, admitting Beron might have been right about him.

Elain still eyed him warily as he crossed the room, grabbing a pair of linen pants neatly folded in a drawer that had her scent all over it. In the bathroom, Lucien splashed cold water on his face and ordered himself to get together. The mating bond was making him stupid. He didn’t want her…and yet he did. Physically, anyway. Lucien wondered if he could get away with escaping to one of the nearby cities for a few weeks just to clear his head long enough to stand in her presence.

He returned to find Elain dividing the bed in half using pillows. “That’s not necessary,” he mumbled, reaching over her to toss one to the floor. “And obvious.” “I don’t want you getting any ideas,” she replied in that prissy way of hers.

Lucien bared his teeth. “Trust me, lady. My only idea is sleep.”

“I thought all males wanted—”

“I’m not an animal,” he growled, fully aware he was a liar. “I don’t relish the thought of forcing myself on someone, wife or otherwise.”

“And if I never want you?” Elain asked, eyes narrowed to slits.

“I’ll tell all of Pyrthian you are terribly infertile and I’m a martyr—”

Elain launched a pillow at his face. “You’re not funny.”

Lucien flopped into bed, one hand thrown over his face. “You wound me.”

“I don’t believe anything could wound that over inflated ego of yours,” she responded. Lucien was learning that despite her meek appearance, his wife had a sharp tongue. He rather liked it, if only because it absolved him of any guilt he might feel for his own remarks.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Lucien said, settling against the pillow. “You could tell me, you know. If there was another male.”

“There wasn’t. There isn’t.” There was something bitter about her tone.

“Never?” he questioned, his curiosity making him stupid.

“Never.”

“You’re not…?” Shut up shut up shut up— “You’re not curious?”

“Stop talking, Lucien.”

“If it were me—”

“I know where you’re going with this, and I’m telling you to stop while you’re ahead,” Elain gritted out. “Find someone else, if you’re feeling frustrated, but don’t try and frame my lack of experience as an opportunity.”

“Cauldron, Elain, I wasn’t…” But he was. Lucien knew it was a bad idea. If he got himself in her with the mating bond pounding in his chest, he was likely to take things too far, to do something he regretted. He couldn’t help himself no matter how badly he wanted to, and her proximity was clouding his judgment. He tried to pull up an image of Jes, but his mind shifted to Elain in sheer white lace and the rosy pink of her nipples—

Lucien rolled over, frustrated more with himself than anything else. There was no way he was going to sleep, no way he trusted his dreams not to betray him.

Not for the first time, he wished he was dead.

But maybe it was the first time he’d wished for it the loudest.

And the gods did nothing.

#elucien #im planning to update 3 on tuesday #ill be out of town all weekend

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krashlite · 2 months

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Again, if you found this before the Start Post or TIES’ post, go back and read! I’m going through and analyzing the matching wounds for each LimL alliance

Continuing off of TIES’ section; they all had a shaky past with Bdubs, so it’s really no surprise they ended up in conflict with the Clockers

But speaking of the Clockers, let’s look at them next. For the Clockers, all three of them have issues with day 1 crews, on how they focus on this randomized group above all else. Except they have different issues regarding it

There was a lot of Bdubs slander in the TIES section so let’s start with him. I’ve already mentioned that he’s very headstrong, but he Is well meaning. For the Crastle, he was acting in defense of Cleo and everyone who sought shelter in their walls. For the snow fort, he was acting in defense of Etho, seeing team BEST as a conduit for this. In DL he poured his heart and soul into his alliance with Impulse. The connection with these three is also shown symbolically- remember, it’s canon that he was married to all three in their respective seasons! His loyalties lay with them above all else, and everything he did was always done For Them

(And yes, the marriage thing makes it Hella Weird with LimL introducing family dynamics. Personally, I go chronologically with things. If the marriage was introduced Before the family dynamics, the marriage is what I go with. If the family dynamics were introduced Before the marriage, the family dynamics are what I go with. It’s not perfect, especially with SL calling back to LimL, but moving on)

But with him pouring everything into defending his One Person, he has a bad habit of either disregarding or outright hurting other allies. In his mind, once they’ve become a threat, they will always Be a threat to him and his One Person.

In 3L, I would argue the firing squad wasn’t about the helmet, but about Dare to Flare, the deadly minigame Tango had set up as a loophole for murder. Bdubs thought the lesson would be learned and Tango would just. Go back to being their ally, but he didn’t see that he’d just pushed Tango away. Bdubs was also quick to catch that Impulse was playing all sides, losing his trust in him even as Cleo wanted to keep Impulse as a double agent.

Bdubs went along with it for her, the same way he went along with other alliances that Cleo had decided to negotiate. But when Cleo was gone before him, he was completely lost! The moments after Cleo’s death are honestly HARROWING from Bdubs’s point of view. One moment they’re talking, the next Cleo is attacking Ren and is struck down. Bdubs is surrounded, he is alone, and is made to understand that nobody is coming to save him, not even Impulse, who was present for this! I think a part of him blames Impulse specifically for Cleo’s death, with Impulse failing to act against Dogwarts in that moment. It’s irrational as hell but that’s where he’s at. Impulse was playing all sides and, in Bdubs’ mind, had just cost him the One Person Bdubs truly cared about

So again, OF COURSE he turned on Impulse!! He had zero reason to trust him!!

In LL things got oh so much more complicated. I don’t think Bdubs ever intended to be a part of a larger group, he only intended to be with Etho. So he was Mainly tolerating Tango and Skizz so long as 1) they helped the overall group and 2) Etho wanted to stay. Except Tango and Skizz were clumsy on missions and had issues communicating with him and Etho, who were very close and had an easier time planning and communicating. Etho’s lighthearted jabs at this turned sharper through Bdubs’ comments and actions. I think Bdubs was frustrated with being put in the same situation he was in last season- having to stay with an alliance he Did Not Want for the sake of his One Person, and his comments/actions reflect that

He was willing to see them die and use them for Lives for the overall group, but he wasn’t willing to let Etho go down- which is again seen in the Wither fight. It’s also seen in his final death, with him turning on his fellow Reds since he thought it meant he could make it back to Etho’s side

Then in DL, he doesn’t learn his lesson! He only doubles down, making it clear to Impulse where his loyalties lie. Bdubs Only Cares About Impulse, and they’re more than willing to watch the world burn as a unit. Bdubs wanting them to be home wreckers also serves as him putting his foot down- refusing to be a part of alliances he doesn’t like. I don’t think they had any allies this season aside from one another, which honestly worked perfectly for them in DL!! Bdubs was able to fulfill a role that came naturally to him and Impulse didn’t have to worry about the stress of maintaining a larger group

And it’s because they worked so well together that Bdubs can’t wrap his head around the idea that He Killed Impulse. Bdubs knows that he would never, EVER, do something like that to his One Person, so Impulse asking for an apology in LimL comes as a complete shock to him.

And I think it’s something that affects LimL for him as a whole, but also ties back to the setting. Again, it’s made clear that Nobody is surviving this, so it would be pointless for Bdubs to act in defense of his One Person. With him being unable to focus on this as his motivation, he’s forced to focus on a group, on the Clockers (HOWEVER he still has his devastating connection to Etho and that’s not going away anytime soon). This also forces him to confront the issues that caused previous teams to fail

And I’d argue Cleo’s in a very similar spot as him

Cleo’s loyalties had always been her day 1 crew, with her standing by them regardless of what happened. They belonged to the group and the group belonged to them as equals. If the ship was going down, then goddamnit Cleo would go down with it, which is especially seen in 3L with her attacking Ren. Cleo wanted to be done with this war and this entire conflict and thought that if they just struck now, if they just killed Ren, their issues would be over. Remember, the Crastle’s main conflict was regarding Dogwarts! Cleo didn’t know who to trust because Impulse was always acting all buddy-buddy with the red banners and Tango was off doing his own thing.

I think this is also why Cleo ran off to Scott as a backup alliance before then- Scott presents himself as being a safe person, someone who stays out of conflict but defends himself when needed. Cleo needed that backup alliance for reassurance, since it was clear that Bdubs was likely going to die before her. Not only that but the aforementioned trust issues with the rest of her party. (And yes! This is a contradiction of them “going down with the ship,” we call that a Character Flaw)

Except that plan falls through when Scott dies, by Ren’s hand no less, and Cleo’s right back in the scenario they’d been in before. They’re right back to wondering when the other shoe was going to drop

So them attacking Ren was a moment of frustration, wanting clarity and lashing out against the source of her problems; Ren

Except this act is what did Cleo in, and she never really got to see where any of them stood. Well, except for Bdubs but I already discussed him At Length

LL was again, an ENTIRE mess for Cleo. The whole gimmick in LL was there to make people distrust the people around them, and BOY HOWDY did Cleo distrust people! She was never fully sold on the Fairy Fort but thought that if they just stayed together, then they’d be able to defend each other- strength in numbers! Really, BigB was the only person that Cleo fully trusted, with them having their own separate base together and Cleo going to BigB when she didn’t trust the rest of the group.

Again, she values her day 1 ally above all else, and in this season that was BigB. They stood together as equals, even with Lizzie and Ren at their side.

Which makes it all the more heartbreaking when BigB turned on her, because she would never, EVER do the same to him. They were equals, it was them against the world and BigB had just gone against that bond. Cleo also refuses to emphasize with his perspective because of the fact that BigB had AMPLE opportunity to tell Cleo he was cursed, but he just Didn’t. She trusted him, she trusted the fort, and she would never make that same mistake twice

Cleo once again retreated to Scott. He and Pearl welcomed her with open arms and provided what stability they could for her, considering Cleo was flirting with death every other episode. They also helped Cleo get her revenge, making it abundantly clear that they stood With Her. BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY, both of them told her when they were the boogeyman. There were Zero secrets between the three of them and Cleo was never given a reason to question their loyalty. Communication is key!

And here’s where things flip. Cleo goes from supporting her day 1 crew above all else, to the understanding that a day 1 crew isn’t a guarantee. Said crew has only ever caused her problems, and Cleo only ever found stability with her second option

So when DL rolls around, Cleo’s left in a weird spot. Their day 1 ally is the one person who was ever stable for them, Scott, with her designated ally, Martyn, causing problems right off the bat. Except Martyn isn’t the only one that brings trouble for them, with Pearl being a near constant threat to her and Scott. Both her first option, And her backup are causing problems. So now it’s not a question of who’s loyal to her, but who she wants to align herself with.

And Cleo Doesn’t Know. She stays with Scott for the most part, but is also willing to hear Martyn out as he makes a fool of himself trying to get her back. But I think the main thing that draws Cleo back to Martyn is the fact that they’re linked- that if Martyn hurts her, he hurts himself. That’s a reassurance Cleo doesn’t get with Scott as an ally, and ultimately what drives their decision to turn against Scott in the finale

So in case you didn’t catch it- the similarity for Bdubs and Cleo is specific to their tie to their One Person/day 1 alliance. They’re willing to do Everything for this person/group but are consistently either harmed or causing harm through that connection. For Cleo it causes her to be paranoid but for Bdubs it makes him double down on that loyalty. They end up balancing each other out in LimL, but what about Scar?

For Scar, he ONLY has his day 1 ally and no one else. This was quickly established for him in 3L, with Grian being the only person to consistently stand by him. Scar didn’t see this as a part of their agreement, he saw this as a decision Grian made over and over again. This is even expressed in his speech at the end of 3L, with Scar offering his life to Grian in return for everything he’d done to keep Scar alive. They started out together, and they would ultimately die together. And, most importantly, Scar didn’t have anyone else to turn to. It was made abundantly clear that nobody else would take him in, both with Grian being the only person to attempt an alliance at the start and with Scar being put on his red name so early on. Scar ultimately decides that if people aren’t with him through fate, they will never stand by him, and he’s fine with it! At first

Scar goes into LL with the same expectation, that his team would stay together until the bitter end and everyone else is against him. Except Joel is extremely quick to go down to red, an alliance that Scar is never really able to salvage. This leaves Scar alone, and he accepts this as an immediate Fact. He doesn’t see the point in reaching out to anyone, opting instead for scams and empty threats, the same tactic that worked so well for him last time.

And that sort of becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, with him turning away potential allies through his actions. He thought he’d end up alone and created a scenario where he Was Alone. Really, this only serves to reinforce the idea that he will always end up on his own

Enter; DL

This season HEAVILY reinforced his previous mindset, but it also gave him a reason to fight against it. Scar didn’t Have a day 1 alliance, he was fully willing to base alone and to be without a soulmate. Except Grian comes along to drag him into an alliance

And this mirrors 3L to a T but it ALSO flips their dynamic. Grian wasn’t following Scar’s lead, Scar was following his. From his perspective, Scar was the one doing whatever he could to maintain them, and Grian was the one endangering himself. Again, this is opposed to 3L when Scar was endangering himself and Grian was doing everything he could to maintain them

Except Grian does nothing but sabotage their relationship. I think the flipped roles here kind of forces Scar to realize “oh, I’m not destined to be alone, I push people away.” But there’s also an added layer on top of that- Grian doesn’t respect him.

I’ve mentioned that little tidbit in other posts, but Scar really isn’t respected this season! 3L he was respected as a threat, LL he lost that respect through the travelling salesman bit, and DL puts him in a weird spot. He’s respected as a Loose Cannon but isn’t respected as his own person- as in people have a reason to be wary of him but don’t consider his opinions on plans and other things

So going into LimL, Scar’s fully expecting the same treatment and is more or less blindsided by how supportive the Clockers were. His day 1 crew stuck with him!! Not day 1 Ally, day 1 CREW. He finally had a group that stood with him

Somewhat unrelated but I think it’s also important to note that Scar doesn’t expect to survive in Any season. He’s operating under the assumption that death is imminent, wanting to live a life of fun and luxury in what time he still has. In other words, he’s staring with the worldview that’s taught in LimL!! It’s challenged repeatedly but keeps getting reinforced

But to recap; the three of them value their day 1 ally above all else, and are lost without said ally. Bdubs doesn’t know what to do with himself if he doesn’t have his One Person, Cleo becomes paranoid if their day 1 ally is distrustful, and Scar typically doesn’t form connections with Anyone if he doesn’t have a day 1 ally.

But on top of that, Bdubs and Scar are usually following in their teams. Bdubs is headstrong, but ultimately lives to support his One Person. Scar comes up with plans, but doesn’t necessarily want to be in a leadership position. Cleo, on the other hand, does very well in leadership positions because it gives her more control over what’s going on around her. Leading takes away the unpredictability that would come with following

Bdubs and Scar need direction and Cleo’s able to give that to them. While at the same time, Cleo’s learning to be more comfortable with unpredictability. They have! Two loose cannons! But Cleo knows they’re unpredictable and is better equipped to manage that “threat”

Really, together the three of them are able to confront how closed off they are, allowing themselves to trust one another. And this trust is tested!! Especially with Bdubs maintaining a connection with Etho, who’s on another team entirely. AND THAT IS!! SO IMPORTANT FOR BDUBS because he’s forced into a position where he has to realize the harm he’s caused

Looping back around to TIES, basically that entire team had previous issues with him!! They stay at odds with one another because Bdubs refuses to acknowledge he did anything wrong. No he never reconciled with them, but he did start to confront his own issues. He doesn’t single anyone out as a danger, he spends so much time proving he’s loyal to the Clockers that he never falls back on paranoia

Then in Scar’s case, he’s both allowed to be dangerous and respected as a part of the group. NOT ONLY THAT but other alliances respect him! He isn’t constantly running around trying to prove he’s worth people’s respect, it’s just automatically granted to him

I don’t have a neat way to close this off, but something something accepting danger and learning to trust regardless of that danger

Start Post | TIES | Bad Boys

#trafficblr #limited life #bdoubleo100 #zombiecleo #goodtimeswithscar #the clockers #this is very bdubs centric because I’m spinning him around in my brain currently

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ilynpilled · 11 months

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i feel like ive seen too many very odd reads of this whole thing, so i do wanna go through jaime & the brutal murder of rhaegar and elia’s children situation.

first of all, we know jaime’s main function as a kingsguard at 15: he is a pawn in aerys and tywin’s beef. he is a hostage and a means to rob tywin of an heir

this is what rhaegar tells him too. despite jaime’s guilt, it was not a “i am leaving everything in your hands 💔 you are my most trusted knight” being said to an unseasoned teen, rhaegar isn’t dense, but a: “he is tywin’s son, he is the ideal hostage to keep him under control. a crutch for aerys and his dangerous paranoia (even if just to satiate him, which is why he was kept close, again, people knew that aerys was erratic atp.)” we have the actual conversation. rhaegar is open about this, he isnt really tricking jaime here. they also emphasize that he has to stay near aerys. that is his primary role, not anything else. what rhaegar didn’t take into consideration is that tywin, when it comes down to it, will sack the city anyway (neither did he know what would happen at the trident, and how badly the tides will turn, how it will affect aerys and how he will think he was betrayed by lewyn and dorne, how he will not let elia and the children leave etc), the stakes are too great for house lannister and we know tywin will not pick the losing side. it is already a pretty grim situation for jaime, who had witnessed the brutal executions of a bunch of people at this point, to be left alone in the hands of a mad man as someone who eventually becomes solely responsible for the red keep, while also being functionally a hostage while his father decides to betray the crown, but of course, aerys has a bigger plan to retaliate and therefore jaime also has bigger things to worry about.

jaime feels guilt and responsibility about the whole thing anyway, and the way it is read in the most bad faith way imaginable is kind of odd to me. the dream is extremely integral. it reveals things to us that jaime pushes down as a narrator. it peels off the layers. first of all, jaime is explicit about ned’s judgement, the kingslayer complex, and the role that played, and his concious expects ned to show up in the dream as well, but it is revealed to be not actually about that. he, and that external source of judgement and scorn, is not the thing that haunts him. we see that it is a deep sense of failure over being unable to triumph over contradictions. he reflects on this after the dream too: “it was not him. it was never him.” and the message is deliberately delivered by the ghosts of the people that embody that initial quixotic view of the world that he had as a boy.

i have seen people claim that the “light dimming” is meant to indicate jaime lying about not knowing (being aware that tywin can be very brutal and is capable of hurting innocents is different from jaime knowing or suspecting this order). even if that wasnt contradicted in the text (ill get to this), it doesnt seem to work with the dream? the fires also gutter out when he gets condemned for killing the king right after, there is no clear him “lying” consistency here. and even if you go by that interpretation, the flame is unaffected by the claim of “i was with the king”, which would then have to be true (and it is—so again what is jaime meant to do here?) because we know the scaling of maegor’s holdfast was happening simultaneously with aerys being murdered and the wildfire plot being stopped. the main function of this part of the dream is jaime’s light, a “romantic burning out” as george puts it, being destroyed by contradictory oaths and a fundamentally unjust and cynical world. the light being withered is about losing hope & purpose, and failing to keep vows that actually matter. rhaegar’s children, his guilt over them, and the oath they embody (protect the weak, defend the innocent) plague his mind. the “I never thought he’d hurt them” is relevant in a different way. jaime is guilty of being an extension of the lannister regime. he is guilty of enabling it. and this is more relevant to him after this event, in the present. the whole dream operates on three levels: past, present, and future.

it is why this idea comes up with the tysha situation as well. whether he knew or considered it at the time (and i do not personally think he did, or it was compartmentalized) or not is not whats truly relevant. i think the point that is being emphasized is that tywin and his legacy is something that has to be rejected entirely in the present. he knows by now inarguably. no more “looking without seeing.” this justification does not work anymore. anyway, the point is that his light goes out because of the terror of being confronted with these contradictory oaths and impossible situations where these heavy choices have to be made, with devastating costs. the vows cannot compromise. these are situations and choices that destroy a nonexistent ideal that he had always romanticized in every aspect of his life. it is a culmination of the build up of everything jaime held close to his heart being torn down during those two years serving in the kingsguard. it is about the conflict between ethics and morals: “In some queer way, that had been worse than Lord Chelsted’s screaming. “We are sworn to protect her as well,” Jaime had finally been driven to say. “We are,” Darry allowed, “but not from him.” & “After, Gerold Hightower himself took me aside and said to me, “You swore a vow to guard the king, not to judge him.”

but this situation is intentionally impossible in every aspect. morals and ethics conflict. we have the obvious of what do you do when killing the king breaks the oath you swore to protect him? what if not doing it means breaking the oath to protect the innocent? what if your heroes condemn you despite you telling them the full context of this dilemma and make the fire gutter out permanently? what if being with the king (be it to protect him or kill him to save a city) means you are not there to protect the children from your own father (who you are also sworn to obey)? the moral constructs that this society operates with is nonsense, and it is not confronted by people. can the horrors be fought at all? this is how you have someone described as a “very idealistic young man” by george turn into the amoral bitter cynic we see in the actual series who proceeds to revolve his life around another delusion instead, the only one that remains to him, and loses his own moral code due to how extremely it all conflicts with all code of ethics. it results in a cowardly acceptance of the horrors, his selfishness and faux nihilism, and leads to the enablement and perpetuation of evil.

there is a reason this whole thing haunts jaime and his narrative, and starts blending together with the starks in adwd (something jaime is directly accountable for), and is a huge factor when it comes to jaime effectively contradicting tywin’s dogma when he goes with brienne. jaime became that “knight” in many ways, he, by his own admission, became the smiling knight, who he later also labels “the mountain of my boyhood.” but he is not anymore, which is why there are notable anti parallels in that chapter.

when it comes to how much jaime knew back then, i think the text is pretty clear:

1. if jaime knew or suspected that tywin had the massacre of an entire family already in motion the hope of “leaving to make terms” would not really be there. 2. after he is found, crakehall informs him that they secured the city and the castle. jaime points out in retrospect that this was only half true, and that he couldn’t have known about the scaling (and other things) still happening by this point. jaime is under the impression that everything is secured as a result. he orders everyone who yields to be spared. he is also under the impression as per his narration that aegon is still there, safe and alive, and could be a potential king. however, he does become concerned about the possibility of another aerys. there is a reason he climbs the throne here imo. i never read this as “jaime too busy fucking around lol” or “is intentionally letting them die because his blood is in both of them.” again, he orders everyone who yields spared, and is under the impression that the castle is already secured. he even entertains the possibility of tywin being hand to aegon as king (clearly not possible with what is in the middle of happening —and if he even suspects this threat, why is this considered a possibility by him?) until he gets an aerys flashback, and decides against it despite it serving his family. he has a lot of things on his mind right now anyway to figure out tywin’s current strategy when it comes to house lannister (not to mention this is not really how jaime’s brain works, he is not very machiavellian minded) considering he just damned himself by committing one of the most significant oathbreakings in history, and that someone will fill the hole left by the person who had the power to nuke a city, something that jaime has nightmares about nearly 20 years later. and even if he was aware of this threat that he clearly wasn’t, considering the fact that it was happening simultaneously with jaime killing aerys and being found, if he knew and tried to rush over there after killing aerys, judging from the distance, it would have been too late. hence “i was with the king…” in the dream.

#jaime lannister #i am genuinely baffled at how something so clearly presented can be skewed to the point that it usually is #like this is the core of much of his character too like hello #ig bc none of this was in the show??? lol???

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chaoticloving · 2 years

Note

can you do a little blurb about clingy harry :))) maybe one where he's sick and just wants you??

just one smooch

harry styles x actress!reader

summary: Harry is feeling sick and there is only one person who can make him feel better. masterlist

warnings: sickness, one kinda sex joke

word count: 1.3k

a/n: this is technically part of the SOH universe but it can be read as a stand alone

January, 2015

Standing in the freezing rain for that god-damn music video scene that didn't even make it into the final video really made Harry's cold feel so much worse.

Last time Harry was sick was when he got food poisoning for eating one too many airplane meals—and that was 3 years ago. Harry's had years of traveling under his belt and now knows how to get good food to avoid the upset stomach, but he has no idea why he feels so groggy.

It didn't help that Harry woke up alone, which always put a damper on his mood. He found that his king size bed feels almost too big when he rolled over again, and again, to try to feel her presence.

This morning, and late into yesterday, Y/n had a call back for another un-named project—she would never tell him what movie or role she would audition for, and then inevitably get of course. She liked seeing the surprise on his face when it was publicly announced.

But now this all means that Harry will be alone for the next hour.

He sighed and rolled over to his side. He reached over to his bedside table to get his phone, but got his phone and a little stickie note attached.

Miss you, love! I'll be back soon enough and then we can spend the whole day together! I'll pick up some take-out from that place you like too!

Keep the bed warm xo

Harry smiled and thought about how he should really get up to fix himself up for Y/n; the sight she saw when she got up must not of been that pretty, Harry thought, he better make himself presentable before she came back.

He rose up and immediately collapsed back down to the comfort of his pillows. His head did not feel like that two seconds ago, and when did he get all cold all of a sudden?

He groaned and withered away in the bed for much longer then what he should of. But he did make the genius idea to keep his sickness on the down low.

He sneezed as he got on his clothes and brushed his teeth. He soon moved onto doing his hair, then finding some of the stage makeup he uses for interviews to give a hint of color back to his face so he wouldn't look too deathly ill.

Soon enough, he heard the front door to his apartment and a cheery sound ring out. Harry got one last sneeze out before he came out of the bathroom and put on a happy smile.

"Hey! How'd it go?" Harry asked, taking her bag and the take out from her hands and putting it on the counter.

She smiled, sly, and a little shy too. "I think it went really well-"

Harry couldn't cover the sneeze. It was loud, obnoxious, and too middle-aged-man for Harry's taste. It made him feel worse then before, it almost felt this sickness was aging him a little too quickly.

“You were saying, love.” He smiled, asking her to continue. He tried to stand as nonchalantly as he possibly could, but it didn’t matter.

Y/n didn’t look all that impressed. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That earthquake of a sneeze.” She put the back of her hand on his forehead, getting a feel of how hot it was.

“Stop worrying, just a sneeze.”

“You’ve got to of have a fever if you think that was just a sneeze.” She removed her hand. “And I think you do, babe.”

She moved around him and went to the bathroom, Harry following right behind, to get the thermometer. Harry liked how Y/n new where to go in his flat, made it feel almost more home-like.

Harry sat on the counter, liking the way Y/n scoffed and mumbled big baby under her breath. Sometimes the couple would take turns sitting on the counter, doing each other’s skin care and leaving little kisses all over. But in this case it was to get his temperature.

Harry had a dopey smile on his face, although she knew all too well that he must be feeling really under the weather. But she appreciated how calm he was when he was sick, it made Y/n feel better about taking care of him since it wasn't too much work.

She put the gadget on Harry’s forehead, and then read the temperature. “37.3.” She sighed. “Not a fever fever, but a little worrying.”

“What does that mean, doctor?”

“It means that you are on bed rest.” Harry groaned which resulted in a smile from Y/n. “Come on.”

“But the take out—“

“But you need fluids, not a brown rice bowl with enough beans to make you gassy.”

“I do not get gassy.” Harry sternly said as he collapsed back onto the bed. Y/n’s footsteps wandered off then quickly came back with some water.

“Drink, big baby.”

“M’ your big baby.”

“That’s right.” Y/n mumbled, hand through his hair and a kiss on the forehead. “Lemme get you a damp cloth.”

“Mm k.” Harry sleepily said. His head on the pillow and the softness of his loves voice, soothing him to sleep.

“Hey don’t fall asleep on me just yet.” She placed the cold damp cloth on his head., holding his hand with her free one. “You need some food in you.”

“Bed ‘s comfy though.” He rebutted. “Get in ‘ere with me. I can show you a good time.”

“I don’t want your mouth anywhere on me.” She deadpanned.

Harry gasped, acting as if he was now physically hurt. “Never say those words again.”

“Mhm.”

“I have never felt more betrayed.”

“Mhm.”

“When I’m feeling better you’re going to feel so good.”

“Mhm.” She let go of his hand—pout ensured—and got up. “I’m going to make soup alright? No falling asleep.”

“Okay.” Harry reluctantly agreed, hating to watch her leave. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She left Harry to his own devices as she entered his kitchen. It was neat and tidy, just like Harry always kept it. Out of the duo, Harry was defiantly the cleaner, which always worked well in comparison to Y/n stress baking.

Y/n got to work right away, making a soup with a recipe Anne had given to her as a cure all medicine, which, she thought, would do the trick. Harry had all of the ingredients in the fridge, so it took a quick few minutes of chopping, brewing, and seasoning to get it just right.

She dished some up in a bowl, and another for her, then carefully walked back to the room. “Eat up.”

“Thanks.” Harry sat up right away, taking the bowl and spoon and practically inhaling the soup. “Fuck that’s so good.” Harry practically moaned.

“Oh I thought you hated it.” She mumbled, chucking under her breath.

“‘Ey! What’s so funny?” Harry asked, a little dribble of soup trailing down his face.

“Nothing. Just love you.”

“Awe babe, you’re making me blush.” Harry smiled. “Give me a kiss.” Harry pouted his lips and leaned in, causing her to arch her back to get away.

“No. I don’t want any of your germs.” She shooed him back, the pout coming back.

“Please, I’ll feel a hundred times better.” Harry begged. “Just one little smooch.”

Y/n seemed to consider this. She did really want a kiss from him, the last one she got was last night and that was too long ago.

“Fine, but you better not get me sick—“

His lips were on her’s. His lips were dry and his face was burning, but it was a much needed kiss.

“Thanks for taking care of me.” Harry sighed, resting his forehead on hers. “You know I would do the same for you, right.”

“Of course babe.” Y/n kissed him on the nose then patted his cheek. “You need some rest.”

Harry nodded, sleep hitting him quick. She took his bowl and placed it on the side table; Harry knew he’d have a nice dream. One where they're together, under one roof, under one house, one home.

Tag list: send ask to be added/removed. strikethrough can’t be tagged for some reason.

@uhuhuh @sucker4angstt @b-reads-things @augustfaultline @bxtchboy69 @japanchrry @lilbredsticc @daydreamingofmatilda @springholland @fullofsourgrapes @cacapeepee @yourgoldengirls

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mathanlin · 10 months

Text

// mentions of bullying & abuse

Foster AU where Tommy’d been emergency fostered by his English teacher, Mr. Watson.

He’d only had one perfect week before he’d been dumped into a long-term placement, forced out of the Watson’s home.

So it’s agonizing to see them at school every single day.

Techno, waving to Tommy in the hallways. Wilbur, beaming at him in band class.

And of course, Mr. Watson, teaching class like Tommy’s not withering in the back row.

“How’ve you been?”

Tommy freezes in the classroom door. Mr. Watson smiles, like it’s just a normal interaction. Like it’s not Wilbur’s sweater Tommy’s wearing (hasn’t taken off), like he’s not still clinging to everything he can keep of them.

“Fine.”

He can tell the man doesn’t believe it.

(He sees Tommy’s dropping grades firsthand, after all. Surely he doesn’t know it’s because of *him,* of how Tommy almost sobs each time he reads some stupid dad joke on an assignment.)

But there’s nothing he can do.

Except cling, of course.

He still sits with the twin at lunch. Still listens to Mr. Watson’s lectures when he can’t sleep. Still begs Techno to tutor him (even if it’s just in the library, not back home).

It’s fine.

Until Wilbur gets suspended for him.

“I’m calling your father.”

The secretary’s words are directed at Wilbur — fists still red from full-on punching a bully. But Tommy can almost pretend it’s for him, too.

Until Mr. Watson actually arrives, and the only one he looks at is Wilbur.

“Wil—”

“It was for *Tommy,* Dad,” Wilbur says, glaring defiantly. “Don’t start talking about your fucking job, I don’t care.”

Tommy’s gut somehow plummets further. *His job.* Could Mr. Watson *lose it,* because of him?

…and if he could, how angry would he be?

“I’m sorry,” Tommy whispers. Finally, Mr. Watson’s eyes fall on him. “I didn’t—”

“Have they called your parents?” he says — and for one, blissful second, Tommy’s confused. *What do you mean? You’re already here.*

But he can barely call Mr. Watson, “Phil.”

Let alone, “Dad.”

They don’t even say goodbye before leaving. Tommy stays, still bleeding, staring at his bruises.

He’s not ready to go ‘home’ to *worse.* This time, Wilbur won’t be able to protect him.

And if he’s pissed Mr. Watson off enough, maybe he won’t be able to see them at all.

“If this keeps up… you’re going to fail, Tommy.”

Mr. Watson’s trying to meet his eyes. Tommy avoids them, ducking his head and staring at his report card instead.

He shouldn’t have.

Because Mr. Watson’s eyes fall to the bruises on his wrists instead.

“Tommy.”

Tommy jerks back, startled by the teacher’s sudden concern. “They’re— they’re from those bullies,” he lies. “A while ago. I haven’t been fighting, I swear.”

The second part’s true, at least. Tommy’s never raised a hand to defend himself against any foster parent.

Mr. Watson’s eyes narrow, still impossibly soft.

But all Tommy can hear is Wilbur. *Don’t start talking about your job.* Like Mr. Watson could lose it, because of him.

That, even if he hadn’t loved Tommy enough to keep him, he could still *hate* him.

And Tommy can’t take that.

So he’s glad when Mr. Watson doesn’t report the bruises.

Even if it means he just has to hide more of them. Even when Mr. Watson stops packing him lunches, busy with end-of-semester work (and he didn’t have to do that in the first place. Tommy just starves quietly without them).

His grades keep slipping. He goes hungry, day after day, patches up his bruises. Falls asleep in class (even if he’d never admit it’s from the safety of Mr. Watson’s voice).

Mr. Watson doesn’t push.

But the twins do.

“You’re coming home.”

“What?” Tommy says, jerking awake. Techno looms over the library table where Tommy’d fled for lunch, no longer sitting with them.

“You wanted tutorin’, and I’m not doin’ it here. Come on. We’re goin’ home.”

Tommy scrambles up. “No. No, no, it’s the middle of the day, I have class, *you* have class—”

“We can skip them once,” Techno says, still walking. “You’re more important.”

“Mr. Watson—”

“—would do the same,” Techno finishes.

He’s wrong. So wrong.

Wilbur’s waiting in the car.

Tommy bears each worried question on the car ride, answering quietly or not at all. *What happened to you? Why are you pale? Why aren’t you eating with us? What’s /wrong?/*

But then the house comes into view.

And Tommy starts sobbing.

“Please. Please, I can’t be here.”

It’s not just fear. It’s grief, torn up by seeing the home he wanted to spend forever in. He’s not sure how long he panics, twins trying to comfort him.

But it must’ve been too long.

Because Mr. Watson’s car pulls in behind them.

“What do you think you’re *doing?*”

It’s fury, as Mr. Watson storms up the driveway, eyes locked on the twins as they rush out of the car. Tommy stumbles out the other side, hoping to slip quietly away.

But Mr. Watson sees him. His fury falters.

And then roars back full-force.

“You took him, too?!”

“Dad, quit it,” Wilbur yells. “For fuck’s sake. Be quiet for a second, okay?”

“He’s already failing class,” Mr. Watson yells right back. “You can’t do this, Wil, you’re getting him in trouble.”

*You’re getting /me/ in trouble,* Tommy hears. *My job’s in danger.*

“He’s sick, Dad,” Techno says, a little bit shaky. “Something’s wrong. Look at him.”

They do. All three of them, watching him cower, their home hovering in the corner of his vision. Taunting.

And then Wilbur’s eyes fall to the bruises on his wrist.

But unlike Phil, he does the opposite of ignoring them.

“What the fuck is that?”

Tommy jerks back. Not fast enough. (Never fast enough.)

Wilbur snatches his wrist, yanking the sleeve down. His grip is the only thing that keeps Tommy upright as the Watsons stare at every fresh, violet bruise hidden beneath Wil’s old sweater.

Silence.

Mr. Watson’s the first to speak, breathless. “You said… you said it was those bullies.”

“He *told* you?” Wilbur practically screams.

“And you believed him?” Techno cuts in, voice low. “Those are new. And we haven’t been letting any bullies near him.”

That’s too much to process.

Even before Mr. Watson whispers like he already knows, “Tommy, who’s been hitting you?

He can’t speak. Can’t reply.

Not even when Wilbur wraps an arm around his shoulders. When Mr. Watson quietly murmurs, “Let’s get inside.”

Or when they guide him through the door. Onto their familiar, soft couch. He’s back home.

Even if it’s only for a little while.

#mcyt #dsmp #dsmp au #sbi #sbi au #threadfic #tommyinnit #technoblade #wilbur soot #philza

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witchwyfe · 4 months

Text

here with me - tik

pairing - college! Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x female reader

précis - mav makes a bet during the soccer's teams getaway.

content/warnings - language, annoyance towards maverick, fluff

word count - 933

a/n - college soccer player ice series

“Okay, you know this is actually really stupid.” You complain, curled up in the backseat of Carole’s car. “Everyone else wants to sleep together, why can’t we?”

“You know how the guys are,” Ice huffs from the other end of the phone. “They’re turning it into a competition.”

“Yeah, and who’s idea was it?” You scoff. “Maverick’s. He’s single and an asshole, he doesn’t have any stake in the game, of course he would propose something like this.”

Something like this being, for your autumn break trip to a cabin, sleeping arrangements are all girls together, and all boys together. Despite the fact, that the trip is made up of some of the soccer team, and their girlfriends. Mav even thought it would be funny to have whoever caves first, buy everyone dinner on the last night.

You sigh loudly, ignoring Carole’s chuckle from the driver’s seat. Her and Goose finally got their shit together, and they’ve been happily dating since summer.

“And of course you won’t crack, because you love to win.” You whine pitifully, more to yourself than your boyfriend. “I’ll see you when we get there.”

You hang up and shove your phone into your purse, leaning your head against the window, watching a flurry of orange as you pass a multitude of trees.

Not much more time passes before you’re pulling up at the cabin, clearly the last ones there, if the amount of cars shoved into the dirt driveway, is anything to go by.

Ice, Goose, and Slider are quick to come out and help with the bags in the back of Carole’s trunk.

“Hiya honey,” Goose greets, before dipping Carole in a dramatic kiss. You turn to see Ice, and pout, before falling into his arms.

“Hey baby,” He murmurs, pressing a kiss at your hairline.

“Icey,” You whine. “Missed you.”

“Pretty girl.” He coos. “I missed you too.”

Following a week of mid-terms, you’d barely gotten to see your boyfriend. Both of you had stacked schedules with exams and papers, and Ice had a big game right before break began. You were looking forward to a long weekend with him, snuggled into his arms while you sleep, the way you hadn’t been able to.

His arms squeeze easily around your waist, and he lifts you a bit until you can’t help but smile. You fist your hands in the material of his sweatshirt.

“Was lookin’ forward to sleeping with you this weekend.” You tell him quietly. “I didn’t sleep well last week.”

“I know, me too.” He says, lips at your temple. “I’m sorry angel.”

“Not your fault your friends are stupid.”

He chuckles, squeezing you one more time before setting you down. He grabs your duffel bag and purse, waiting for you to shut your car door, before heading inside.

“Carole and I are sharing a room, I think,” You frown. “That’s what Marcy said in the group chat.” Marcy, Slider’s girlfriend, was also very upset about the sleeping arrangements, had coordinated which room everyone is staying in. Your boyfriend nods and continues in, before stopping at a room and gently setting your bags down.

You notice two beds, neither much bigger than a twin, but still an upgrade from the college dorm bed Ice had snuck in, to share with you countless times the previous year.

“Look baby,” You whine. “We could totally fit in here, you always cuddle up anyway.”

“I know, sweet girl,” He soothes with a kiss to your temple.

Carole comes in a second later, Goose rolling her suitcase while she spouts similar complaints that you had.

“Just because Mav isn’t getting any, doesn’t mean he has to ruin it for the rest of us.” She huffs, crossing her arms against her chest. Goose barely bites back his snort, throwing his head back in laughter before Carole sticks a withering glare on him.

You nod in agreement, turning towards her. “That’s what I was just telling him, I mean why did anyone invite him anyway? He’s fucking annoying.”

“Okay,” Ice warns softly. “Not that I don’t currently share the sentiment, but Mav’s room is right down the hall and I’m sure he can hear us.”

You roll your eyes but oblige, leaning into him. “Are we allowed to sit together on the couch at least?”

You packed everything you need for your night time routine and to sleep. Your face is washed, teeth are brushed, and now you’re scrolling on your phone, trying to chill before bed. Carole had long snuck out of your room and into Goose’s—you wish your boyfriend didn’t take everything so seriously. Goose laughed in Mav’s face when he proposed the competition—so it’s too quiet and you don’t have anyone to talk to. Right in the middle of your scroll through Tik Tok, your phone buzzes with a text.

I miss u

You smile, imagining your boyfriend curled up in his bed, missing you enough to send you text.

Come in

You respond.

Carole left. We can push the beds together :)

He sends back:

We don’t need that much room.

Less than a minute later, your door is being pushed open and your boyfriend, clad in boxers and an old crewneck is suddenly sliding in behind you, arms circling your waist.

“Missed you.” He mumbles into your neck, the tip of his nose cold against the skin.

“You’re not allowed to agree to any of Mav’s dumb bets, ever again.” You grumble. “Last time you had to bleach your hair and now this.”

“I know baby,” He coos. “No more, I promise.”

#mine #my work #my writing #witchwyfe writing #witchwyfe #tom iceman kazansky #tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky x you #tom iceman kazansky imagine #tom iceman kazansky oneshot #tom iceman kazansky fanfiction #tom kazansky x reader #tom kazansky x you #tom kazansky imagine #tom kazansky oneshot #tom kazansky fanfiction #iceman x reader #iceman oneshot

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lanitalay · 7 months

Text

Before I Say Goodnight Chapter 11

a/n: Things are picking uppppp

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: Angst! canon typical mentions of violence. some fluff

Other Chapters

You spent an hour showing Azriel all the photos on your phone and telling him the stories behind the really silly ones. He’s fascinated by all of it: your life, your world. It’s all so foreign yet so similar to his own. You turn it off and turn to him “I feel like I talked too much” you smile sheepishly. “Not at all, I love listening to your stories” he looks around and then says “want to do something fun?”

“I don’t think this was a good idea” you are stiff as a board as Azriel leads you around the frozen Sidra. “Do they not have ice skating in your world?” One foot slides in front of the other and you almost fall flat but he keeps you upright. “Yes we do but where I lived it didn’t snow so I never did it” you shiver. “You need a thicker coat, this one won’t do” he holds your hands and skates in front of you. He spreads his wings to block out most of the wind. “Bend your knees a little” you do as he says and feel a bit more stable. “Az, I don’t mean to be a downer but can we do something else?” He chuckles, “sure” and changes course.

You’re walking up the path to the River House and linger a few steps behind Azriel, spotting a fire pit. “Let's make smores!” he doesn’t know what they are, you realize as he stares at you with no recognition in his eyes. “Come on” and drag him to the kitchen.

“Ok so you put the marshmallow on the stick and roast it until it gets melty, then you make a little sandwich with the chocolate and the crackers” you explain as you hand him a marshmallow on a stick. You involuntarily giggle as you watch him methodically twirl the stick so the marshmallow is evenly roasted. “What?” He asks “nothing”, you look back to your own marshmallow and curse when you realize it caught on fire, now it’s him who laughs.

“Try it” he looks comically large with the tiny smore in his hands “I’m sure I’ll like it”. You insist “try it!” He smiles and bites down and his eyes go wide “it’s good isn’t it?” He nods “it’s really good” you do a little dance, excited that he enjoyed it. You moan when you bite down on yours “I missed these”.

Your head is on his shoulder and his wing is wrapped around you as you watch the sun come up. “Are you going to go back with Lucien?” You suppose the bubble had to burst at some point. Reality sets in as the first rays of sunlight hit your face. “Yes” he doesn’t say anything for a while “I’ve missed you at the house” you focus on the sunrise “I’ve missed you too, but I’m doing better now” his wings shift. “What was so bad about being here?” The ice on the Sidra is sparkling now. You lift your head from his shoulder “nothing was bad. But I felt isolated and the days in the library were driving me crazy. My life revolved around the portal and getting back. I loved spending time with you and the others… but I felt like I was caged in. And in the Human Lands I’ve been able to move forward. I really like what I’m doing at the Apothecary and can see a future for myself” he nods. “You don’t see a future here? With us?” You shrug “not really. I really appreciate your friendship and all of your help but my life will be much shorter than yours… and I can’t imagine aging and withering away while all of you remain intact” his face hardens. “So what? You’ll build a life in the human lands and forget that we exist?” You knew he wouldn’t be happy with your answer but couldn’t bring yourself to lie. “I’ll never forget you, but I would like to have a regular life, similar to the one I used to have”. You can hear the house start to wake up behind you “if I asked you to stay with me, would that change anything?” You stay quiet for a moment. There was something between you, more than friendship. “No. You wouldn’t have a full life with me”. He grabs your hand “that’s not true”. A breeze ruffled the barren branches on the trees around you “yes it is, I have sixty years left if I’m lucky. We wouldn’t be able to have kids and soon enough I’d just be a burden” he turns his head to face you and you remain looking ahead. “You’d never be a burden. Not to me” taking a steadying breath you look at him “let’s just enjoy the rest of the holiday, yeah?” He thinks about it, clearly not happy about the outcome of the conversation “alright”.

“I think this is a bit excessive” you turn away from the mirror and look at Azriel. He is doing a terrible job of concealing his amusement “you need a coat”. You scowl “yes, a coat. This is more of a collection of pillows sewn together. I can barely move my arms in this, how am I supposed to ride a horse?” He can’t contain his laughter as you strain to move your arms. The coat was made for someone much taller and bigger than you but Azriel insisted you try it on. “Oh, I’m glad you are enjoying this. Help me take it off” he lifts the heavy coat from your shoulders and you wipe sweat from your brow. “That thing is like a sauna” he hands you one that looks more wearable “try this one”. It was much better than the last, lilac colored and lined with high quality wool, the outside was a flexible waterproof material “I like it”. He was smiling when you turn to him “that color suits you”.

“We’re leaving in the morning,” Lucien tells you. You knew your visit would be brief, God knows what Jurian and Vassa have gotten up to while the two of you were away, but it still stung. “Alright” Lucien walks over to where you’re sitting “you can stay if you want”. You shake your head “no, I told Muriel I wouldn’t be gone long”. He nods. “We should probably go have dinner with everyone” you stand and link your arm with his.

When you returned to the Manor you quickly rode down to the Apothecary. Not willing to sit idly as your thoughts spiraled. Muriel was happy to see you. “Hi, darlin’. How was your Solstice?” You take off your coat and go to hug her “it was really nice. How about yours?” She lets out a long breath “It was very hectic, let me tell you. The whole family got together at my little house and my niece’s baby would not stop cryin’. Poor thing had a fever the whole day”. You frown, I’m sorry to hear that '' she shrugs “he’s teethin’, not much can be done about it. That’s a pretty coat” you grin “it was a present”. Her eyebrows raise “is he handsome?” You blush “yes, very”. Who is he? Is he from the village?” You shake your head, “he lives further North”. Muriel didn’t know about your situation. She knew you lived in one of the big houses in the countryside but she did not know that your roommates were a Mortal Queen, a resurrected male and an heir of Autumn. “That’s a shame, I would’ve loved to tease you” at which you laugh and begin to work “I’m sure you’ll find other things to tease me about”.

The weather was brutal after the Solstice. Everyday got colder and colder. You had started to leave the Apothecary after lunch because the road to the Manor would become treacherous with afternoon snow and ice, some days you couldn’t go at all.

You left the shop when it had started to snow, wanting to avoid getting trapped in the small space. You weren’t expecting to be caught in a blizzard. But twenty minutes after leaving you could not see more than a foot in front of you. Panic. Fear. Cold. You did not know what to do in this situation. The only thing that did not seem completely suicidal was to stay in place and hope the blizzard passes quickly, then you could find your way home.

You never found out how long the storm lasted.

Never made your way home.

A cold blunt object struck the back of your head and the world went black before you hit the ground.

It felt like an elephant was stomping on you. You take a few breaths before attempting to open your eyes. Each movement sent a wave of pain up your spine and to your head. When you peak through half closed eyes. It was dark. Eyes open fully now and you can barely see your hand in front of your face. You’re lying on your side on cold stone floors. What the fuck. When you lift yourself on all fours the world spins and you empty your stomach immediately. Concussion. The last thing you remember is the sound of metal against something hard. My head. Your heart starts to beat faster. Reality setting in. Crawling around the room, you find that three walls are pure stone and one is a metal grate. You feel for any other injuries and sigh in relief as you realize you are fully clothed and unscathed. Your stomach drops as you hear wood creaking. Light flooding the chamber you were trapped in. Slow steps approach. Low voices murmuring. There’s more than one. You crawl to one corner and make yourself as small as you can. If you can’t run then you might as well try to hide.

“You say a new one was captured yesterday?” an authoritative voice echoes. “Yes, sir. Her capture was executed during the blizzard. The men took extra care to leave no traces” no response. “Which cell is she in?” The steps stopped “Number ten, sir”. “Very well, go prepare the horses, I’ll be done here shortly” steps fade away as whoever was there leaves. Heavy steps near the cell. You try to breathe normally but your heart is beating too fast. Even crouched on the floor you’re lightheaded. “What do we have here?” you don’t dare look up, keeping your head tightly between your arms. The voice is laced with the promise of violence. They strike against the grates of your cell. The sound makes you jump, your head lifting as your arms come out in front of you, trying to block the impact. Your eyes are shut and a few seconds pass before you open them. You clam up, recognizing the male on the other side.

“Y/n?” the male asks, genuinely confused.

Lucien had winnowed to the Manor after visiting Tamlin. Each visit was worse than the last, this time Tamlin only grunted at him, still in his beast form. It was light out when it started to snow. “Where’s y/n?” He asked Jurian “at the Apothecary”, Lucien frowned. The weather was bound to get worse and the Manor was about an hour on horseback from the shop. “I’m going to get her before she gets stuck in the blizzard” Jurian nodded, and said teasingly “I should go with you, humans are still uneasy around your kind”. It was the truth, there were humans that still feared the fae. Lucien couldn’t blame them. Generations of fearing his kind and the recent war gave them more than enough reason to harbor animosity towards them.

He waited down the street from the shop while Jurian went to tell y/n they had to leave. “Muriel said she already left” his shoulders sagged in relief, “she must be home by now” and winnowed back to the Manor.

Lucien suspected that something was off when the horse, his horse, was missing from the stables. He decided to wait half an hour before going out to look for her himself.

He knew that something went wrong when the horse showed up in the middle of the blizzard. Without a rider.

Vassa confirmed that something had happened when the sun set. “It was a convoy, they knocked her out before she knew what was happening. I followed them until they reached one of the tunnels”.

“Why am I here?” Your voice is uneven. Eris’s eyes are wide “my father ordered that you be captured”.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, but you won’t be here for long” his voice was gentle now, you had never heard him speak like that. Most of your interactions were sarcastic retorts. The door opens again “Sir?”

“I’ll be up in a minute” he shouts to the same voice from before then looks at you again “are you hurt?” You nod “I think I have a concussion”. His nostrils flare “anything else?” You shake your head. He looks towards the door again then back at you “come closer”. You manage to get up and walk towards him, leaning on the grates as the world spins. He whispers “I’ll be back later. Do not speak to anyone. Don’t react if someone comes in. You being here must be a mistake, so just lay low and I’ll get you out soon” you nod “where am I?” He sighs “this is the Autumn Court dungeons. I’ll be back soon. Remember what I told you”. He steps away from the cell and walks towards the exit. You have no choice but to huddle in the corner and wait.

Eris was utterly terrified when he saw that she was his father’s new project. She is just a human girl, he thought as he walked up the stairs and out of the dungeons. What business could Beron want with her? She won’t survive a week down there, let alone torture at the experienced hands of his father. He did not want to think of what would have happened to her if it had been one of his brothers that had made the round today. Eris cut his routine patrol of the Forest House grounds short and made his way to his fathers study.

Three firm knocks on the mahogany door “enter”, his father commanded. Closing the door behind him he waited to be addressed. “Sit” Beron was reading over some papers, only after he was finished did he look up. “What is it?” Eris remained still, his posture perfectly straight, his face poised in an unreadable mask. “I saw the human girl in the dungeons” Beron leaned back in his chair, relaxed “and?” Eris continues “she seems irrelevant, why waste the time and resources to retrieve her?” The low chuckle that escapes Beron’s lips makes him nauseous. “She seems to be the Night Court’s newest pet. I thought I’d have some fun”. “How is she involved with the Night Court?” He shrugs “I’ll find out when she and I get the chance to talk” it takes more effort that Eris would like to keep his rage unnoticed. He stands and before he is able to leave his father’s voice stops him “when you see Lucien again tell him his choice of company is utterly disappointing” he nods and takes his leave, winnowing to his private wing on the Forest House.

Once he is alone he runs his hands through his hair and lets out the string of curses he had been holding in. The thought of his father being alone with her for even a second makes him sick. He knows she lives with Lucien and he knows she has ties with Night. How long has he been watching her? He needs to get her food and water, Beron would let his political hostages starve for less. Being associated with Rhysand would be enough to have her flogged.

It's after midnight and the house is dead quiet. Eris winnows from the kitchen to the dungeons without making a sound. He creates a fireball that hovers in front of him for light. The dungeons are pitch black without it. When he makes it to her cell he is relieved to see that she remains untouched. He needs to get her out soon. “Hi” her soft voice brings him out of his thoughts. “I’m sorry I took so long, but here” he hands her a bowl of warm stew through the grates. “Thank you” she reaches for it and immediately digs in “here is some water as well” he says and places the bottle on the floor. “My father knows about your ties to the Night Court” she stops eating and looks straight at him “he has plans to… question you” she gulps. “I need you to tell me everything. He won't tell me why he’s keeping you here and I need to know what he knows so I can get you out” he can see her thinking about what to say. Weighing her options.

She takes a breath and tells him everything.

The next day, Eris winnows to the Manor of Exiles. He knocks on the door and is disappointed to see Lucien on the other side. He knows where y/n is but a part of him hoped it had been a hallucination, some sort of roundabout fever dream. “What is it?” His brother has clearly not slept. “Y/n is in the Autumn Court dungeons awaiting questioning” Lucien pales and Eris goes on “Beron has been spying on her for a while, he is aware of her, and your, ties to the Night Court and is going to use her as leverage”. He follows his brother to the sitting room and is forced to repeat what he said to Jurian. “How do we get her out?” Eris explains the situation: Beron’s special interest in you, the guard outside of the dungeons and the grates that only open if his father wills it. “You have to tell Rhysand” that wasn’t a conversation Lucien wanted to have. He didn’t want to see the Shadosinger’s face when he heard the news, he didn’t want to face his wrath. There was no way around it though, so as soon as Eris left he winnowed to Velaris.

Knocking on the River House door felt like a waste of time, so he just walked in and b-lined for the adjoined studies. He cursed internally when he saw two sets of wings and a shadowy mist. “Rhysand, something happened” the High Lord scrapes his talons along his mental shields and Lucien lets him in. “Gods above” he mutters and looks to the Shadowsinger “what?”. Rhysand sighs “Az, sit down for this” Azriel does not. “Tell me” Lucien speaks first. “Y/n was kidnapped by Beron”.

Azriel must’ve blacked out “what?” he repeats. Rhysand shows him what Lucien had shown him. The horse without a rider, Vassa telling what he saw from the skies and Eris informing him that their friend’s disappearance was not an accident. He’s going to be sick. He’s going to kill Beron. Siphons flare, cobalt lights the room. “Eris said that they haven’t touched her, if we act soon we can get her out unharmed” Lucien’s voice brings him back. He has to think clearly and they need to come up with a plan, fast.

Eris winnowed back to the dungeons. It was mid afternoon. He thought that she would probably be hungry by now so he stuffed an apple and a bread roll in his pockets. It was all he could sneak out of the kitchens without raising suspicions. Everyone in this house had sworn loyalty to the High Lord of Autumn and helping feed one of his prisoners was punishable in many ways. He lit a fireball and walked over to the tenth cell, hopefully hearing that the Night Court would be helping in getting her out would keep her spirits high. He hated the fear that had settled on her face. He was used to seeing her in the sunlight, her eyes glittering and cheeky smile always fighting to be seen. His heart sank when he saw her on the floor, in a fetal position, breath shallow. “Y/n?” he lets out a breath when she stirs. “Y/n, wake up” his stomach drops when her head lifts to look at him. A bright purple bruise covered her left eye. It was swollen but not shut. She had a gash from where his father’s ring had made contact, just below her brow. “Shit, what did he do to you?” She sits up and winces when she puts pressure on her arm to crawl closer to him “I stayed quiet like you said, but I think that made him angrier” he scanned her face and it looked like it had only been one punch, which was tame for his father. He looked over at the rest of her and scowled when he noticed dried blood on her dress “where did the blood come from?” The gash on her eye was not deep enough to have trailed that much blood. She took her right arm out of her jacket and showed him a thin but deep slice down her forearm. That was new, his father was never careful about the cuts he made. His only goal was to inflict pain. This was a precise incision, it showed intention. “I passed out from the punch and when I woke up my arm hurt like hell”. This was worse than he thought. “Here” he hands her the apple and bread “I’ll bring you more later tonight when the house is empty” she takes the food and immediately bites into the bread. A small moan escapes her. “I spoke with Lucien, he is informing the Night Court right now, you’ll be out soon”. She doesn’t respond, he wouldn't believe himself either. “Hey” he reaches into the cell and lifts her chin “I promise” he feels a tingle down his back and he knows that she’ll have a matching mark on hers “what was that?” She looks worried “It’s just a bargain mark, when I get you out, which I will, the mark will disappear”. He hadn’t noticed how pale she was, how much blood had she lost? “Eris?” he hummed “promise me that I won’t die here” he nods “I promise”.

“You called for me,” Beron motioned for Eris to sit. “Keir has invited us to his Court for a ball. I accepted his invitation on behalf of all of us. You’ll be escorting the girl” odd. “Why would we bring her?” he asks with an arrogant flare. “In order to the destabilize Night Court we must weaken them and I have a feeling that when the Shadowsinger sees her by your side he will take himself out of my way”. Eris nodded “when is the ball?” His father picked up the invitation and read “Two weeks from today”.

Shit.

“Very well”.

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