#he is dead and alive all at once but always gone from you
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The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived
| this story was inspired by the songs "How Did It End?" & "The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived" by Taylor Swift |
| a companion to 'Pretty' |
Coriolanus holds the single rose in his hand with such vice that the stem has gone limp.
He’s been to enough funerals to know how this goes, what’s expected of him. He attended his little sister’s funeral.
“I’m going to see your sister.”
Those words play over and over in his head while the officiant drones on and on about what an exemplary citizen Soarynn Snow was.
Was any of it true? Any of the time they spent together?
He thinks about all the time he spent with Soarynn. Seven years of life with her. He remembers the day he found out she was ticklish. He tickled her just to hear her laugh, to hear genuine happiness from her. She always seemed so miserable with him even though he’d given her everything she could ever dream of.
Coriolanus thought he had a good grasp on grief. He lived through the war, after all, the Dark Days, and even managed to come out on top. He had the name, the wife, the child. Now two of those are gone.
He had found it extremely difficult to fathom the loss of his own child, his firstborn son. It just didn't seem like something that could happen to him, not when he was on top of the world. Not when they had the nursery all ready, the baby clothes hanging in the closet, the stuffed animals lining the shelves. Soarynn had thrown herself into preparing their son's nursery and transformed the empty space into a warm, loving environment.
They had been so close. So close. But there was a complication, undetected until it was too late and suddenly Coriolanus was receiving phone calls left and right telling him that his wife was found unconscious on their library floor in a pool of her own blood.
Why didn't she call him?
It was a question that plagued his mind as the doctor asked him who they should attempt to save, his son, or his wife.
He chose his wife of course.
Being a father of a dead child was bad enough, but to be a widowed man at such a young age? No. Coriolanus couldn't afford that. He knew their son wouldn't make it into the world alive and if he did then it wouldn't be a pretty sight. Another thing he couldn't afford was having a son who would undoubtedly be the laughingstock of Panem. With the possibility of disfigurements and mental lapses, it was easy for Coriolanus to make the call.
He knew it would devastate Soarynn beyond belief. As much as it terrified her, he knew she wanted to be a mother. She got pregnant rather quickly after their wedding, allowing Coriolanus to confirm once again that Soarynn was of value to him and their family.
He stood out in the hospital hall as they attempted to save his wife. He only caught a small glimpse of them cutting her open before he looked away. He couldn't watch. Then, his son was born.
He didn't make a sound. Stillborns don't cry.
They stitched her up and that was that. One dead child, and one grieving wife.
Coriolanus hadn't known what to do, what to say. Sure, he could be comforting when he needed to be, like when Soarynn had one of her little breakdowns after they had sex. But he was always prepared for those.
How do you prepare for the death of your firstborn child?
So he hadn't said anything, left her to talk with the doctor, and watched the nurses wheel in their dead child in his bassinet for Soarynn to hold for the first and last time. In a way, he was impressed that she even had the strength to do so. He never wanted to hold their son, to see a painful reminder of what could have been.
His curiosity had gotten the best of him once he joined Soarynn's side again, once he saw the pain and sorrow in her eyes. How empty her gaze was.
"What did he look like?" He had asked her, resting a hand on her head.
"He looked like a Snow," she had answered.
And that had been good enough for him.
꧁ ꧂
Coriolanus had however been prepared for the aftermath of their son's death. Only because he knew what it was like, to lose an infant due to unforeseen circumstances. When his baby sister died, his parents were quick to move past it. He felt it was better that way, no need to linger in the past when there was a bright future ahead of them. They could have another child. He'd confirmed that with the doctor before they left. Soarynn wasn't left barren and unable to give him more children and she certainly would give him children in due time.
They'd arrange a small funeral, grieve privately, and more forward publicly. Simple as that. He knew his wife could get sentimental, especially over stupid, little things like books and things of that nature. But he didn't need her to get caught up on what could have been.
He expected them to move on.
He didn't expect Soarynn to make a scene in front of their close family and friends before storming out of the penthouse, leaving without so much as a goodbye. Coriolanus had been furious, absolutely furious with her behavior. He wasn't the one who lost their child. He did everything right, everything by the books and still they lost him. It. They lost it.
Then she lost it.
Coriolanus knew where to go, to find her. She went home. He could give her whatever she wanted, fill their penthouse with all her favorite things but it still wouldn't be enough for Soarynn.
Glen had been upset, and understandably so. Coriolanus couldn't imagine the state that Soarynn showed up in and without their child on top of all that. But he was quick to smooth things over, win Glen over once again, and promised to come back in two days to collect Soarynn.
He got a phone call the next morning. He'd been surrounded by family and friends, namely the Creeds and Clemensia who all watched silently as Coriolanus was delivered the news that bore the death of his wife.
"Drowned in the bathtub."
That's what Glen mumbled before hanging up.
Coriolanus didn't know what to say, what to do. How do you drown in the bathtub? He knew enough to know that it had to be done on purpose. This was no accident. Soarynn killed herself.
He got a wide array of reactions when he shared the news. Most were filled with tears and condolences. It felt so strange to him to know that Soarynn wasn't in their room, curled up under the covers with her cat and a book.
She wasn't in the library, sitting in his favorite chair while she looked through old photo albums.
She was gone. How strange to be gone. To end your own life.
He had two funerals to plan now.
He'd only said a few words before disappearing into his room, "We'll tell no one except all of our friends." As far as everyone else was concerned, she died during the miscarriage. Women die all the time giving birth. What makes Soarynn so special?
But she had been special. Hadn't she? She'd been kind, and caring, she would've been a good mother. He'd never know how it would've ended.
But he couldn’t help himself from wondering how it all ended.
Were there signs? Had she cried out for help?
He tore their bedroom apart looking for clues, for something to hold onto, to tie him to her. After hours of endless searching, he finally came across a book he had never seen before, tucked away in their closet in an old shoe box. He’d held the small book in his hands, simply staring at it before he finally gained the courage to open it.
Her diary.
He hung me on his wall. Not literally but it felt like it. It always feels like I’m some animal pelt when he makes me take those pills. Sometimes I wish I were an animal pelt. At least I’d be dead.
It was no wonder she kept this so hidden from him. He would’ve been livid if he found this when she was still alive. How strange to think that Soarynn wasn’t alive anymore. He would never be able to smell the sweet scent of vanilla again without thinking of the girl who sat in front of him in class that year. Little did she know that choosing that seat would cost her life.
He kept reading. There were so many entries, all devastating in their own way.
I wish I could run away. But I can’t, he trapped me. We’re having a baby in eight months. Coriolanus thinks it’ll be a boy, I hope so too for his sake. I don’t think he’d like a girl. Everyone has been congratulating me on the news but they do that a lot. Congratulate me. On the wedding, on the penthouse, on our relationship. If only they knew. He shows me off, loves to do it. I hate it. I hate it here.
He flipped to the end of the diary, not in the mood for her whining and nagging. The last entry was so short, but the way it was written made Coriolanus feel as if his throat was tightening up. It was like she knew he’d find her diary, would read it, would go to the last entry. She sounded so angry.
Were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?
Did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?
In fifty years will this be declassified?
And you’ll confess why you did it.
And I’ll say, “Good riddance.”
Cause it wasn’t sexy once it wasn’t forbidden.
I would’ve died for your sins instead i just died inside.
And you deserve prison, but you won’t get time.
You kicked out my stage lights, but you’re still performing.
In plain sight you hit. But you are what you did.
And I’ll forget you but I’ll never forgive.
The smallest man who ever lived.
At six-foot-two and at the top of the world, Coriolanus Snow had never felt so small. And for the first time in a very long time, much like his wife, he broke down.
꧁ ꧂
"If anyone would like to share a memory or a few kind words, please do so now," the officiant says, somberly looking into the massive crowd of Capitol elites who have gathered to honor and mourn the death of Soarynn Snow and her stillborn child.
Coriolanus stares down at the ground, at her coffin. It's black and sleek with roses engraved around it. The proper casket for the wife of a Snow. A smaller one sits next to hers. Their sons.
Coriolanus squeezes the white rose in his hand a little tighter as someone walks up to the front, stepping onto the podium.
"Miss Soarynn was a fine Capitol lady."
Coriolanus looks up to see the doorman to their apartment standing at the microphone, "She always greeted me with a smile, asked how my day was going. She even brought me cookies one day, it...it was my birthday. She was a kind woman and my heart goes out to you Mr. Snow, your wife was a lovely lady."
Coriolanus manages to give the doorman a tight-lipped smile. It's hard to smile with that letter playing over and over in his head, those words haunting him now. Were they all watching him now?
His wife, his son, his sister, his mother-in-law?
He wasn't given much notice once the letter arrived on his doorstep. Glen Nightingale all but stormed into the penthouse, collecting every memory of Soarynn, including the cat. The look Glen had given him was all Coriioanus needed to know that Soarynn had told him everything. Or at least something.
He could feel the hatred radiating off of Glen as they stood next to each other.
"Soarynn Nightingale was too good for this world."
Coriolanus doesn't need to look up to know that Sejanus Plinth has taken to the microphone. "She was too gentle, too kind and trusting and that trust was taken advantage of over and over again by someone she blindly trusted. I hope that she and her son can find rest in the afterlife."
A few more people go up to speak, all noting how kind Soarynn was, how beautiful and gentle that girl was.
Was, was, was.
Eventually, Coriolanus is ushered to the podium. He knows he has to give out somewhat of a statement, he can see all the news outlets at the back of the crowd, eager to hear about the tragic events that have suddenly befallen the Snow family.
He clears his throat before speaking, "My gratitude extends to each and every one of you who has attended the funeral of my wife and son today. My wife was loved by many, my son never got the chance to be loved."
He knows that's not true. Soarynn loved their son before he was born.
"We were blind to unforeseen circumstances. My wife's pregnancy was complicated and in the end, led to a tragic and fatal miscarriage that took the lives of the two people who meant the most to me in the world."
Whispers can be heard throughout the crowd. Some people believe him. Coriolanus has always been good at playing for the cameras, telling people what they want to hear. Other whispers are doubtful of his love for Soarynn and their son.
And he has Glen Nightingale to thank for that. Three days after her death, it came out that Sorynn had filed for divorce. Claiming that she was the victim of domestic abuse, sexual violence, and coercion, and numerous amounts of other accusations that did nothing but taint his reputation.
As if her death wasn't hard enough, Coriolanus now has people coming at him left and right, questioning him and his marriage. His father advised him to keep his head down, to deny such claims, and to continue to share his love and adoration for Soarynn.
He just doesn't know if he has any to give.
"I loved my wife. She was kind and generous, she was a devoted woman who was loyal to her family and her country. She would want us to celebrate her life and our sons, not mourn it."
There, he's told people what they want to hear, and now, he's ready to hear what he wants to hear.
꧁ ꧂
The reception dinner is quiet for the most part, only small conversations take place. Many people have come up to Glen to give their condolences. One wife and one daughter gone. Coriolanus fears that he can now relate to Glen on that level and he so badly wishes that he didn't.
"Do you think you'll ever remarry?"
Coriolanus looks to his left to find Livia Cardew addressing him, her eyes pinning him down. A bit of an inappropriate question to ask at a funeral, especially his wife's funeral but Coriolanus will be damned if he comes off as unpolite by ignoring her question.
"I think right now I need to focus on putting the pieces back together," he answers, ignoring the glare that Glen sends his way.
Livia hums and turns back to her dinner leaving them in another uncomfortable silence. Soarynn certainly left a mess behind for him to clean up. Not only her death but now legal issues as well. What a selfish thing to do.
꧁ ꧂
They opted to leave the casket open for those who wanted a moment alone with Soarynn before they buried her six feet in the ground. Coriolanus had declined to do the same with his son. No one would ever know what he looked like, what he could have looked like. What could have been.
Many people go up to Soarynn, he watches them whisper words they probably don't mean. He doubts most people really knew her. He barely did himself it seems. Eventually, he gathers the courage to see his wife one last time. At least her death wasn't horrendous and she didn't slip her wrists open along with her face. She looks like she's sleeping.
But she'll never wake up.
He leans down until it's just the two of them, not a word between them. She smells like vanilla. Her skin is pale, it lacks the normal tan hue she always had.
"You left me," he whispers, "left me to deal with this mess."
Soarynn doesn't respond.
"You know, I keep going over it in my head. What if I never noticed you? Never took interest in you? Would my life be this fucked if we never met? Do you know Soarynn? Do you know how different things would've been for the both of us? if you're listening from Heaven do me a favor and ask someone up there if they can see, if they can see what it would look like if our paths never crossed. And if they can find something, somewhere where you never ruined my fucking life, you ask them something for me, okay?"
Coriolanus has to force himself to take a deep breath as he whispers to his wife, berating her from the grave.
"How did it end?"
He straightens up, giving Soarynn one last look. She was fun, quiet, and obedient for the most part. She tried to be good for him, and he had to give her credit for that.
Her hair has been done in curls, her makeup is light and her lips are a soft pink even though he knows that under all that makeup she's pale and her lips are blue.
She looks so pretty.
| Final Part |
| tumblr oneshot/drabble |
#coriolanus fanfiction#slaymitchabernathy#coriolanus snow#coriolanus smut#the hunger games#hunger games#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#ao3 fanfic#wattpad#soarynn snow#staywithmealways#sejanus plinth#soarynn nightingale#coriolanus x soarynn#coriolanus imagine#coriolanus fic#original character#coriolanus oneshot#coriolanus x oc#oc#oneshot#coriolanus drabble#drabble#stay with me always
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actually the fact that odysseus knew he'd be gone for 20 years makes the gears in my brain turn. You kiss your son goodbye knowing you will miss every milestone of his. He will be a grown man and will not remember you. You will be a father only by title. Your wife will lay alone in your wedding bed, she will wake and see the side you've slept on is empty. You won't hold each other for a long, long time. Your parents may not even be there to welcome you back. You know you will return, but the war stretches on and on. Your comrades fall. Your ships are on fire. Your best warriors are nothing but ashes in an urn. But it's eventually over, you can go home. But still, there's more time left. First it's a storm. It's winding up in strange lands. It's hunger. It's temptation. Your men grow weary. You have twelve ships and then you have one and then it's only you on a single timber. You know you will return, but everything has gone so horribly wrong that you can't help but wonder if the fates fooled you. Everyone you know is either dead or are living again. You are the only one stuck in between. Neither dead or alive. You sit on a beach staring out to the sea from the moments the birds sing til the sun dips over the horizon. Every day is the same - you sit on the stones and weep, you trek the shores, during the night you're in her bed. Your skin is cracked and sunburnt, your beard long and tangled, your hair etched with more and more silver hairs. Your eyes are dull, sunken. Your bones ache when you walk, your breath is shorter. The sun rises and sets. The waves wash away your footprints. You are growing old but the island is the same. You are left behind. Your home will change and you won't change with it. In fact, everyone will change, but you will not recognize what's different. Some of the lines under your eyes will be the hauntings of war, while your wife's will be from the sleepless nights of buying you time. You flinch when you see each other. You expected to see someone else, and she expected to see no one at all. You could once hold your boy in your arms, but now it feels like he's the one holding you. The trees in your orchard have grown taller. Some of the houses in your kingdom are empty. The children that sat on your knees now have their own children on their own knees - or they lie dead, by your own hand. Who are you? Who is your son, your wife? You will get to know each other, you will change together eventually. But there will still be something off, like a brick not fitting quite right in the foundation. Off like a living man among the dead, someone who wasn't fated to die, but was supposed to die a long time ago. A dead man among the living. You will not belong, even though you are the father of your son, the husband of your wife, the son of your father, the king of your land. There will always be something missing, something aching.
And you are willing to let it all happen when you lift your baby son from the field, away from the plow.
#*throws up* do you get it.#odysseus#procrastinating on schoolwork woohoo#niko rambles#you could've left your baby boy to die. you'd have more kids.#but you didnt.
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the old man and the sea- a joel miller x reader fic
summary: grief is a sacred thing, a nasty thing, a sensual thing. it grips you from the inside until there's nothing left but a void of darkness- a void that can never be filled. joel miller knows this fact very well, and all he wants to do is save you.
warnings: girthed up age gap (college age!reader x 50’s age joel), i’m exploring a new type of writing ok let me COOK!!!! idk i am delusional, reader has hair that at least reaches her neck, cigarette use, this whole thing is basically an allegory for grief and growing but there also a lot of sexy smut soooo yeah. (mentions of death and two brief mentions of suicide, but nothing too detailed.) that being said, smut (f receiving oral sex, soft kissy missionary sex, unprotected piv sex, some 'dirty' talk, etc.)
note: this has NOT been proofread or edited. any mistakes are mine. i just hate going back and editing lmao. enjoy! xx
In the august days of your youth, when the rocky line of the coast line glimmered beneath the flame of the sun, when the foamy waves would pool by your sandy feet, you could remember the towering lighthouse just south of the beach, the way it stood tall and proud, like the statues of Roman soldiers you knew from your school encyclopedias. It was vibrant and alive, no more dead than the clams bubbling beneath the surface of the ocean, no more dead than the bellowing of the whales far off the shore.
You remember how it would speak to you, late at night when you would walk alone, hoping to catch the light reflecting off the tail of a pretty mermaid, hoping that the local legends of talking fish would come poke their heads above the water, speaking to you in riddles from days gone by.
You remember the words of the light which shone strong from above, circling above your head , like the passing lights of a traveling carnival, your eyes caught like a moth roaming towards the flames, lost in the eternal beauty of its golden light.
Come to me, child. Let the lighthouse unburden your pain.
But back then, when you were quick to scare despite your steadfast stubbornness, you never garnered enough courage to explore behind its walls.
Now college had passed, and you moved back home to your parent's rickety beach house, alone behind her comforting wooden exterior. This home. This home that was once so full of life. This home that held warm laughter and late night board games. This home that housed your closest friends and their secrets of crushes and undeciphered dreams. This home where you grew into a young woman full of life and beauty, clever and brilliant.
This home that was now empty.
You had got the call the week after finals.
We're so sorry, they went out fishing and a storm came. We never found them.
Oh, yes.
Adventure pumped through your veins, the taste for freedom like salty water on your tongue. You knew where you got it from, you always had. Your sweet family, your loving parents. Full of life like that lighthouse, full of of love like the sun.
Now they were nothing, and this house was nothing. Those years of laughter and secrets and adventure were nothing.
Nothing.
Your favorite word these days.
Going through belongings and shuffling through old books had taken almost a weeks worth of tears. Hot, tepid, angry tears.
How dare they leave you alone? How dare they forsake you like this?
The thought of crashing water and striking lightning was almost too much to bare.
When the storm had rolled in that morning, you had been tucked away in the alcove of your kitchen, nursing a steaming mug that was more cream than coffee. You watched the droplets of rain paint pictures on the window, you watched nature wring her tears across the fluttering branches of trees, cracking soft splashes across the pavement with each gust of air. Your chest felt heavy with thoughts of them.
Mom and dad.
Mamma and papa.
Perhaps it was in hopes you would feel some comfort, perhaps it was in hopes you would feel whole. If you could just stare out at the ocean that took them, maybe they would speak to you. Maybe those fairytale fish would poke their heads up from the water and exclaim to you how happy your parents were, how they were fitting right in, how they had invited Mrs. Dolphin over for tea last Saturday, and how they were finally warming up to the funny shark that always lurked in the seaweed.
You stood barefoot on the cragged rock, staring out at the roaring waves, with nothing but the lull of distant seagulls and the song of incoming thunder.
No fish. No parents. No Mrs. Dolphin. Just another season of storms and a crater in your heart.
Your throat was raw from all the screaming. You danced to your fight song as you let the rain take you, your clothes felt like skin from how soaked through they were. Heavy drapes of fabric that cemented you in place on that cragged rock. That cragged rock that dripped with the blood of your raw heels, your toes scraped and ruined from the sandy surface.
It was dark by the time the storm rolled out, dark by the time your back found the safety of the sand, dark by the time your hair clung to your neck and became tangled up with the seashells.
There was a glowing orb of light far off in the distance that you could just make out through the hazy fog of your eyelashes, and you realized it was growing closer, the old handle of a lantern creaking through the night.
"Hello?" The voice was rough and unknown to your ears, yet held a certain warmth despite the weariness.
"Yes?" You asked softly, refusing to open your eyes. If you opened your eyes, all of this was real, all of this was raw, all of this was right there.
"Are you.... okay?"
"Yes."
The lantern creaked once more, and you heard the shuffle of fabric as the man leaned forward, pressing his knuckles to your cheek. "You're colder than a reindeer's antlers, girl." His touch was warm, his hand a welcome solace from the rain. "You live around here?"
You didn't want to go back to that house. You didn't want to smell their detergent or see their old clothes. You didn't want to waltz through that kitchen or hear the creak of those old stairs.
Perhaps it was from the way your lip quivered, from the rain or from the cold, perhaps it was from the defeat in your voice, or the weightlessness of your soul, but the man before you knew he had to do something about it. How could he not? You were laying there like a pile of unfolded laundry, and no one else was around to fold it all.
You felt an arm slip behind your back.
"C'mon, stand up with me. On three."
You groaned softly, using a thick arm as leverage as the mystery man helped you stand off the ground. When you opened your eyes, you saw a pair of umber orbs staring at you, tracing over your face, every line, scar, freckle, dent, he was soaking you in like a sponge, as though he wanted to know your face just from memory.
"I'm Joel."
Joel.
He was handsome, that was the first thing you noticed about him. You felt your stomach churn at the feeling, angry you could find him so beautiful, despite the darkness which shrouded over you. Joel was broad and rugged, no doubt rough around the edges. He was adorned with various scars and random freckles, with thick eyebrows and broad shoulders, plush lips and kind eyes- hardened by time, no doubt, but beautiful all the same.
You know you mumbled your name out somewhere along the walk, eyes cloudy with tears. It was a miracle you managed to speak anything at all.
As you neared the lighthouse, you realized just how foreboding it truly was. Its paint was cracking, yet its foundation remained firm, and it towered up into the clouds like a Medieval castle. Behind it's white structure you saw a small cabin, warm light seeping through the misty windows, painting the green grass with splatters of sunshine.
When Joel opened the door, an old dog sitting in front of the fireplace lifted his head, the soft thump of a tail beating against the wooden floors. His fur was gray and his eyes were old, his long fur a mixture of brown, black, and white patches. Like a makeshift quilt.
Quilts. Your mother used to make those.
"That's Moby." Joel explained, setting a kettle on the old gas stove. "Sit down. You're trailing blood." You felt embarrassment creep up your neck, and he must have noticed the way your eyes darted with shame. "No, no. I didn't mean it like that. Let me fix up your cuts. I-.... I wasn't trying to be a dick." He spoke like this was his first time having human interaction in a decade, and by the way he moved, you might have been right.
He fumbled through drawers and cabinets, eventually finding a metal first aid kit that had begun resting at the edges years ago. Joel pulled up a dining room chair in front of you with a loud screech, peering up at you as he shuffled through the remnants of the kit.
"What were you doing out there?" He asked, gently grabbing your ankle. He guided it to his lap, inspecting the raw flesh of your soles.
"Exploring."
"Exploring what?"
"Myself."
You felt his shoulders jerk with a bit of a laugh. Normally, you would not have gone home with a stranger. Normally, you would not have let a random man place your legs on his lap or nurse you up.
But then again, nothing was normal anymore. Normal was home. Normal was family. Normal was homecooked meals and late night board games and sleepovers and secrets and.... well, none of this.
The hot stream of tears threatened the dam that rest just above your waterline. Joel noticed, but he didn't say anything.
His calloused thumb rested on the side of your foot, the sting of alcohol soaked pads causing you to wince.
"I know." He muttered through an unlit cigarette which dangled from his mouth, the lines of his forehead prominent with each movement he made. "There we go. Right one's done. Let me see the left."
You obeyed wordlessly, gently propping it up onto his thigh. He repeated his previous work until that foot was cleaned and patched.
Joel stared at you. The tea kettle behind him was whistling for attention, its top sputtering from the roaring boil of water.
"Earl gray or green?" He asked as he rummaged for two cups, blowing the dust off of one. You watched Joel stare at one of the cups for a beat too long.
"Earl gray." You croaked, blinking hard. You felt wetness by your hand. When you looked down, the black nose of a dog was pressing into your palm. Your fingers found his fur, rubbing that spot right behind his ear that made his back leg go crazy. Who couldn't smile at that?
Moby laid down, his fur a puddle at the base of your chair as he rested his snout atop your foot. You stared at him, welcoming the softness of his body against yours.
"Moby is a sweet dog. He's old. Rarely gets up from that bed." Joel explained, handing you a cup. The words World's Best Dad were fading at the sides. This cup must have been older than you.
"I like him." You let the liquid glide down your throat with each sip, savoring the warmth it provided you. At the first sign of a shiver, Joel had wrapped a blanket around your shoulders.
"Why are you being so kind to me? You don't even know me."
Joel sat back down across from you with a soft groan, the ache in his bones creaking like an old, rusting elevator shaft. "I do know you."
"Have we met before?" Your eyebrow raised with interest, and you looked at him wearily, trying to deduce what he was up to.
"No. But I know what grieving looks like." There was a long pause before Joel decided to speak again. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"
"What? No!" You guffawed, neck snapping up to shoot him a scowl. "Of course not."
"Look. If you walked up on a half dead, soaking wet person on the shore, during the aftermath of a storm, you'd be thinking the same thing." He defended himself sternly, setting his cup down.
There was a thick moment of quietness.
"Those were your parents, weren't they?" His voice was barely a whisper. It floated through the air like smoke off a candle, hitting you in the face.
"Yes."
"It was all over the news. Loads of us went out there, tried to find them."
"They're out there somewhere. Fish food." Your voice was bitter.
Joel didn't say anything. He just sat and stared. You stared back.
It became a ritual after that night. You were over there every evening, usually with a paper bag full of groceries and treats for Moby. You taught Joel how to make Paprikash and Japchae, you taught Moby how to fist bump with his nose (old dogs can learn new tricks), and you taught yourself how to laugh again.
Laughing. Such an odd thing to do in the aftermath of grief. Such a weird feeling to allow ones self to feel after weeks of chaos.
And Joel, he had his uses too.
Joel taught you how to do a fishtail braid, he taught you how to use a fly rod, and what the inside of a lighthouse looks like. Joel taught you how to smile again, he taught you what the feeling of freedom felt like once more.
Summer faded into autumn, and the orange and yellow trees began to paint the prettiest of pictures on the canvas of the coast. It held a certain nostalgia that summer had always failed to do for you, and the promise of apple cider and pumpkin scented candles floated through with every passing day.
It had taken some convincing, but Joel had swayed in to your demands, and you both sat at a tiny table in a tiny cafe, the steaming pumpkin latte swirling between his hands.
"So?"
He stared at it for a moment before meeting your gaze. "It's.... not half bad."
"Well, well, well. Looks like I was right. I knew you'd like it." You smiled through your victory, drinking your own iced coffee.
"I haven't been here in years." Joel explained, looking around at the decorations. Local art, framed photographs, and signed albums adorned the exposed brick walls, the glowing salt lamps on each table bathing the air with warm, orange light.
"You've been here before?" This coffee shop was old, you knew that much, but even when you were younger and frequented its counter with your high school friends, you can't remember ever seeing him here. And this was a small town- you knew you would have remembered his face, despite the wrinkles and grays. He still would have been Joel.
"Over two decades ago. Sarah loved this place."
"Sarah?"
His upper lip twitched at the sound of her name. Joel looked at you with heavy eyes, glossed over with the mark of grief. The kind of grief that settles in to your body as though it's its home, the kind of grief that sits beside you on the couch and never leaves. The kind of grief you were learning to grow beside.
"My daughter."
The air hung above your heads like a rainy cloud, thick and desultory. It fell across your shoulders like a fur coat, and you struggled to shake it all away.
"I didn't know that you..." Words were useless. They always were when it came to matters like this.
Joel drank his coffee in silence, tracing the ridges of the wooden table out with his eyes. "Don't like talking about her."
"We don't have to."
"Yes, we do." His voice was stern as he looked up at you, your gaze connecting. Joel's eyes were far away, searching for something in the recesses of his memory, or perhaps gaining the courage to speak to you.
"I've been alone for over twenty years." His voice was softer than you had ever remembered it being. "And then.... you were there. Just there. Laid out on the shore like a beached mermaid, shivering in the moonlight. I didn't know you... but I knew you. You were me in that moment. I had been you."
Your lips were pressed into a tight, thin line, and you watched as he spoke. There was a subtle shake to Joel's hands as he picked at his thumb nail, a tick you had picked up on the first week you had known him. The bouncing of his knee vibrated through the table.
"I know what grief is. I know the stain it leaves on someone's face. It was all over you.. just-just dripping."
You hadn't noticed the tears welling in your eyes.
Joel reached over, his palm engulfing your cold hand like a blanket, warming your skin up with his touch. He laced your fingers tight in to his own, cradling your palms close between his two hands.
"I know what all this does to a person. How it rots, how.... how it erodes. I knew I needed to help you."
"What's why you took me back to your house."
"Yes. That's why I bandaged you up, that why I made you tea, that's why I let you keep coming back. Because I wanted to help you, because I lov-"
"Are we doing okay over here?" A barista walked up with a smile, a tray in hand. "I'm just going to take these empty cups away! It's such a beautiful day outside."
You managed to shoot her a smile.
As she walked away, Joel continued staring at you, and there was a sense of something..... else in his eyes.
"Lets go back home? To- well, uh, to my home."
You nodded silently, letting go of his hands as you both walked out the door.
There was something unspoken between Joel and you, and it had settled between the two of you over the months. You knew that he knew, and Joel knew that you knew, yet it was never brought up, it was never allowed to spoken out loud. If it was spoken out loud, then it became real, and if it became real, then it would end up being a burden. Or a promise. Or a nightmare. Or a dream. Or a beautiful, welcoming, loving thing that lasted until the day you died.
How terrifying was that?
You don't know when you had started holding Joel's hand, but the walk back to the lighthouse was quiet and chilly.
Because I lo-
His words echoed through your skull with every single step you took along the cobbled path.
Lo, lo, lo, lo. Love? Loathe? Long? Look?
Your chest compressed against itself as your thoughts wandered. You must have been squeezing Joel's hand too hard, or your nails must have been digging into his skin too deeply, because he stopped and looked at you.
"Are you okay?" He asked quietly.
"I- um. Huh?"
"You're practically making me bleed with those nails of yours. Are you okay? Thinking about something?"
"Oh, I'm sorry." You muttered sheepishly, gently recoiling your hand away. Joel stopped you, placing it back in the grasp of his own. "I just... what were you going to say to me?"
"Hmm? Say to you?"
"Back at the coffee shop?"
"Oh." Joel shuffled his weight between both of his feet, his eyes shifting to meet yours. His warm, gentle, dark eyes. Those honeyed orbs of warmth that you had grown to love so deeply. Love? Oh, yes. You were certain it was love.
What part of Joel Miller didn't you love? He had rescued you from much more than that shore on that fateful night. Fate. Hell of a thing, that.
Joel squeezed his eyes shut. It was like ripping off a band-aid. When he spoke, he opened them once more, allowing his words to drip off his tongue. They were soft, gentle, they swayed through the tresses of your hair like a breeze through a field of flowers.
"I love you."
And there it was.
Time must have stopped. Your ears rang with silence, the weight of the universe funneling and funneling, closer and closer to your head until there was nothing. No noise. No air. No nothing.
Joel stared at you with a blank expression on his face, as though he couldn't believe what he had just said.
"I shouldn't have... that was- I'm sorry."
You took a step towards him, his hand was still wrapped around your own. You felt the subtle sheen of sweat on his palm, you tasted the tang of metal on your tongue from biting your cheek too hard, too deep, too long.
You knew it as sure as the sun rose in the east, you knew it with every vein in your body, with every hair on your head. You loved him, too.
Oh you did, didn't you? What a fool you were for him. If he told you to jump, you would jump. If he told you to run away with him, you would ask where. Joel Miller had bewitched you, every ounce of you, and you couldn't bare the thought of leaving him, or forgetting him, or even worse- never meeting him.
Some brave rush of courage overtook you, and before you could think you had grabbed his face in your hands and pressed your mouth into his own, nearly knocking him off his feet with the force of your movement. Joel's hands instinctively grabbed your waist, and his back found the support of a stop sign. The tips of his fingers gently dug into your waist, and he held you close and tight to his chest. You could feel the beating of his heart against his torso, pumping and pumping and pumping its vibrations into your own chest, ricocheting through your body as you tasted him on your tongue.
You pulled away only when your cheeks ached, burying your face in to his chest, allowing the smell of Joel to overcome you. He always smelled like the sea air and cotton, sweet and nostalgic against your nose.
"Lets get home." He whispered in your ear.
Home. He hadn't corrected himself. Home.
Joel's fingers refused to leave yours, locked tight as you made it to his house. Moby greeted you with a kiss to the knee, waddling back to his bed with a heavy huff of air. You gave him the bone you always picked up for him on the way there, before turning around to see Joel in the kitchen, a cigarette in his mouth.
"Want one?" He asked as he brought the lighter to his mouth. You walked towards him, nodding. He took the item out of his mouth, before placing it between your own two lips.
Joel watched the way you took the cigarette, the way your glossy lips looked against the white sheen of paper.
"You're so damn beautiful. God, I just..." Joel shook his head as he kept his thoughts to himself, lighting another smoke before tossing the half empty pack on to the table.
"You just what?" Your voice echoed through the bellow of smoke, and you leaned against the counter, challenging him with your words.
"I just... got so many things I want to do to you."
You smiled, alluring eyes beaming up at him as you puffed and exhaled, slowly putting out the embers on the clay ashtray you had bought him months ago. "Like what?" Your words were teasing.
Joel watched you step towards him, and his chest rose and fell underneath the unlit kitchen light. He took in a deep breath of tobacco before flicking it in to the metal sink.
He'd deal with that later.
"How 'bout I just show you, baby?"
Your lip caught between your teeth as you nodded.
Joel had never moved so fast in his life, whisking you off to his room with a loud bang of his door. He had you nearly naked and on his bed in record time, his knee resting between your legs as he kissed you, the hair of his moustache tickling your nose.
He allowed you to grind yourself down on his leg, soft moans flooding in to his mouth as his tongue explored your own, tangling and dancing with one another as his fingers worked the back of your bra. Joel threw the material across the room, your breasts pressing in to his chest, nipples hard and tantalizing.
That was the first time Joel had pulled away. He left a trail of wet kisses down to your nipples, his lips wrapping around the stiff bud. You watched him suckle at your flesh, shivers causing the hair on your arms to stand up. His curls became tangled with your fingers, a leg resting on his shoulder as he adjusted himself, sucking and licking at your tits as though he were starved.
Your sweet melody of arousal was like music to Joel, who finally gathered the strength to pull away from your chest and move down between your legs, his mouth planting a flurry of pecks to your stomach. He hooked your panties in his fingers and tugged them off, large hands resting on your thigh as he spread them.
Joel stared at your pussy, now open and bare for his eyes. It glistened with arousal, the soft pink of your flesh causing his mouth to water.
"Jesus." He breathed out slowly, eyes darting up to your gaze. "You were made just for me, weren't you?"
You felt your cheeks heat up. You were. Oh, God, you were!
His free hand snaked up to yours, and you held it tightly, nervously. His hand was your anchor, tethering you to the ocean floor of his bedroom.
Joel leaned forward, his tongue pressing flat against your clit. You whimpered out once. He sucked it in between his lips. You whimpered out twice. He worked your aching bud until you were singing a song composed just for him, pants of hot, heavy air swirling through the four walls of his room.
He was devouring you. You were his Eucharist and your pussy was his prayer. Joel worked you in ways you had never been worked before, licking and sucking your pussy with the fervor that could only ever be found in a religion. You were his religion. His idol. His worship. His solace.
Oh, solace. What a sweet, sweet thing when it was found in you.
Joel's chin was quickly soaked in your sweet wetness. He would have drowned in you if you had let him.
His tongue pushed deep in to your folds, exploring your most precious pf places, tasting every inch of you like a starved man, like a frenzied man, like a mad man.
You were his. He was yours.
Your hips were bucking, your body like a wild animal caught in a trap. Except you weren't in a trap. You were in his arms. His strong, thick, heavy arms, and ecstasy was overtaking you. His tongue was coaxing you towards an explosive orgasm, the likes of which had never been known to you. Not one so intense. Not one at the hands of a man who loved you.
Joel's grip tightened around your own, his lips sucking at your clit, tongue tapping and swirling, licking and lapping.
You could barely get any warning out before your orgasm rushed through you, thighs shaking with earthquakes of pleasure. Your fingers tugged at his hair, holding his head tight in place. Joel licked you through the height of your euphoria, sucking softly at your bud before you could barely take it anymore, before you had to gently push his head away.
"Joel." You whispered, staring at the ceiling as the white hot heat of your climax rushed over you. "Joel." You spoke it like a mantra. His name was a promise to you.
"Baby?" He climbed over you, weight supported by his elbows, and allowed the tip of his nose to gently brush over yours.
"Take me." You whispered, the palms of your hand moving to his cheeks. They were warm, and you could smell your pussy on his facial hair. You leaned forwards, kissing him, tasting your cum and his spit. A moan tumbled out of your mouth, straight through your teeth.
"Make me yours. Fuck me." You begged, although Joel didn't need any begging.
"Anything for you."
His boxers were off in the blink of an eye, and you glanced down at his cock. Tanned, slightly curved, hanging low and heavy, the mushroom tip gleaming with pre-cum. Your mouth was watering at the site, but his grasp on your chin moved your line of sight to his face.
Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and a soft gasp escaped you at the feeling of the tip of his cock pressing against your folds. He grinded against you, his shaft rubbing up and down the folds of your pussy, jolts of electricity causing you to shiver each time he brushed your clit.
Joel was teasing you. He was making you in to a mess. A mess all for him.
His eyes never left yours. Joel watched you lovingly, noses pressed tight, lips brushing past the others. You were as close as two people could possibly be, and you were unsure where his skin ended and yours began. Stray curls of his hair tickled your forehead, and your chests rose and fell in unison.
"I love you." His breath was hot against your face.
"I love you too-" He pushed his length in as you spoke, stretching out the lips of your pussy, hitting deeper than anything had before. You moaned out a wanton noise you had never heard before, nails gently digging in to his shoulders.
Joel sat there for a moment, heavy eyelids half closed. He was soaking you in, literally, allowing himself to relish in the feeling of being inside of you. Of being one with you.
He had not afforded himself many of life's pleasures. Not after Sarah had died. Not after he had let himself go. He had paced the same shore as you many moons ago, gun in hand, trying to urge himself to just put the barrel in his mouth and pull the trigger. It sounded so easy.
But something had stopped him. Something hadn't let him.
He had wondered, many years after that, why he hadn't done it. He had wondered what could possibly be worth living.
And then he saw you.
In that very same spot, rotting beneath the silver light of the moon.
It was you. Everything had been for you, hadn't it?
And now there you were, beneath him, as pretty as a picture, the embodiment of everything he had ever yearned for, everything he had ever dreamed for. You were everything to Joel, and he was everything to you.
And now there he was, deep inside of you. You were all he could feel, all he could smell, all he could see. You, you, you. The most beautiful thing he had ever saw, the most wonderful thing he could have ever waited for.
The shiver of your body brought him back down to reality. He kissed you deeply, and all you could do was smile against his mouth.
Lucky. That is what you were. That is what you both were.
"You feel so good." You whispered softly, hands gently running down the back of his head, finding a resting spot on the broad stretch of his freckled back.
Joel rubbed his cheek against yours, slowly moving his hips, grinding down against you, eliciting a sweet moan out of you. "Yeah?"
You both giggled in unison, and he watched your eyes shut as he began to pump deep inside of you. The feeling of your nails pinched at his skin.
Joel glanced down, watching his cock disappear into the depths of your cunt, sloppy noises of your arousal filling the air. Your pussy lips looked so pretty wrapped around his length, your wetness looked so pretty glistening off his cock.
You were made for him, and he for you.
"Take me, Joel." You begged, and his movement increased, growing slightly rougher as his forehead met yours, lips pressing together once more.
"God, you're so beautiful. So fucking beautiful. So fucking pretty. You feel so fucking good. This pussy.... fuck. Fuck, I never want to leave it." He was rambling through his thrusts, hand reaching down to rub at your swelling clit.
"Fuck me, Joel. Fuck me." You whined out, bucking up against the touch of his fingers as he fucked you harder in to the mattress.
"You're my girl. You're my beautiful fucking girl. God, you're everything to me. You're my world." His breath was hot against your face as he kissed you, coaxing you towards another orgasm with each rub of his middle finger across your clit.
"That's a good girl. I can feel you getting closer. I can feel that pussy tightening against me."
Your back arched off the mattress as you cried out his name, moaning as his praises filled your ears. Joel rested his face in the crook of your neck, hips slapping in to your thighs as he filled you up with every inch of his length.
"That's my girl, that's it, baby. Cum for me."
You did as he said. There was no use in holding back. As your orgasm rushed through, his own was approaching. Your name tumbled off his lips, the only word he could remember, as he came deep inside your walls. His hot cum filled you to the brim with a warmth you had never experienced, and Joel kept slowly pumping as his high rushed off, as his orgasm died down.
You shivered beneath him, another kiss being planted on your mouth. Then you cheeks. Then your nose. Then anywhere else Joel could get to.
A moan tumbled off Joel's tongue as he slowly slipped out of you, falling beside you before grabbing you and pressing you in to his chest.
"Stay with me."
"I always do." You whispered in to his chest.
"No, stay with me. Permanently. This can be our home."
"Our home." You whispered quietly, nuzzling closer into his body.
"Our home." He established firmly, resting his palm on the crown of your head.
The world would always spin, and sorrow would always lurk. That was how the world worked. That was the way of the universe. When you both awoke in the morning, the pain of yesteryears would still be there. The horrible, nasty tug of old memories and distant lives would always be somewhere deep within you.
The cosmos, however, were full of possibilities. You could have stayed in your parents home and succumb to a darkness greater than yourself. Joel could have drank himself to death or tasted the metal of a bullet. Those waves could have taken you, and he could have never decided to take a walk down to that beach.
There were many what if's.
But right now you were alive with passion, eyes wide and awake with a newfound love. The bitterness had gone, and something much brighter and better was waiting for you in the future.
Beside you, Joel Miller sat puffing on a cigarette, smiling at you through dreamy eyes. The sheen of sweat was still glistening across his chest, and the gentle smirk on his lips reflected the tales of a lovesick fool.
"Ready to go again?" He asked cheekily, handing you the smoke.
You took it with a smile.
For now, grief would have to wait.
#studioghibelli#joel miller x reader#joel miller#pedro pascal#joel miller x you#pedro pascal x reader#joel miller smut#the last of us fic#joel miller the last of us#joel miller x y/n#joel miller au#joel miller fic#joel the last of us#joel miller tlou#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us#tlou#tlou fanfiction#tlou au#joel tlou#tlou fic#tlou hbo#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fanfiction#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#pedro boys#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fandom
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synopsis. you’d always wait for satoru.
tags. JJK CHAP 236 SPOILERS, it’s like fluff and angst but neither at the same time yk
"took you long enough."
satoru blinked twice, those icy lashes fluttering as his blurry gaze focused on the figure next to him. he hadn't heard that voice in so long that it barely felt real, a fragment in his memories.
"i thought you'd be at least a little bit happy to see me," your lips were tilted up in a grin that easily met your eyes. you're eighteen: white blouse tucked into a long skirt and your hair twisted up away from your face. there's a sliver of silver peeking up from below your collar and he didn't need to see the necklace fully to know that the characters on the bottom spelt his name.
you were gorgeous.
"i'm always happy to see you," it was unnatural for satoru's voice to be so quiet and gentle and your laugh created a symphony he'd long forgotten. it had been six excruciating years since he'd last been blessed with your joy.
the last time he had seen you you were twenty-two, a white cloth covering your body. a mission gone wrong. that was what shoko had told him and he just had to accept it, because what else could he do?
he was the strongest until it mattered.
"smile a little for me toru, i've missed you," you were bubbly but there was a tenderness in your tone. you were dead, and now so was he, it wasn't something someone could acknowledge lightly.
but he was here, with you, and so despite it all he did as you wished, the smile he reserved only for you. there was a brief moment, the two of you staring lovingly into the other's eyes as you adjusted to this new reality: one where curses didn't exist and gojo satoru was just gojo satoru.
"you waited for me?" satoru asked, his glasses dropping further down his nose as his blue eyes flicked to your lips - the lips that had once been so familiar to him.
"we all did," you nudged his shoulder lightly and pointed in the direction of a vending machine where haibara and geto were arguing whilst nanami watched in eternal disappointment.
satoru swallowed thickly, blinking quickly like that could stop the tears that wanted to spill down his cheeks.
the gentle touch of your hands against his face redirected his attention back to your pretty face. `'you're safe now, pretty boy. you've done all that you could for them, you can have peace now."
them. megumi, yuji, nobara, yuta, all of his students past and present. it hurt him to know that they were now facing kenjaku and sukuna without him, but death offered him a freedom he'd never had before. the peace you spoke of; not having to constantly be on alert for the next assignment or worry that he would be seeing his students in the morgue, it was a bliss he wanted more than he'd care to admit.
so he wouldn't admit it.
instead, he kissed you, his dead heart beating loudly in his ears as he remembered what it felt like to truly be alive.
a/n. no one talk to me ever again unless you’re saying sike this was all a big practical joke your hubby is alive
#now this wasn't too sad was it#it was cute#:DDD#— toru!!#satoru#gojo drabbles#gojo x reader#gojo#gojo fluff#gojou satoru x you#gojo satoru#gojo angst
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In My Eyes | Azriel
Azriel x Rhysand's Sister | Summary: Azriel has lost you once and when unseen circumstances bring you back to life, he will not lose you again. Even if it means going against his family.
warnings: mentions of death (descriptive and a bit gruesome)/loss, angst 💔
a/n: I wanted to take a little break from all the fluff I've been writing so here's a little angst. I listened to Jacob's prayer from the Minari soundtrack a lot along with Thom Yorke's Hearing Damage while writing this. Hence the title bc I couldn't think of anything else lol and also because I feel like Az would be so down for his mate, she really could do no wrong in his eyes.
A haunting stillness permeates the air, broken only by the occasional whisper of Azriel’s shadows. He doesn’t know why he’s here. He wants to turn and leave but his legs betray his mind, prompting him to go forward. Cracked cobblestone paths lead him to the castle’s doors and as Azriel pushes the door open, it releases a loud groaning noise.
Inside Hybern’s castle, broken furniture lies scattered and the once opulent halls now echo with the sound of dripping water. His shadows stir uneasily. A sudden gust of wind brushes past him, carrying a pleading whisper along with it.
“Help me.”
Goosebumps rise on Azriel's skin as his shadows freeze in place. There was something familiar about that haunting plea that sent shivers down his spine.
“Azriel.”
"y/n," he breathes, the mere utterance causing his shadows to stir into a desperate frenzy. His steps quicken, evolving into a full-blown run, his heart pounding in sync with the frantic pace of his movements.
"y/n!" he calls out again, this time louder. His eyes, stinging with tears, frantically scanning the endless expanse of the haunted halls for any trace of you.
"Azriel, help me!"
Azriel runs and runs, but the hall stretches infinitely before him.
“Help! I’m al–”
And then, with a jolt, Azriel wakes.
Cold sweat clings to him like a second skin as the tendrils of the dream slowly release their grip on his consciousness. Your voice–it felt so real. But he knows it’s a dream because when he turns his head, the spot beside him is empty.
As it has been for centuries.
Azriel allows his heavy eyelids to flutter shut once more as he catches his breath. This was just another nightmare, he tells himself. It does nothing to soothe him. The more he thinks about it, the more unease grips him. Even his shadows are shaky, trembling as they brush against him.
For centuries, his dreams have been plagued by nightmares. It had always been the same one. The one that made him relive the moment he found out you were dead. Azriel had been the one to find the box that carried your mother’s severed head down Windhaven’s river and when he had spotted another box, all he found was a severed finger. A severed finger wearing a ring he was all too familiar with because he had been the one to place it on your finger.
Azriel remembers the way his heart had dropped to his stomach. He remembers the way he had desperately tugged on the bond only to find nothing but an eerie quietness on your end. He knew at that moment you were gone and you weren’t coming back.
The scream that tore through his throat was as violent as the gaping black hole crushing through his chest. It curdled the blood of anyone within earshot and had the surrounding birds jolting from their perches, their feathers rustling in a panicked flutter. Not even his shadows, who had carried him through his darkest times, could console him.
Azriel had no body to mourn. No hand to hold on to. No face to caress for the last time. He could only hope that your death had been quick and painless.
But this nightmare was new. Different. You were alive in this one. Or sounded like it.
Azriel opens his eyes and he brings himself to sit up in bed. His hands, weary and scarred, rub at his face in exhaustion, brushing away the lingering tears that sting at his eyes. He then looks down at his hands, aching to feel your warmth once more. Even if only in a dream.
The glimmering ring on Azriel's left hand sparkles under the tender caress of moonlight, drawing his attention. His trembling fingers delicately trace the contours of the band. He can’t help but turn and twist it, yearning for a complete view of the engraved letters. It spells out your name and the ache of grief intensifies with every twist. He hasn’t taken the ring off since the day he married you, even after death did you part.
It compliments the smaller, daintier ring wrapped around his neck that hangs on a thin silver chain. Your ring. His name is engraved on it just as yours is on his. The only difference is that yours cradles a captivating cobalt blue gem. A precious fragment, crafted from his own siphon and meticulously refined by himself. He wanted you to carry a part of him wherever you went.
Now, he is left to carry it. The only piece he has left of you. A poignant reminder that though death may have claimed you, the essence of your union lingers on. He can’t imagine loving anyone else. He doesn’t want to love anyone else. For him, it was you and only you. He could only thank the Mother for allowing him the time he had with you but also curse her for taking you from him.
His hand closes around your ring, grappling with the disorienting emotions coursing through him. Despite the centuries that have separated you, an instinctual yearning tugs at Azriel's core. He reaches out for the intangible thread that once connected you. He knows he’ll only receive the familiar void. It had been this way for ages. He’d wake from his nightmare, reach out with false hope and receive nothing in return.
Yet, this time, just like the nightmare he woke from, is different.
The shadows that hover over Azriel's shoulders, murmuring their soothing lullabies, suddenly cease in their dance. His eyes widen, capturing a glimmer of something long forgotten. Hope. It stirs within him, a dormant ember flickering to life after centuries of darkness.
For a fleeting moment, a heartbeat in the vastness of time, there's a response. A fragile shimmer through the bond. So delicate that it's almost imperceptible. And it’s coming from your side.
Azriel tugs again, cautiously and slowly. Anxiously and holding his breath. Even his shadows don’t dare to stir. But as he awaits another sign, silence envelops him. There’s no response.
He tugs again, desperately seeking confirmation. And then again and again. His tugs grow harsher, more desperate, each pull an urgent plea for any sign, any trace of you. Yet, the bond remains eerily silent, as if mocking the fragile tendrils of hope that dared to rekindle within him.
Maybe it was all a figment of his imagination.
But he swore he heard your voice, swore that tug, as faint as it was, was there. The crushing weight of loss descends once more, and it's as if he's losing you all over again. The echoes of hope vanish, leaving only a hollowing ache. His shadows begin to stir again, anxious to fill that hollowness in fear of the malevolent darkness that threatens to creep back inside and consume him all over again.
“No, no, no,” Azriel cries, his voice breaking into a mere whisper. With tear-streaked eyes, he looks up towards the moon, its ethereal glow filtering through the window on the ceiling.
“Please,” he says, beseeching the celestial body to heed his prayer.
Yet, the void persists and an overwhelming surge of fear takes hold, tightening its icy grip around him. Because though he thinks of you all the time, he’s beginning to forget the small details. Such as the exact shade of your eye, the radiant sparkle in your eyes as you’d smile at him, the comforting warmth radiating from your laugh, the precise hue of blush that would grace your cheeks every time he told you he loved you.
He doesn’t want to forget. As painful as the memories are now, he wants to anchor himself into every single one of them. To hold onto the exquisite weight of every detail.
"Please," Azriel pleads once more. His body quivers with each sob, hunched over in bed, fingers tightly gripping his chest as if trying to anchor his unraveling soul. The shadows, usually under his control, writhe in a frenzied storm, mirroring the emotions swirling inside him. Some tendrils slither out from beneath the door, seeking out help.
It doesn’t take long for them to reach someone. Rhysand swiftly materializes in the room. "Azriel!" he calls out, a voice cutting through the tumult of emotions that cling to the air like heavy mist. “What’s wrong?”
"I heard her, Rhys," Azriel confesses through tearful sobs, his pain echoing in the shadows. "I felt her."
“What if she’s alive? I–I need to find her.”
Rhysand's heart plummets, a solemn gravity darkening his features. “She’s dead, Az,” he murmurs softly, tone laced with empathy. While Azriel lost his mate, Rhysand had lost his sister. He, too, mourns for you.
Azriel shakes his head in denial. “She needs me.”
Rhysand takes a deep breath, blinking back his own tears. He then turns toward the doorway, meeting Feyre’s wide eyes. She had rushed to the room along with him. "Please, get Cas," he tells her.
**
As Azriel secures his siphons, he stares down at his left wrist, where a lunar emblem is etched onto his tan skin. It had disappeared when you had died but now, it is vivid against his skin once more. He doesn’t know exactly when it had reappeared. He was binding his hands before a training session, many months ago, when he noticed it. The reappearance of your mating tattoo carries with it the weight of the vows you had spoken to him.
“As long as I’m alive, I will love you with every breath.”
But you weren’t alive. You were still dead. After that night almost a year ago, Azriel had looked for you. Every night and day. For months. He was driving himself into pure madness, even his shadows had grown restless. There had been no more signs, no more traces of you but he still pushed on and he would’ve continued if Rhysand hadn’t forced him to stop.
“Are you ready?”
Azriel nods at Rhysand, securing the last of his weapon to his leathers. He then spares a glance toward Cassian, who is doing the same. It had been a long week of planning for this very moment.
Koschei initiated contact through a cryptic note delivered to Rhysand. The message proposed a meeting at the lake. A “peace” conference, he had called it. One that exclusively also required the presence of Cassian and Azriel. The terms were strange, but with dwindling options and time slipping away, Rhysand reluctantly consented.
"I'll be back before you know it," Rhysand reassures Feyre, bending down to plant a tender kiss on her temple. His gaze lingers on their infant son cradled in Feyre's arms, his smile warm as he places a gentle kiss on Nyx's head. "Save me a slice of Elain's cake for later.”
"Alright," Feyre exhales, her eyes still etched with worry. Her attention shifts towards the inked markings on her left arm and a fleeting shadow brushes softly against the tattoo. Lifted by the subtle touch, her gaze meets Azriel's and then Cassian's. In that silent exchange, they convey an unspoken commitment to protect their family at any cost. Feyre can only manage a small smile before the three males winnow away.
**
As soon as they arrive at the lake, Azriel feels a stirring in his chest. His attention is immediately drawn to a lone white swan. The swan gracefully glides across the murky water. A looming darkness rises from the lake, blocking his view of the swan and causing his shadows to jerk back.
"Welcome," Koschei's voice whispers through the wind.
Rhysand moves forward, standing in front of Cassian and Azriel, despite the anxiety coursing through him. “Let’s cut to the chase. What do you want?”
The looming darkness swells, and a malevolent chuckle reverberates from its core. Azriel’s shadows tuck themselves behind his wings and his entire body stiffens. He can sense Cassian do the same beside him. "You know precisely what I desire."
"And you know why we won't grant it," Rhysand retorts. There’s an icy rage swirling in his violet eyes that overcomes his sense of fear. He can only imagine what a world ruled by Koschei would be like and he refuses to allow the death god the power to harm his family.
"I anticipated your reluctance, Rhysand. That's why I've prepared a gift. Aid in my liberation from this lake, and it's yours."
Rhysand scoffs, unwavering. "No gift will entice me to free you."
"Are you certain about that?"
The wind intensifies, rustling leaves and brushing against the Illyrians, raising goosebumps in its wake. Birds, concealed in the trees, erupt in panicked flight. Rhysand, undeterred, digs his hands into his pockets, his eyes narrowing in question at the death god.
Koschei's laughter echoes again. "Perhaps I should show you first. It’s only fair, wouldn't you agree?"
The wind abruptly ceases, plunging the world into an eerie hush. The shadow that looms over the lake drifts to the side, allowing the swan from earlier to glide forward. Suddenly, a dark mist envelops the bird, its form blurring and shifting until the swan's elegant feathers dissolve into a cascade of shimmering silver. From the mist, a cloaked figure emerges, her midnight-blue robes trailing behind her like the ripples of the lake.
With each graceful step, the water seems to part beneath her feet, revealing the silhouette of a woman long thought lost to the depths. You.
“y/n!”
Azriel instinctively moves forward, hand reaching out towards you. Cassian, however, restrains him, a powerful grip on his brother’s arm preventing any impulsive advance.
Rhysand's eyes widen as you approach, a slow and haunting revelation unfolding in the dim light. It is you, standing right in front of them. In your blood and flesh. But your eyes–your eyes, once bright with life, now mirror the opaque shroud of mist hovering around you.
“This can’t be,” Rhysand breathes, his voice barely a whisper, disbelief coloring his tone. “How?
“King Hybern resurrected your sister from the magic of the Cauldron the same way he did with Jurian. You see, Tamlin was desperate to get Feyre back at that time. He let his guard down, allowing Ianthe to not only disclose the location of the Archeron sisters but also the location of your dear sister’s remains. Tamlin buried her body somewhere in his lands but his father had kept her wings. As a trophy. Did you know her death was slow and cruel?”
A shudder courses through Rhysand. Cassian’s fist clench at his sides and he spares a glance toward Azriel, whose body is shaking. None of them knew the details of your murder. An apprehensive feeling churned in their stomachs and Rhysand felt the bile rise in his throat.
“The sons of Spring did not show her the same mercy they did your mother. They drugged her with faebane, rendering her powerless so that she could not fight back. They sloughed her finger off to gift to you. Then, they took her wings. Let her bleed to death."
Suddenly, Azriel’s chest tightens. He can’t breathe. A pained expression crosses his face and his knees go weak. Images of you being tortured to death flood his mind and all he can think about is how he failed you. Cassian’s grip on him tightens even more, keeping him steady.
“King Hybern was so sure he’d win the war that he kept your sister hidden. He knew the Shadowsinger was her mate so he drugged her with faebane the same way the sons of Spring did. He didn’t want any of you finding out she was alive.”
“Hybern didn’t want to ruin the surprise. After his victory, he had planned to take you all back to the castle to torment you with her live state. Only to have you die at her hands. Of course, as you can see, that didn’t work out. Briallyn knew of her resurrection and brought her to me.”
Azriel can’t take his eyes off of you. His shadows dart toward you, slithering up your legs and caressing every inch of you. They linger on your wings. You don’t move. You don’t even blink.
But you’re alive.
All this time you had been alive. That nightmare he had, it was real. You were calling out to him, asking for help. Tears sting at his eyes. That tug he had felt from your shared bond. It was also real. And the tattoo that had reappeared on his skin was not a cruel trick from the Cauldron. But a sign.
“I’ve become very familiar with your sister. She’s very powerful but I’m sure you knew that.”
Rhysand’s gaze flickers to where you stand, heart aching. It’s you but not you. Unlike Azriel, he can’t help but think what if this is all a trick? An illusion to get him to side with Koschei? Cassian meets his worried gaze. They both glance toward Azriel and then exchange a look.
“Let her go.” Cassian finally speaks, hazel eyes glaring at the darkness before them. “And take me instead.”
“Lord of Bloodshed,” Koschei addresses Cassian in an amused manner. “What a most gracious offer. Unfortunately, for you, I have no desire to replace y/n. You, however, are welcome to join me of your own free will.”
“While I am confined to this lake, y/n is going to do everything I physically cannot. She’ll be my proxy, my spymaster. Isn’t that right?”
"Yes, master.”
The words slip from your lips like ice, each syllable devoid of the warmth and affection that once filled them. Azriel's heart lurches in his chest, a cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach as he hears the lifeless tone of your voice.
"No," Azriel growls, the sound reverberating through the air with a primal intensity. His voice, usually steady and composed, now carries an edge of desperation and fury. “You have no right to her. She’s mine.”
Rhysand keeps his hands in his pockets, hiding the fact that they’re slightly trembling. He eyes you once more, pure agony seeping into his very core. He mentally takes a deep breath and looks back toward the looming shadow over the lake, mustering all his strength to feign indifference.
“I don’t understand how this is a gift.”
“Here’s the deal, Rhysand. You help free me from this lake and I free y/n from my control. It’s as simple as that. Since I’m feeling generous, I’ll give you a week to think about it.”
All seven of Azriel’s siphons ignite in a cobalt blaze of raw power. He will not let Koschei control you. You’ve already suffered enough. Cassian struggles to maintain his hold, his grip faltering against the force of Azriel's will.
“Azriel, no!”
The sound that erupts from Azriel was more animal than human—a deep, throaty growl that spoke of primal fury. He breaks free from Cassian, stumbling forward. He regains his footing with ease, rushing toward the lake. Toward the looming figure. Toward you. He’s so close, the water lapping at his boots when your clouded eyes finally meet his.
Burning pain courses through Azriel’s veins, bringing him to his knees and suddenly, he feels like he’s on fire. Your power takes hold over him, penetrating to the core of his being, carving through the marrow of each bone. He knows the fire is not real. It’s only an illusion but it feels as if every single cell in his body is being tormented with the worst agony imaginable. He can barely hear himself scream over the roaring pain in his ears.
Two strong hands clamp onto Azriel’s shoulders and he writhes against it, fighting it. “No,” his voice is a mere hoarse whisper as Rhysand uses his own power to pull him out of your illusion.
As Rhysand’s tendrils of darkness engulf Azriel, the last thing he sees are your eyes. They’re still clouded over, devoid of their usual luster. Yet, against the backdrop of emptiness, tears escape from them.
**
Azriel wakes to a dull ache in his head. He feels the gentle caress of his shadows against his face, tenderly attempting to alleviate the headache that grips him. With a slow blink, he reluctantly greets the soft illumination of his room at the riverhouse. Memories of what happened earlier flood back with startling clarity and his wings quiver involuntarily. A physical manifestation of the anguish that had ravaged his spirit. He doesn’t care that it was you who inflicted that pain upon him.
It pales in comparison to the pain you must be feeling inside. A mere glimpse of the raw emotions raging within you was enough to pierce Azriel's heart. Like a tempestuous storm, the waves of pain surged through your bond. But then, abruptly, he was shut out.
The image of your tear stained cheeks as you brought him to his knees plagues him with uneasiness. It’s this restless unease that stirs him, prompting him to rise from the bed. He looks toward his door, his shadows curling against his ears. Heavy with determination, he makes his way towards Rhysand’s office.
When Azriel's shadows forcefully swing the doors open, the entire inner circle stands before him. Their expressions betray the weight of their recent discussions. The room falls into a silence, thickened with tension. They had been discussing you. Without him. His hands clench into tight fists, his simmering anger threatening to spill over.
“Azriel,” Feyre greets him with a tense smile. “How are you feeling?”
Azriel’s eyes lock onto Rhysand. Anguish and resentment churn within him and Rhysand's posture stiffens in response
“We have to approach this situation with caution,” Rhysand says, surprised by the steadiness in his own voice despite the weight of their predicament.
“Caution?” Azriel nearly growls, prompting Cassian to inch toward him. “She is my wife! My mate! And you expect me to just sit here and wait for your approval to save her?”
Rhysand frowns, his violet eyes flaring. “You think I don’t hurt too?” He exclaims, his voice breaking as he utters his next words. “She is my sister!”
A hand rests on Azriel’s shoulder. Cassian’s. “I want to save her too. Trust me, I do. But we can’t just jump into–”
Azriel shakes Cassian’s hand off, his shadows hissing toward the taller male. “What if it were Nesta?”
Cassian frowns and he spares a glance toward his mate, who is watching the scene unfold with a somber look on her face. Azriel releases a frustrated huff before redirecting his gaze towards Rhysand, a pointed finger aimed accusingly at his friend and High Lord.
"If it were Feyre," he insists, his voice tinged with both desperation and conviction, "you would see no reason."
Rhysand's silence speaks volumes.
"I failed her once," Azriel continues, firm and resolute. "I will not fail her again."
But Rhysand's response is unwavering. "I can't let you go. You have to understand.”
Azriel's jaw tightens. "You can't stop me," he counters in defiance, wings flaring out behind him.
"As your High Lord, I–”
"I'm done," Azriel cuts off sharply before Rhysand can go any further. He’s well aware of the weight of his words but he doesn’t allow them to bring him down. You are his mate, the tether to his soul, and he will put you above all else. Even his family.
"I resign as Spymaster of the Night Court.”
Feyre's eyes glisten with tears as she approaches Azriel, brushing off Rhysand's attempt to hold her back. "Azriel, please," she implores, her voice trembling with emotion. She knows what Azriel must be feeling. She knows because she lived it herself when Rhysand died after the war. But she also knows–or at least, hopes–that there’s another way to bring you back home. She’s already making plans in her mind to reach out to Helion.
"Don't go. We'll find a way to bring her back, I swear it. Just give us time."
Azriel shakes his head, the thought of waiting to rescue you souring in his mouth. He can't bear the thought of you in pain, needing him, while he stands idle. The urgency to act gnaws at his soul, a primal instinct driving him to protect you at any cost.
“You’ll abandon your family then?” Amren asks. Despite her efforts to maintain her usual façade of indifference, a faint glimmer in her eyes betrays the struggle.
“I will not abandon my mate.” Azriel says, taking a step back. “She’s my family too.”
"Don't do this," Rhysand pleads as he takes a tentative step forward, his hand outstretched toward his brother.
Azriel takes another step back, his hazel eyes darting across the room, absorbing the silent pleas etched on the faces of the inner circle. He loves them but he loves you more.
When his gaze locks with Rhysand's again, Rhysand's heart sinks. He realizes that Azriel's mind is already set. His brows knit together in a pained expression. He doesn’t want it to end like this.
"I will not hold this against you," Rhysand manages, his voice strained.
How can he hold this against Azriel? When he would do the same for Feyre. When you, his sister, have been brought back to life only to be imprisoned by Koschei. A gasp fills the room as he drops to his knees.
"But please... just...please..."
The words catch in his throat, choked by the overwhelming grief and helplessness that engulf him. His shoulders slump in defeat as tears blur his vision. Feyre instinctively wraps her arms around him, pulling him close. A brief sanctuary in the midst of his shattering world.
He knows he cannot make Azriel promise anything and Azriel knows this too. Despite the grim circumstances, there is a flicker of solace in Rhysand knowing that whatever terrors may come, you won't face them alone.
“I’m sorry,” is all Azriel says before winnowing away.
**
Azriel’s shadows tuck themselves back behind his wings when he arrives at the familiar lake. His gaze immediately seeks out the water's edge, where wisps of mist still linger. There's no sign of the white swan he had seen earlier.
"I knew you would come around, Shadowsinger," Koschei's voice taunts from the shadows.
"Where is she?" Azriel demands.
Koschei's laughter carries on the wind, but he concedes. You emerge from the surrounding trees, your eyes widening in shock as you lock gazes with Azriel. This time, your eyes are clear, unclouded, and Azriel's heart twists with recognition as he memorizes the exact shade of your eyes all over again.
"You can't be here," you protest, and Azriel's shadows peek out from behind his wings, reacting to the sound of your voice. It's you. It’s really you.
Your eyebrows furrow, mirroring the same pained expression Rhysand had worn just moments ago. You recognize the gleam in his eyes. "No," you plead, your voice barely a whisper, tears welling up in your eyes. "You can't do this. You have to go back. Go back right now!"
Tearing his gaze off of you, Azriel looks toward the ominous silhouette of Koschei. He can feel the air thicken with anticipation, awaiting his next words. He continues to ignore your protests, even as you frantically rush toward his side.
“As long as you have control over her, you have control over me.” Azriel says and then drops to his knees in submission.
"My, my, my. What a lovely surprise," Koschei remarks, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Get up!" You cry out, your hands clutching at Azriel's arms in a desperate attempt to pull him away from the lake. Away from Koschei's grasp. "Azriel, get up!"
Azriel’s knees remain rooted to the spot but his body leans into your embrace. His eyes flutter shut as he allows himself a fleeting moment to revel in the warmth of your presence—the warmth he had yearned for over centuries. The warmth he thought he would never feel again.
His eyes open and though Koschei is a mere shadow a couple of feet away, he can feel his gaze burning into his soul.
“I’ll serve you too,” Azriel finally says, sealing his fate alongside yours in the grasp of the death god.
**
"What have you done?" Your voice trembles with disbelief, your eyes still wide with shock as you stare up at Azriel, your hands reaching out to grasp his face. After Azriel swore his loyalty to Koschei, the death god had granted you both permission to be alone. He sent you to his sister’s old cottage, where you’d be staying for now.
Azriel's heart swells at the touch of your warm, soft hands against his skin. He wipes away the tears that cascade down your cheeks, his own emotions overwhelming him. "You're alive," he murmurs softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as he rests his hands on your face.
His fingers trace the familiar contours of your features. Every line, every curve is evidence to the reality of your presence. A presence he had long thought lost to him for eternity. The Cauldron had gifted him once more. Here you are, tangible and real. Alive. He can barely believe his eyes.
As Azriel's fingers delicately brush against your face, his shadows dance eagerly in his wake, reaching out to join in the tender caress. They yearn for the sensation of your skin, their touch as gentle as a whisper, expressing their overwhelming joy in silent echoes. "I love you. I love you. I love you," they chant in a chorus of happiness and the bond in your chest sings back in a language only you three understand.
Despite the tears streaming down his face, there’s such a deep and profound warmth in Azriel’s eyes. As he looks at you, it’s like sunlight breaking through dark stormy clouds. You want to bask in its golden glow but as a thought crosses your mind, you abruptly shrink back from him and your lip quivers.
“I hurt you. I-I didn’t want to but I couldn’t stop it. I hurt you. I made you scr–”
Azriel smiles at you, bringing you back into his protective embrace. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” you breathe, eyes searching for any trace of pain or repulse. You find none and though unleashing your power on your mate was against your will, your guilt threatens to consume you. “I’m so sorry, Azriel. I’m so sorry you’re here.”
"Don't be," he murmurs softly, cradling your head against his chest. His fingers thread through your hair, a gentle reassurance of his unwavering presence. He had lost you once. He’s not going to lose you again.
With a heartfelt sigh, he pulls you even closer. “I’m right where I want to be.”
Slowly but surely, the cascade of tears dwindled, leaving a trace of dampness on your cheeks and Azriel’s leathers. In your mate’s arms, you finally have the courage to voice your deepest fear.
"I'm scared, Az. What if I hurt you again? Hurt someone else? What if I do something worse?”
The vulnerability in your voice tugs at his heartstrings, igniting a fierce determination to shield you from any harm. He’d do anything for you.
“You can do no wrong in my eyes.” Azriel responds, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. He then inhales deeply, flooding his senses with your scent. “You don’t know how much I missed you.”
Azriel then pulls away, just enough to look at you again. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you but I’m here now. I won’t fail you this time.”
Your gaze softens. You send a wave of pure love through the bond and Azriel feels his heart flutter at the sensation he’s been deprived of for so long.
“You never failed me, Az.”
Azriel's face breaks into a radiant smile and you smile back at him. It lights up the darkness that had weighed heavily on his heart for centuries. "I love you," his voice is barely above a breath, reveling in the blush that takes over your cheeks in response.
He reaches for the chain around his neck, fingers trembling slightly as he clasps your left hand. His gaze lingers on the lunar tattoo on your arm that matches his for a moment before sliding your wedding ring back onto your finger.
Holding your gaze, he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "My mate," he murmurs against your skin. He then kisses the ring on your finger, the cobalt gem glowing in response. “My wife.”
"I love you," you say back, your arms winding around his neck as your fingers caress the soft strands of his hair. He yields to you, allowing himself to be drawn closer. You kiss the corner of his mouth. "My mate."
Then, finally, you press your lips against his. "My husband," you declare softly, sealing your bond with a kiss that echoes the depths of your devotion and commitment to each other.
And for the first time in centuries, Azriel sleeps soundly with you in his arms. Free from the torment of nightmares that had haunted him for so long.
Only to wake up and realize it’s because he’s now living in one.
a/n: Hope you enjoyed! When writing this, I didn't intend for there to be more parts so for now, it's a one-shot. I left the ending open-ended to allow you to interpret it how you want and also, leave room for a sequel in case I ever do want to go back to this. That being said, while I don't have ideas for a sequel in mind as of right now, I did come up with a backstory for Az & reader in this little au so I might write a prequel on how their relationship came to be.
I also have another Az x Rhys's sister series. It is written in third person and it's more of an Az x OC series. You can find it here, if interested. But I do intend to make this au different than that one.
tagging: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444
#azriel x reader#azriel x y/n#azriel x you#azriel x rhysand's sister#azriel angst#azriel imagine#azriel one shot#azriel fanfiction#acotar imagine#acotar fanfiction#acotar angst#acotar x reader#acotar x you#acotar x y/n
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i think we as a fandom should talk about this scene more
i believe that this is the first time that gon really gets a glimpse into just how much killua cares for him. all of killuas previous affections have been either while gon’s away or purposely hidden from him by killua himself…
so, gons reaction here is something that really REALLY GETS ME.
He’s shocked! he’s so surprised! killua has NEVER acted like this before, always calm and collected.
what does this say about what gon believes he is to killua? we, the audience, obviously know that killua holds gon on the highest pedestal, light itself yadda yadda. but gon? gon has NO clue that killua thinks all of that! from gon’s point of view, killua is just his bestie that tags along, nothing more. i don’t think gon believes he means a lot to killua, i don’t think he knows he means a lot to anyone, besides aunt mito, maybe.
after this fact, gon can’t get it off of his mind! he’s worried about killua, if he’s okay, that’s how ABNORMAL killua CARING is to him.
you could even draw that into the insult chapter, why gon reacts the way he does, why he truly believes killua DOES NOT care about kite.
their miscommunications get me EVERYTIME.
also: since killua has always gone to great lengths to hide his fierce protectiveness over gon, he must have been SO damn stressed while entering ngl!! killua letting lose like this is rare (well, in later chapters we get his BREAKDOWNS and shit, but he would NEVER do that in front of gon.)
i do believe that killua wanted to act alone simply on the fact that A. he wants to protect gon B. because it’s simply easier for him to work alone.
i think reason B is less likely because killua KNEW he would bump into soldier ants eventually. we know that killugon working together can make quick work of soldier ants. they work perfectly in sync.
however i think gon’s response is what affected their relationship the most.
nothing.
he does not promise killua that he won’t help people he sees dying. killua most likely just views this as just Gon being Gon, goodness and all.
however, since this is the first time killua has expressed concern for gon TO gon, and he is immediately shot down and ignored, his fear to open up in later chapters makes complete sense.
Gon does not get another word out about it besides his “Killua…” (gay asf if you ask me.) While gon is worried about the citizens, he’s worried about killua more.
also: the next time gon hears from killua is when killua calls him after being MISSING for a while, we don’t hear a lot about it, but you’ve all seen how Gon reacts once killua finally calls him.
he was SO worried!! and this ontop of killua being potentially hurt or dead, guilt must have been eating Gon alive. i imagine he wouldn’t want their last conversation to be an argument.
anyway: they make me sick, i think about this a lot.
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He freezes. Doesn't know what the hell else to do.
He can't picture it: Derek can't remember the last time somebody put their arms around him.
Was it Laura?
Of course it was Laura. How could he forget that? Derek has gotten pretty good at blocking things out—a little too good, it seems.
She didn't tell him she was going before she left New York. Didn't say a fucking word, just vanished. Derek had woken up one morning and she was gone. She'd known without doubt that Derek would only follow her if she had said a single word to him.
Nobody ever granted Derek’s wishes, no matter who he prayed to. The desperate pleas where he asked to go back and get a chance to fix things, they all went unheard.
Laura left to go back to the place they both wished still existed just as it had; a place they were wanted alive, not dead. It wasn't fair that it was the very same place they would be hunted down if they did return, like the rabid animals the Argent's presumed they were.
Leaving the way they did meant they hadn't gotten the chance to see if anything was left at the house. They couldn't mark graves, or grieve properly.
That same place also happened to be the place they'd been born, the place they'd grown up and called home.
Derek had never wanted Laura to face all of that alone.
The burnt down house. The nothing where there was once everything.
The thought still haunts him. One of so fucking many.
Beacon Hills is home—but it's the home Derek had helped raze to the ground with his selfishness and stupidity. Everything he and Laura had ever known, everyone they'd ever loved, it was all gone, now. Derek had taken those things away from his sister and hadn't even had the guts to tell her. Tell Laura they were all gone because of him, tell her that everything that had happened to their family, to them, was all his fault.
In the aftermath of the fire Laura hugged Derek, and had kept hugging him, over and over in those weeks and months and years that followed. She would pull him into her arms hold him tight, whenever she could sense it was all getting to be too much for him again.
Alpha.
Big sister.
But Laura only knew about some of the reasons why it sometimes felt like too much effort for Derek to keep on breathing.
He never told her about Kate.
And Derek, the fucking coward, he'd allowed Laura to hold him, feeling the flames of shame on his cheeks every time, hot as those that took the lives of his parents. His family. His pack.
Now, he remembers that last time.
“I'm going out.”
Laura stood up, walked around the two mismatched armchairs and stopped him by throwing both her arms around his neck, pulling him into her and hugging him, scenting him.
It always took him a moment to respond these days, but Derek hugged her back.
“What's this for?”
“You. Because I know whomever's bed you end up in tonight, you won't be asking for one of these.”
Oh, fuck no. Derek couldn't handle that. Did she think he was out sleeping with people? Never again, not after…
He pushed his sister off him, gently; a stark contrast to the harsh words that followed.
“Don't fucking coddle me. And fuck you, Laura—I don't sleep in anybody's fucking bed but my own.” A single mattress on the floor of the lounge of their shitty one bedroom apartment. Derek had so many shameful memories, and crawling into his sister's bed every night for the first year after the fire was one of them. “Just—leave me alone.”
Laura was the one—the only—person Derek had left in the entire world, yet his guilt was constantly pushing her away.
“Then where do you go to all these nights, little brother? You might not be clinging to me anymore, night after night, nightmare after nightmare, but you're so rarely in your own bed in the mornings.” She hadn't meant it as a dig. She was his sister and she loved him.
Maybe she thought he was making progress? Seeing people. Moving on.
Derek spent his nights waiting outside of dive bars, hanging around in back alleys and dark places, desperately trying to find scumbags he could taunt who were big enough and hard enough to at least attempt to kick the living shit out of him.
Derek hated being a werewolf, now. He wanted to get hurt and stay hurt.
“Just—out.”
Then Derek turned his back on Laura, leaving her to stand there and watch him walk away as he left her to go out looking for a fight, without looking back.
That was the last time somebody put their arms around Derek—and the last time he saw his sister alive.
It was two years ago. Derek doesn’t think he has taken a full breath, since.
Now here he is, standing in his big stupid loft that he bought for his betas—yet another pack he managed to destroy—having given away more than he should, with skinny yet strong arms wrapping themselves as far around his shoulders as they can reach.
Stiles.
“You don't have to hug back. But you can, if you want to. I won't tell,” the kid jokes. It's his way to connect, his connection to the world. A coping mechanism, Derek thinks.
He knows all about those.
“I…” he doesn't have the first fucking clue of how to handle this. Or how to admit he needs it—to himself, let alone somebody else. He doesn't know how to admit that he wants it.
But this is Stiles. The one person in Derek's life who seems, for some unfathomable reason, to give a fuck about Derek. To care about him.
Slowly, very slowly, Derek lifts an arm and awkwardly rests a hand on Stiles's upper back, feels the muscles jump slightly under the kid's baggy clothes as he tentatively spreads his fingers and finds the back of Stiles's neck.
Stiles's voice hitches just a touch as he says, “These can be on tap, you know. If you want them. Stilinski hugs are the best hugs, dude. Believe.”
And Derek finds he does believe. For the first time in forever, Derek believes there could be something good in his life again.
More confidently, now, he brings his other arm up to wrap around Stiles's waist and hugs Stiles tighter, properly, and allows himself to be hugged back.
Derek wonders how he has gone so long without this kind of closeness. Lived without this kindness.
He decides to let the 'dude' pass. Because maybe—maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all, to be somebody's dude?
Stiles's dude.
It's a fucking ridiculous moniker and yet Derek suddenly couldn't care less.
“I think I'd like that,” he whispers into the forbidden place where Stiles's jaw meets long, pale neck. "Dude."
Derek can feel Stiles's smile as the kid squeezes him harder. And, ironically, Derek feels as if he can breathe again.
.
for @greyhavenisback bc i want to hug you in person and can't <3 (unedited, forgive me!)
#sterek#sterek ficlet#sterek fic#sterek oneshot#POV derek#derek hale#stiles stilinski#derek x stiles#stiles x derek#m/m#queer fic#teen wolf#teen wolf fic#sterek fanfic#sterek fanfiction#teen wolf fanfic#teen wolf fanfiction#fanfiction#fanfic#fic#laura hale#derek and laura#hale pack feels#angst#hurt/comfort#hugs#derek hale deserves nice things#stiles stilinski is a nice thing#tcats writes#teencopandthesourwolf
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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ THIS WORLD, IT'S CRUEL — levi ackerman
summary . . . levi comforts you after a nightmare
contents . . . gn!reader, takes place after the female titan, pet names (my love, darling), i got the urge to write something for levi last night, so here we are — 800 words
blood splattered across the trees. the bodies of your dead friends and soldiers littered on the ground like nothing more than discarded trash. the sun pelted down on them, the feet of titans crushed them.
levi was among the bodies. his eyes stared back at you, cold, empty. the blue in them had faded to a steel grey, nothing there at all; not the love and affection that usually bled between his irises.
and you were frozen, feet stuck in the soil as the world around you swirled so realistically, swaying. the female titan’s eyes turned to you—you’d be next, you knew.
fear gripped you, clawed up your neck, but you couldn’t breathe; couldn’t move.
the female titan picked you up, stared at you, squeezed you tight. though you thrashed, you were caught in her palms, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried to scream.
whatever sound left your throat was raspy, nothing more than the end of an exhale. you screamed and screamed, your body trapped, as you tried to kick and claw and cry to no avail.
then—
“hey, hey, calm down, it’s okay.”
a voice. it cut through your the vivid image, and suddenly, the sun seemed to dim, the female titan blurring into a figure that seemed darker, different. the air turned cold—the beating sun that you’d sure you’d felt dimmed.
you screamed once more, and this time, a shrill sound came out. levi’s name spilled from your lips… not quite a yell, but loud enough to wake anyone else who was sleeping down the hall.
tears tracked down your cheeks as you blinked, realizing that you weren’t kicking at the female titan, but the blankets of your bed. the sun was gone because it was the middle of the night, and the room didn’t smell like pine because you weren’t there.
levi stared at you, eyes concerned as they darted all over your face. he brushed away your tears before they rolled down, dripped off your jaw, a steady stream that you weren’t sure how to stop.
“levi,” you said again, squeezing his wrists as he held your cheeks. “levi.”
“it’s okay,” he repeated, noting the terror in your expression that hadn’t faded, knowing exactly what had happened in your mind. it wasn’t the first time you’d had the nightmare—it wouldn’t be the last. “you’re okay. i’m okay.”
you searched his face for any sign of a lie, that perhaps, this was the dream, and levi had truly died back on the mission. but levi breathed like a living person, held your face like a breathing person, and touched you with a warmth that no dream had ever supplied.
“breathe, my love,” he said, catching your eye, taking a long inhale with you as you watched, focusing on those beautiful blue eyes. they were full of life; full of love—not the dulled irises that you’d seen in your dream.
you took a long, stilted breath, closing your eyes. you let your hands trail down his arms, grip at his biceps, nails digging into the skin. “i’m sorry, levi,” you said, softly, voice cracking. “i didn’t mean to make so much noise, i just—” your lip trembled, but you refused to cry again. your gaze fell to his lap, to the place where his thighs brushed your own on the bed. “i’m sorry.”
“fuck. don’t—” for some reason, your apology always seemed to crush him. his expression broke, and he tugged you onto his lap, sending a fresh wave of tears over you. “just. come here. don’t apologize.” you trembled in his arms, and he hushed you, rubbed your back as you squeezed his shoulderblades, buried your face into his collarbone. “you’re okay.”
he smelled like fresh linens, so clean and soapy. there was a hint of bergamot. so very levi. he was safe. he was alive. so were you.
“you’re okay,” you repeated his own words, exhaling, shifting so your cheek was pressed against his jaw, your nose buried in the soft skin of his neck. though, if you were talking more to yourself or to him, you weren’t sure.
levi held you for a moment, running his hands along your back, his fingers tracing each knob of your spine. slowly, he lowered you back to the bed, maneuvering you onto his chest, tucking you into his side. at some point, your hands had fisted in the fabric of his shirt, clutching it tight, the material wrinkled.
you released your palm, sighing softly as he kissed your forehead. “i didn’t mean to wake you,” you said — the same thing you always repeated after every nightmare.
to which levi always said — “you didn’t.” because sleep evaded him, always, and he never got far enough into it to have dreams.
you reached for his hand and levi let you, let you squeeze his palm, lace your fingers together. the darkness settled back into the room, the serenity stilling, even as the images of your dead squad members lingered on the back of your eyelids.
you were alive, and so was levi.
it would be okay.
#levi x reader#levi ackerman x you#levi ackerman x female reader#levi ackerman x reader#levi x you#xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆#levi ackerman x y/n angst#levi ackerman fluff#levi ackerman angst#levi ackerman x y/n#levi ackerman x fem!reader#levi imagine#levi headcanons#levi drabble#aot x female reader#aot x reader#aot x you#aot smut#snk x reader#snk x you#snk x y/n#attack on titan x female reader#attack on titan fanfiction
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All the Champions’ demises at the Blights’ hands are tragic, but Mipha’s is forever the one that fucks me up the most when we play BotW because out of the group she is the only one that, one hundred years after the Calamity, should not be dead.
By the time that the game is taking place, Urbosa, Revali, and Daruk would have passed of old age even if things had gone right. But Mipha would still be in her early prime. Not even Queen of the Zora yet! Now that’s not to say her death is more compelling simply because she had a longer possible lifespan ahead of her. All of our companions were taken unjustly, too soon. No, what destroys me about her story every time is that…
Mipha has living family and friends.
The others are celebrated among their people, but only the Zora explicitly have citizens who personally remember their Champion. While Daruk has an entire mountain carved in his likeness, Revali has many admirers among the Rito, and Urbosa’s people speak her name with reverence, Mipha is still actively mourned. By people who knew and loved her.
Her now elderly teachers, who remain angry over her untimely loss. Her young-adult peers who recall playing with her and Link as kids. Sidon, who still wears the whistle he had as a child and who, after you complete the Vah Ruta mission, never tears himself from the plaza before his sister’s statue. King Dorephan, who asks Link about Mipha’s fate, because even after a century, he never fully gave up hope that she might be trapped, but alive.
Mipha should not be dead, but she is, and her death remains a fresh wound.
And she knows it, too. And that’s why, even when her spirit is freed, unlike with the others her story has such an air of melancholy amid the eventual triumph. She looks down upon the Domain from atop Vah Ruta, and…
“Father…are you well, I wonder? I want you to know... I have always followed my heart. I'm sorry I made you worry... I wish I could see you again... Even just once more..."
She could be there. With her father, with her little brother who is so big now, and who is trying so so hard to be like his sister. But she’s not. And she is terribly missed in a way that’s unique among the Champions.
God, it just rips my heart to pieces.
#kidk says stuff#legend of zelda#breath of the wild#this post brought to you by I’m watching olizandri’s let’s play of age of calamity and crying over Mipha and Sidon’s scenes together
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Something I just noticed and really enjoy about Campaign 1 is how often their story involves becoming incredibly powerful and accomplishing so much and yet still not being able to do what's truly important to them. It's not only the gutpunch of the final episode, it's a thematic underpinning throughout the campaign.
Way back in their prestream adventures, the party was strong enough to defeat the Dread Emperor and save all the kidnapped children from Tal'Dorei—except one, a child Keyleth killed by accident, an act which haunts her through at least much of the early campaign. The party defeats the Briarwoods and reclaims Whitestone, but Ripley still escapes and 19 still misses, and the Chroma Conclave raze half the continent. Percy has great intellect and access to a powerful magical amplifier and forced out a demon through sheer force of will, but his carelessness still killed Vex and he only rolls a 6 to try to save her. The party has slain a dragon and is armed with four Vestiges of Divergence, but they couldn't save Tiberius and can't even give him the proper burial they want to. They brutally slaughter Ripley, but not before she gets the revenge she wants; she kills Percy, sending him to Orthax, and spreads guns throughout Exandria. The Conclave is slain, the whole party made it out alive, but Scanlan is forever scarred by the experience and leaves, tearing the party down as he goes. Even Vilya, prior to the campaign's beginning, was at the very end of her Aramente, likely a level 16-17 druid like Keyleth was, and still failed the trial of the Water Plane and was gone for almost 40 years.
And of course, Vox Machina became some of the most powerful people in the world, slayers of a god, legends to be immortalized for centuries...and none of their power could save their brother.
Percy points out to Bell's Hells, thirty years later, that fate isn't always kind and not everyone gets a second chance, and to me that's underscored by what we don't see. Elaina is still dead. Juniper is still dead. Percy's parents and five siblings are all still dead.
I mean, if any or all of their bodies are intact, it wouldn't even require True Resurrection to bring them back—not that Keyleth or Percy are averse to a little heresy, but hey, conserve your resources. If there are bodies, all they'd need is 7th-level Resurrection; none of those people have been dead for over a century, and if they need to find the bodies, well, Vex has Locate Object and Pike gets a Divine Intervention freebie once a week, right? Even if they did need True Resurrection, it's a heftier cost but probably not something too difficult to pay over time for one of the wealthiest families in the world.
But none of them have ever done that, nor do we get an indication that they've pursued it. Vox Machina is, probably more than any other CR party, defined by grief—how individual PCs respond to their own profound losses; how they succeed and fail to shoulder each others' burdens; and at the end of their story, how they deal with one of the most painful losses imaginable, and how they move forward and find peace in spite of it. Campaign 1 is just as much about how to deal with what you couldn't do as it is about what you now can do.
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Of Nightmares and Memories /two/ Azriel X Reader
Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut
Part one Part Three
You dream of the blue of his siphons. The hazel of his eyes. You see him every night, whether you’d like to or not. He seems to invade everyone of your senses, always. Even from miles away. Even if he was dead. But you swore you’d know if he perished when Amerantha took over. You felt as if you would’ve felt his loss deep within your gut.
But there had been no word of Velaris, or the people inside it. Had your brother truly been able to hide it all of these years? He’d been stripped of so much of his power, but did he have enough to keep your beloved city safe?
“He wants you in the dining room for dinner.”
“And if I say no?” You question the red haired fox.
His eyes, one golden and mechanical, narrowed on you, “He’ll drag you down by your hair.”
“I’d like to see him try,” You bark out a laugh, knowing you could shred him in a moment if only you had use of your power.
The faebane they kept you full of made sure you were just a sliver of who you once were. Your skin was dull and lifeless, gone was the wondrous glow of immortality. Because you might as well have been mortal, plain and easy to kill. But you still had the self defense that your brothers taught you. You still had the ability to fight back. You were weak now, yes, but you could still just as easily use one of the butter knives on Tamlin.
“Please,” Lucien begged, “Don’t be difficult. It’s been a hard day.”
“He lost another, then?” I question, head cocking to the side.
“Don’t bring it up or he’s likely to skin you alive,” Lucien warned you.
“Again, I’d like to see him try.”
Lucien’s eyes seem tired as he looks at you. Your fight seemed to dissipate as you looked at him. You knew time was running out, far too fast. Soon enough Amarantha would take control over every Fae, no matter where they lived. Tamlin was the only one keeping her at bay, and his power was almost hers for the taking. Then what would become of you? When her goons came for Tamlin and ransacked the house, surely they’d find you and drag you before her. Then you’d just be a tool to further your brother’s pain.
“Ah, I can see it now,” He sighed, “You’ve realized your fate, if this doesn’t work.”
“He’ll never convince a human to love him,” You shake your head, “No matter how charming he can be.”
“For your sake, you best hope he does.”
You follow him from your room, or your cell, whatever seems to fit one day to the next. The manor house is quiet as you make your way through it, servants not sparing you a second glance. They all knew you were being held prisoner, yet they could do little to change it, without incurring the High Lord’s wrath.
For once in your life, you were helpless, and had been since that day in the clearing.
“It would’ve been so much easier for him,” You mutter, “Had he just let them kill me that day. Instead he had them spare me and now I stay a constant headache.”
“More like a constant thorn in his side,” Lucien smiled slightly.
The thought brought a sly smile to my face. You prepared your stone mask as you grew closer to the dining room. Lucien was the only one you allowed to see a sliver of who you were. You allowed him to see more of yourself than you should, because he saw someone who was a little more delicate, a little more capable of love and sadness. Not the stone exterior of the Night Court that we worked so hard to maintain.
“Play nice with him tonight,” Was Lucien’s last warning before we reached the golden doors.
You schooled your face into a bored mask, as if all of this was beneath you. For centuries you’d been playing this part. Without so much as a break from it. Only when you were sure you were alone in my rooms did you let the mask fall. Only then did you cry out for my family, for my home.
“Glad you decided to join us,” Tamlin’s voice carried from the end of the table.
Your eyes roll, “As if I had a choice.”
A snarl escapes from Tamlin, claws slowly growing. You smile sweetly at him for a moment, before throwing out what little power you had left to reach into his head. Just enough to let him know you were there, just enough to be a pest when you wanted. But it wasn’t without difficulty. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you strained against the confines of your power.
“Enough,” He yelled, slamming his hands down against the table.
You flinch back, seeing the beast start to emerge. For a moment you allowed yourself to feel the slight fear that crept in. You were weak now, unable to protect yourself as you used to. He’d taken your power, your freedom, and your strength away from you. Stripped it away as if it were nothing. He should have just killed you in the forest that day.
“Where is the little human?” You question, sniffing the air, “Her…stench is hard to miss.”
“She’s getting cleaned up,” Lucien spoke up, “Might be best if you eat before Alis is finished with her.”
I turn slowly to glare at him, before turning back to Tamlin, “Still keeping me as your dirty little secret then?”
“She doesn’t need to know about you.”
“You know, I hope you can charm this one,” You snarl, “Because time is running out. Soon enough we’ll all be-”
“Enough!” He roars, “I know how much time we have left. I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
“Oh, you still have the chance, but the second he finds out I’m still alive,” You can’t help but laugh as you shake your head, “Well… then you’ll really wish you allowed them to kill me.”
“If she finds out you're alive…” Lucien trailed off with a look from Tamlin.
I flop down into a chair and scoop up a glass of wine, “Well, this is going to be a fun couple of months, then, won’t it?”
“Behave,” Lucien snaps.
“I am behaving,” I reply sweetly.
“Eat, before I lock you up and forget about you.”
“Now now,” I sigh, “It’s been centuries, surely we can be a little more civil than that,”
“You’re too much like your brother,” Tamlin sighs, leaning back into his chair.
“You almost sound sad about that,” You note, “Regretting crossing him?”
“No.”
You hum and drink your wine before tucking into the food before you. Despite knowing there was faebane in it, you couldn’t stop eating. You hardly ate anymore. Just enough to keep you alive, but today you were starving.
“Slow down before you make yourself sick,” Lucien said slowly.
You growl at him before slowly down slightly. If only your brother could see you now. See what you’d become. If only Az and Cas could see you, what would they think? Or Mor or Amren. You weren’t sure what they would say if they could see you now. How different you’d become.
Time passed slowly. The weeks dragged on, as you were only allowed out of your room when Feyre, the human, wasn’t around. Tamlin was doing well with dancing around your existence. Firenight was quickly approaching, and you felt the excitement deep in your bones. If there was one night that you would beg to be released it was Calanmai.
“You know you can’t.”
“Please Lucien,” You all but beg, “He’ll be there, I know it.”
“Which is why you can’t leave the manor,” He explains.”
“I just want to see him for myself,” You whine, “I need to see him, just once before the fifty years is up. Just once.”
“He’ll know.”
“Tamlin will be too caught up in the rite to notice,” I remind him, “And you can manage a convincing glamor.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Just this once,” You say softly, “I wouldn’t ask if time wasn’t running out.”
“I know.”
“Just, please.”
“You stay next to me the whole time,” He explains, “Running off could get you killed.”
“I know.”
“Thirty minutes, that’s all you’ll get.”
“It’s more than I thought I’d get.”
Your heart hammered in your chest with the prospect of seeing your brother again after centuries of being apart from him. You knew you wouldn’t be able to tell him who you were, you wouldn’t be able to leave with him. Or speak with him. But you’d be able to lay eyes on him, and know that in whatever capacity, he was okay. He was alive, even if he was a slave to the bitch under the mountain. He’s still alive. And that’s all you could ask. Even if the rest of your family was dead, at least he lived on.
#acomaf#acotar#azriel#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x reader#azriel fanfic#azriel acotar#azriel x you#acotar fanfiction#azriel spymaster
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Hiiii
wo dering if you could do an enemies to lover anakin imagine. kind of like friends to enemies to lovers or something like that and it ends in them making out o whatever you are comfortable with.
Anyways thank youuu
Denial One Shot (Darth Vader x Reader)
Summary: After venturing into a Sith Temple to try and find an edge on the current war, (Y/N) meets her enemy, Lord Vader, the man who killed her best friend and secret lover. He has been hunting both her and her alias down for months, following her across the galaxy, but little does she know, he has no plans to kill her. Takes place in the temple seen in the Star Wars Rebels season two finale. Reader was previously a Jedi and is in hiding due to order 66.
Warnings: Make out session
A/N: (Y/N) does not know Vader is Anakin, and Vader does not know (Y/N) is the Fugitive he has been searching for. This is once again a mix of suited Vader and nightfall Vader. In which, Vader wears the suit and mask, but he can take it off and looks like the Anakin we know and love.
The temple was eerie, an odd feeling passing by with each step you took. It was the opposite of the one I grew up in, representing everything I was told to dislike, and yet I was here anyways. I had made up my mind to fight instead of continuing to run from the problem. I wasn’t a rebel, but I wasn’t an imperial either. I was the middle ground, a former Jedi with a new identity, a mask to shield my face so that I could live freely, but the saber still gave it away. I was good, too good to be a civilian having fun with an old relic, even though some still used them publicly. Some, as in him.
The Jedi fell and Lord Vader rose out of thin air. There was no preface, no foreshadowing, he just came, and everyone bowed their heads.
To outsiders he was a military leader trained in combat, who happened to use an imaginary power. To force users, like Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, and I, he was a Sith. We all knew it the second he began hunting us down. He wanted the Jedi dead and made it clear when he began searching for my alias as well. Everyone knew who she was, I was put on every single imperial security watch available, but I evaded it all I could. I forged a new saber, so that they couldn’t track me that way, and told people about how the female jedi on the Holonets from the clone wars died. The only people who truly knew were Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, since they too had done something similar. He was Ben, she was Ashla, and I gained the name Fugitive, a mask being the only way to keep track of my identity.
I couldn’t count how many storm-troopers I had killed by now, just that I did. I was forced to, to keep myself alive, because he wanted me turned in. I was always told to run, to flee from Vader because of what he’s done, but all I wanted was for the man to wind up dead. A lust for revenge had developed ever since I learned what he did to my best friend, Anakin Skywalker.
I don’t even know how he could have killed a warrior like him, but he did and now he’s gone. Slaughtered like any other while trying to save people in the temple, something someone with his character would have done naturally. The worst part is that everyone he was trying to save is dead too, and that he could have escaped with us, had he not done what he did. He had a wife, Senator Amidala, a good friend of mine, who also died that night, although I wasn’t sure if they ended on good terms.
The two had been arguing for a while, he believed she was cheating on him with Obi Wan, although she continued to deny it along with everyone else. I was the only one who he talked to about his problems willingly, even Kenobi would have to go through reading his mind to talk about personal issues. It was only when Anakin died that the truth came out, that being that Anakin was right, and she was seeing Kenobi.
I hadn’t recognized him after that point. I knew he was afraid he would be kicked out of the Jedi order if we found out he was dating another woman. Even further, the fact he knowingly was allowing the affair to happen, but it occurred anyways, and he lost everything with it. That was consequence enough, he didn’t need me to yell at him any further for going that far.
Still, I was angry, because I cared about Anakin.
And also loved him.
I denied it for years, the helpless prodding’s from Ahsoka when the two of us would spend hours upon hours with each other. We carried out the entire war effort, working extremely close together on missions. It was no surprise that I liked him, he had even mentioned subtly what things would be like if he hadn’t met her. It sounded like he regretted it, but I had no clue, due to us being force users.
I now stood in front of the man who took him away, the one that gutted him in the chest like a fish with no care whatsoever. The man that had been hunting me down under both my names since the night of the fall, the one that was known for murdering everyone in his path. I don’t know how he found me, I had a feeling we were being followed, but I didn’t care. We needed the Holocron inside of the temple, and Ahsoka now had it in hand. I could sense their distraught, both behind me looking at the Sith in front of us. They didn’t want to fight him; they were afraid to fight him. I felt differently, looking at his mask through the visors of my own.
“It was foretold that you would be here, our long-awaited meeting has come at last."
“This meeting is over,” Ahsoka said.
“Are you so sure?” the Sith questioned through the modulated voice his mask provided him, as I stepped forward.
“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan asked me, his breath becoming short.
“Leave."
“No," he shook his head. "Don’t do this."
“Leave. Now.”
I looked up at the temple’s ceiling as the walls started to drop down. It was collapsing on itself, since the Holocron had been taken from the Obelisk. There wasn’t much to do, but I knew I didn’t want to pull them into this. I turned around and outstretched a hand.
Ahsoka screamed as I force pushed both her and Obi-Wan back while the temple’s walls crashed down. I saw her figure fly back just before the drop and felt her gently land. There was a ship, they could leave, I would worry about myself after I killed him.
“We’re finishing this here,” I said. "I know you've been hunting me for the past months."
“You are courageous, unlike your friends,” the Sith mused. “Hateful.”
“You killed my best friend," I pointed out. "I want you to experience that same pain."
“Revenge is not the Jedi way,” he reminded. "Your confidence dilutes your ability to make rational decisions."
“I am no Jedi.”
“Then who are you? Your saber is unlike any I have ever seen, an identity successfully hidden behind a helm.”
“That’s none of your business, why have you been hunting me?” I asked. I felt the pressure of the Dark Side creeping against my mind's barriers, he was trying to invade.
“You would make a wonderful apprentice in the dark side,” Vader said. "You have already abandoned your training as a Jedi."
“I don’t side with murderers.”
“And yet you are one. I have seen your way of fighting Fugitive; you have killed countless of our troops and inquisitors.”
“Your Inquisitorious is an embarrassment, and I will never join you, not after what you did,” I called my saber to my hand, igniting it.
“Then you will die.”
There was this feeling of fear that attempted to wash over me, like he was attempting to throw me off, but I wasn't thinking about it anymore.
I ran full speed at him, force pushing myself up off the ground and into the air to try and put myself on the offensive. My blade met his right over his helmet, as he angled me back and I landed behind him. My automatic response was to try and swing for his legs, a move he evaded but had been surprised by. I knew I needed to be careful with how I played things. He would try and tire me out by just playing the defensive, but I also didn’t get that tired frow much stamina I built up during the war. Vader was also bigger, and stronger, meaning I’d need to use his weight to my advantage. I was quick, less stable, and grounded, and more agile in my movements.
We continued to take shots at each other, as he seemingly began to test me. It was a constant switch from the right to the left, bashing at each other from different angles and walking along with it. It was something Anakin and I always did, and it almost felt familiar. For whatever reason, I could feel myself getting into the rhythm Skywalker and I got into when we would train every day. After a certain point I would always switch my grip and force him to back off, and I did it purely out of muscle memory, shoving the Sith back.
“Your anger focuses you,” he commented. “Join me and I can enhance that power.”
“You killed him, the man I loved, do you truly believe I would ever consider that?”
“He is gone for a reason,” Vader said.
“He was the chosen one!” I shouted, interlocking lightsabers in a pursuit for power over the other. "You know why he lost his life?! Because he was trying to save everyone else, instead of actually caring for himself for once."
“(Y/N)."
I stumbled back immediately, hearing that name leave his mouth,
"What?"
My eyes widened beneath the visors, letting my guard down for just a moment.
It was all he needed.
I felt his immense force break through my walls and invade my mind, clawing through my memories and thoughts like a file. Not only that, but he immediately took me to the ground. It was quick, as he now straddled me, muscular thighs resting over my lower waist. Both my arms were pinned to either side with by the force, my saber in his hand.
I grunted, struggling under him and thrusting against his cod piece hoping it would make him budge but it barely made a difference. I couldn’t do a thing, as the Sith reached for my mask and pressed down on the sides. I felt it depressurize, as his gloved digits lifted it off my head, and I looked into his mask with my own eyes.
"How do you know my name?" I asked angrily as I fought underneath him to free myself.
There was no way of telling what he truly felt in that moment, holding the helm silently, breathing being the only indication he was still alive. I continued to try and do everything to get out of his grasp, but the Sith only sat there and took me in, his body heat lingering over my own. I felt like a mess, wondering where Ahsoka and Obi-Wan might be right now, realizing why Anakin lost his life to this man. I didn’t know how he knew my name, my real name, the one that no one had called me in months. I was fully pinned down, not giving up until I saw him reach for his own helmet.
"What are you do—"
My throat ran dry, amber eyes piercing through my body like a blade.
"Anakin."
It was him, with brown hair that held golden streaks just above his armor.
"(Y/N)."
Hearing his voice sent a shiver down my entire back, as I shuddered underneath him.
“I thought you died—they said Vader killed you—" there were tears welling up in my eyes, looking up at him.
“I am alive."
“Why did you turn?"
“The Jedi council was using us, Obi-Wan lied to me about Padme (Y/N), they were having an affair. But you know that already.”
“Obi Wan told us,” I trailed off.
“I know.”
“Do you plan to kill me?”
“No, that was never my intent," he emphasized lowly.
“So, what will you do?” I questioned.
“After separating myself from the order, I reflected much upon it,” Anakin started. "And came to terms with several of my mistakes."
“What mistakes?”
Still straddling me Anakin leaned down, placing his hands by either sides of my head and lowering himself to my ear.
“I was blindly dating filthy senator, when I had the love of my life right next to me the entire time."
"What do you mean?" I emphasized each word, my abdomen tensing as he got so close to me.
"There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't think of my future and imagine you by my side. I told myself it was our strong bond causing me to think of you constantly, due to the amount of time we spent together, but now, I feel completely different."
"Anakin," my heart was racing, as he continued to whisper into my ear.
"Maker, I missed you so much."
He was just trying to be friendly, that's all this was.
"Now, I know you are not that naive," he let out a deep chuckle, reading my mind.
"Is this your way of coercing me into joining the dark side?" I said softly, trying to play it off.
"There is no need to coerce you (Y/N), your heart is already doing all the work," Anakin told me. "All there is to do is to make up for lost time."
"No.."
"Continuing to deny it is only stalling the inevitable," he spoke in a playful way. "Your hatred towards the one you believed to be my killer only proves it more."
"I—" I cut myself off, as Anakin moved his head, now right over mine.
"What is it?" he asked me, his golden eyes flicking from my lips up to my eyes in quick fashion.
I gave in, nodding to his silent question and feeling the force lift off my hands.
Anakin pressed his lips to mine as I lifted my head up and met him midway. His robotic hand came down to my waist, the other combing through my hair as he helped hold my head steady. It was delicate and prepared, goosebumps crawling over my skin as his weight pressed me onto the cold temple floors. He was an expert in the way he worked around my mouth, the first time I had ever kissed anyone to begin with.
To think such a sacred place would be ruined due to our own shenanigans.
A Jedi and a Sith, making out in a temple with no care for sentiment.
His lips were chapped yet soft, and the more breaths we took between kissing the more swollen they became. Anakin didn’t seem to care though, continuing to go down on my neck allowing me to breath. He wasn’t going too far, but it was enough for the occasion, leaving marks I that wouldn’t leave for days.
It was madness.
Everything around us screamed in pleasure, the force happily chiming along with the two sides agreeing on something, even if it wasn’t an argument. Anakin had changed, and I couldn’t decide if it was for better or for worse.
If only those two could see me now, making love to the man that we had been running from for months. The copious amounts of rage had turned to attraction in a blink of an eye, rejoicing in his presence as my hand pressed against his tunic and I felt his abdomen underneath the fabric. He was such light and yet the darkness itself, drowning me in it as we sunk into a pool of ecstasy.
The cold stone floors were soon heated, as the temple grew humid and we both simultaneously agreed to take our tops off. It was the definition of multitasking, as I took off his armor and tunic, leaving behind a black pair of pants, and his boots. With the force he slipped my top off, gaining access to my collar bone and gracing it with his mouth. There was a possessive feeling in the air, as he took in my body for the first time with his own eyes as I did to him.
"You are so beautiful, it is intoxicating."
I felt myself smiling, sitting up and wrapping my arms around his neck, the both of us kissing deeply. This was it, holding our breath as we enjoyed one another, but the force was warning the both of us.
The temple shook, I almost forgot it was collapsing.
"We need to escape before we become trapped inside," Anakin said. "My ship is outside."
"And you assume I'm coming?"
"I know you are."
I laughed, acknowledging his foresight. We put on our clothes hurriedly yet thoroughly, as someone trained to handle life or death would. In truth, that was what we stood for, as Jedi and Sith both came together as one, in ways that would be frowned upon.
Except we didn't care.
We weren't denying it any longer.
Back in business since the recent Ahsoka episode. Hope you all enjoyed!
#darth vader x reader#darth vader imagine#darth vader x y/n#darth vader x you#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin skywalker x you#anakin skywalker x y/n#anakin skywalker imagine#anakin x reader#suitless darth vader x reader
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you know the thing about The Menu (2022) is that so many people came out of it being like "haha eat the rich" and yeah, sure, but really the chef's issue wasn't with the rich people, I mean he hated them and wanted them dead yes, but his issue was that he had let the world of ambition take him so far from the joy of cooking that he once felt, from the art that he loved to make, because he let himself chase status and exclusivity, when really he could have been making his art for everyone, at a certain point he did not need to be cooking for rich people he could have found people who appreciated his food because they loved food, he could have leaned into the art he loved instead of the art he was expected to make with the set dressing he was expected to make it in, and that is a critique of capitalism, but it's not an "eat the rich" type critique, it's not just rich people who have had their relationship to art changed by capitalism, we all have in one way or another, think about the phrase "consuming content", we are consuming, not savoring, and what does it mean to be an artist when being an artist means being a content creator, being consumed, and what artistic principles can you really afford to have when you need to make money to live, but what principles will you forget to pick back up when you have the money, how far gone from yourself do you have to be to no longer be able to go back? What does it mean when you haven't cooked a burger for yourself, for your friends, for someone who loves a burger, because you're always, only cooking for those who can afford you? What do you cook for yourself? Do you savor it? What art do you make when no one's watching? Can you still make art when no one's watching?
but the other thing about The Menu (2022) is that they literally don't eat the rich people. Look at me. They do not eat the rich people they are all burned alive, guests and staff, and that's Different
#mary emma talks#the menu#the menu 2022#you might think from this that I recently rewatched the menu but actually i just saw one gifset and went into a fugue state#so if any of this is wrong remember it's based on me watching it in the theatre which was what#a year ago? over a year ago?
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Oooh! Chronic depression Tav sounds right up your alley! I'm also chronically depressed and I have a similar living condition (messy room, not the horrific torture) to Astarion. Maybe a Tav who can empathize with his messy tent and his depression?
Oh yes, this hits my alley!
I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder and depression a while ago plus it seems like I had a severe depression when I was 12-19 years old (but I wasn't taken to any specialists back then).
TW: Anxiety and depression come in different forms, my therapists always told me that I have a weird skill to look absolutely normal meanwhile tests show signs of severe depression. I've based this headcanon on my own experience.
TW 2: A suicide attempt, depression.
Astarion x Depressed!Tav
Masterlist
Headcanons
You feel off.
Something was utterly wrong with you for the last few years.
You barely eat, sleep too much
Decision-making is difficult as fuck, and you just do what you are told to.
The time is slipping through your fingers and you sometimes realize it's already winter when it was summer a day ago.
You feel like drowning in the dark void.
Maybe you should just end everything? Because life will never get better.
The tadpole suppresses your condition.
You suddenly feel good. You feel strong. You feel alive.
And the Emperor is particularly adamant that you embrace the tadpole potential.ccepting the tadpole potential.
"Remember how bad you felt before? It will get worse if you deny the tadpole. Once it's gone, your mind will drown in darkness again. But accept my offer, and you will never suffer again."
You recognize familiar patterns in Astarion's behavior.
His inability to make decisions.
The mess he made of his tent.
The way he sometimes sits and stares in the distance not moving at all.
That he doesn't really read, staring at the papers with mindless eyes.
Or quickly turning pages without understanding what is written there.
Or an extreme degree of anhedonia. He cannot taste wine or food, his senses are dulled, and nothing brings him joy except blood and sex (both of which have been unavailable to him for centuries).
You want to accept the tadpole. You don't want to go back to where you were. He doesn't want to either.
But when you take the astral tadpole, Astarion knocks it out of your hands and smashes it.
"You're in no condition to make decisions like that, dear," he says, grabbing your arm.
Neither is he.
You fear to have the tadpole removed.
When it is gone, it's worse than you expected.
You can't move. Can't think. The void is killing you.
You don't want to talk to anyone. You can't do anything. The only thing you are capable of is to crawl into the inn and lie there like in a coffin.
It will never get better.
Maybe, you should just off yourself?
And Astarion's absence only proves your thoughts. He isn't there, he's left. He doesn't need a burden like you.
The relapse is so bad you decide to find a way to end things.
You choose a lonely place and takes a dagger out.
You greet death like an old friend.
Only to wake up under a starry night sky.
With a familiar skeleton-like figure close to you.
Withers brought you back. But why? And how did he…
Before you manage to say anything coherent, you feel strong hands around your waist and a familiar scent.
Astarion cries holding you.
"I shouldn't have left you, I shouldn't have... I am so sorry..."
He was ashamed of himself. Of his own relapse.
But he could never thought you would kill yourself.
These six monthes were difficult for him.
Yes, he was free. He could do whatever he wanted.
But he was lonely. He had nightmares. Breakdowns.
He started looking for you only to realize you were dead.
Finding Withers was his only hope.
And you are back. Back to him.
Astarion takes you away from Baldur's Gate to the places you've never been before.
Basically making you run faster than your darkness.
Together you learn how to enjoy things.
You basically ask each other "What can we do rn to make ourselves feel better?"
A swim in the lake? A bath in the inn? A new piece of garment? Just staying together in the tent?
You hold each other from slipping into the void.
Eventually, you are advised to start taking some medicine made by clerics.
You take it once a day and you feel better, almost the same way you felt with the tadpole.
You take the double shot because Astairon drinks your blood to get this medicine for himself.
You both don't feel yourself that miserable anymore. You both cry less.
You sleep better, Astarion doesn't have nightmares.
You are good. Both of you.
It doesn't mean the darkness won't come back - but you are both ready to meet it.
--
Tag list
@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96
#astarion#baldur's gate 3#bg3 astarion#astarion romance#bg3#astarion bg3#astarion headcanon#baldurs gate 3#astarion headcanons#astarion x tav#tav x astarion#spacebarbarian headcanon#astarion x reader#baldurs gate astarion#astarion ancunin#astarion baldurs gate#astarion brainrot#astarion fanfiction#astarion imagine#astarion hurt#disabled tav#tw depression#baldurs gate 3 astarion#astarion my beloved
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Always a man, a city, and a lighthouse...
"Robin, Red Robin, stay back for a minute," Batman said as he dismissed everyone for patrol. "I have a new mission for you. Dozens of civilians have gone missing around the decommissioned Gotham City Lighthouse." A few clicks and the Batcomputer displayed a map of the Upper West Side, a highlight on the lighthouse. "I want you both to investigate the building. Everyone who's gone missing entered the lighthouse, but nothing has been found by the police. I suspect that the lighthouse is being used for gun smuggling, but we need more information.
"That's where you two come in."
Or, I've been reading too much of @virgamsysxvolumes 's Lucky Rush AU, and wanted a true Bioshock AU for dc x dp.
Underneath the city, in the vast and endless caverns beneith Gotham, lies the subterranean city of Amity. Amity was the pet project of the mad scientist couple, the Drs. Fenton, to investigate the effects of ectoplasm on humans, but with the help of their best friend, Vlad Masters, they transformed Amity into a Technocracy City filled with scientists, and completely lacking in morals.
Or at least, that's how it was ten years ago, before the creation of Plasm (the Adam replacement), a neon green goo that's basically meth that gives you superpowers. Everyone from the top scientists to the lower working class starting doping on Plasm, which gave people the ability to control fire, create hallucinogenic spores, summon bats, etc. Vlad, the mayor, was deposed in a cue let by the Fentons and the city descended into anarchy, with people from the surface getting lured down from the lighthouse so they can continue their experiments.
The Fentons are 100% not good people in this. Jack is in charge of all the technological advances in Amity, while Maddie has created human/ghost hybrids--the Little Sisters of the story--that can naturally harvest ectoplasm from dead bodies to use for experiments. Once everyone's hooked on Plasm, the Little Sisters are in danger from acting Splicers, so she creates Big Daddies to protect them.
Danny is the only Little Brother, and Jazz is the only Big Sister. Vlad turned them both into monsters as revenge against the Fentons for the cue, but the couple didn't really care, with Jack barely acknowledging he has children, and Maddie acting like they were never turned into monsters to begin with. Not sure about ages... Jazz is probably the same as her canon age, but if Danny is still 14, he looks 10, tiny and malnourished and pale.
Tim and Damian are trapped in Amity after an automatic system determines them as good test subjects. The AI filters out any cops, so that's why the police never found anything. The elavator brings them down into the city, showing a sweeping shot of neon in the darkness of the caves, and the boys figure out pretty quickly something is blocking their calls.
Tim gets super injured early on. I think, a Jack Fenton booby trap (that exclaims that it's a Jack Fenton Booby Trap moments before activating, which should be funny, but isn't when death lasers are being launched at him.). Damian gets captured, and that's when Tim is contacted by Vlad, who is our Atlas stand in for the game, only Tim immediately realizes that this man is sketchy af.
But unfortunately, in order to rescue Damian, Tim has to splice himself with Plasm. Maybe its for fire-wielding, or telekinesis but Tim can't get to wherever Damian is being held and, while torn, splices himself to save Damian.
Damian was kidnapped because his exposure to Lazirus Waters made a Big Daddy think he was a Little Sister, so it brought him back to the Casper Academy, which is where Little Sisters drop their harvests off in the care of William Lancer. Lancer looks after the girls because Maddie Fenton is too busy, but it's against his will despite him caring for them all. He's trapped in the building, can't leave or he dies. He's actually relieved to know that Vlad is still alive and trusts him, because to Lancer he was just a good mayor who was overthrown and the Fentons are the real bad guys, just look what they did to their kids!
This is where the batkids first learn about Danny and Jazz, although they don't meet them until a while after this. Danny actually ends up being the one leaving Plasm out for Tim every time he rescues a Little Sister. (Sidenote, they end up killing people while in Amity. While both do have death counts, the problem with Amity is that they have to use stronger and stronger levels of force to get people to go down, leading them to escalating and killing quite a few).
Lancer points them to communications to get their comms working again, and that area is run by Damon Grey.
At some point after comms are back on, the two learn that Red Hood actually came in after them after hours of no communication and has been captured by Maddie Fenton, who intends to turn him into a Big Daddy.
In late story, it's revealed that Jack Fenton was murdered before the cue even happened, and that the Jack Fenton they'd been communicating with the entire time was an AI assistant created by living Jack to keep his work going. The cue was actually retaliation from Maddie and the Jack AI for murdering Jack.
The story would eventually end with Tim, Damian, and Jason freeing all the Little Sisters along with Danny and Jazz.
#dc x dp#dcxdp#dpxdc#dp x dc#bioshock au#bad parents jack and maddie#c: tim drake#c: damian wayne#c: danny fenton#c: jazz fenton#c: vlad masters#c: maddie fenton#c: jack fenton#c: bruce wanye#c: william lancer#c: damon grey#badass jazz fenton#child danny fenton#meta tim drake#c: jason todd#dc crossover#dp crossover#tw: child abuse#tw: human experimentation#tw: murder#i've never written batman before and you can tell#i just wanted a genuine steampunk bioshock au#let my babies be unhinged and grapple with their identities as human beings
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MY LOVE, MINE, MINE, MINE. . .
ノsynopsis. His love was you, but you were gone.
ノtags. zhongli x reader, neuvillette x reader, xiao x reader. reader is dead. vague descriptions of how tho. a long time has passed. grief. mortal x immortal trope.
ノa/n. ahh. this trope is so sad, I just had to.
ZHONGLI had not missed a single anniversary since your death. He made it a tradition to always visit your favourite places in liyue. Not like he didn’t either way.
Some would say he was a heartbroken, lovesick fool for still being kept up with the death of someone who’d perished centuries ago. Zhongli had lived too many a life. He’d seen death more than any throughout the lands.
It shouldn’t have affected him as much as it did, but you’d captured who’s heart and very soul in your soft, loving hands and when they withered and died, you’d taken his heart with you.
To some place he couldn’t reach you. But he knew he’d meet you eventually nonetheless.
So Zhongli visited the places you once did, drank your favourite tea and visited your favourite sights in liyue because for as long as he would be alive, he wouldn’t ever forget you.
NEUVILLETTE had been a sea dweller long before he was the Iudex of fontaine. He roamed the vast expanse of the oceans surrounding the land, listening in on stories from harbour men and seeing ferocious beasts deep down in the belly of the water.
None had scared him. But surprisingly, you did. A mere mortal who’d hooked his heart and yanked it away from him like the fish you hunted at the lakes.
There was something about you he couldn’t shake off. Maybe that was the reason why, after decades of meeting at the same place, you’d stopped coming that neuvillette finally understood why.
Why you, a mortal , had done such an affect on him. He was too late to tell you, he found. Centuries later, he would mull over and think of what had been you, and he couldn’t stop the guilt from eroding him piece by piece.
If only he could’ve told you he loved you then.
XIAO never once let his guard down, neither for the foes he fought or the ones he would call comrades and friends. He isolated all from his heart and made it so as if he didn’t have one.
You were a mere villager. Yet still you had traversed the harsh terrain and the broken patchwork that was his heart and you’d mended the pieces that he thought would never be fixed.
Of course though. You were a mortal and you aged quicker than he did and in only the span of a few decades had you grown old and tired, unable to do anything.
It was only when you passed that xiao realised how much he should’ve said to you and now could never. How ironic was it that he fell for the very thing he wished to so desperately be?
© VNUSOKI 24 ! do not copy or repost my work !
#genshin impact x reader#genshin fluff#genshin angst#genshin x reader#genshin impact#zhongli x reader#zhongli x you#zhongli angst#neuviill
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