HELLO? UM 😦

The Agony of Desire

Part 11 // Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, Smut, fingering, p in v sex, mild choking, talks of pregnancy, canon typical themes, drugging, assault, guns.

A/N: Brace for impact...

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,

And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind."

- William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

It's kind of annoying that good things don't last. Who designed a world like that anyway? Where you could get a taste of something so perfect, so peaceful, and so explosive. The rekindling of a lost love, the burning passion of two years of agony, the desire to stay in a blissful paradise with the one person who ever made you feel... seen.

To have it ripped from your hands without a forethought, taken by the universe with five simple words.

We have to go back.

But you didn't want to. You wanted this, here, with him and the quiet moments in between careless laughter and the shared breath of lovers before a kiss. And you wanted to grip it tightly and tell the universe to fuck off because Billy Russo was yours and nobody would ever take him away from you again.

And he sees this all written on your face when he gets the words out.

"Hey, hey, hey," he says, finding his way to you as you look down, your throat tight beyond compare, your eyes watering as you try to pretend that you're fine. His hands on your shoulders, "We'll be okay," his voice interjects, "I'll keep you safe, it's just that Kingpin needs something more from me, and then we're done. We'll be back here- or free to be in New York together- wherever you want- it's just one more thing and it'll all be over." He rambles into your ear, and you wrap your arms around him, holding him to you.

You take a deep breath, listening to his heart race in his chest.

"I don't want to lose you. I only just got you back." You sniffle.

"Oh baby," he kisses the top of your head gently, "You're not losing me. Not that easily. You told me no several times and I still kidnapped you anyway."

That makes you laugh, which makes him laugh.

"When you say it like that, it makes you sound like a villain." You say in between breaths.

"I am a villain. I'm a really bad man." He confirms with a nod and you shake your head in disbelief.

Your stomach picks that moment to make a loud gurgling sound and your mouth drops open.

"Oh my god did you hear that-?"

"-I know right, what the fuck is living inside of you?" He says with mock horror in his face and you laugh, pulling him back into a hug that he returns easily.

You sway for a moment, before pulling back.

"Come, let's talk strategy over dinner." You say decidedly, pulling him toward the kitchen.

You're staring at his sleeping form, from your seat opposite him.

He always looks so young when he sleeps, appearing so innocent about the ways of the world, and you acknowledge that it must be his eyes that give him his age. The look in them, the weariness, the distrust, the way you can see him analysing things as they happen. It's what makes him look close to the age he always claims to be. Now though, he could pass for at least a decade younger. Billy's got eyes that have seen so much, and you just wished for one moment you could ease his burdens.

He'd explained to you last night, that some of the money hadn't gone through, that Fisk was demanding the remaining twenty million and would restart his pursuit of your family if he was not compensated. It was one thing to be hunted by the Meachums, but you would most likely never survive if they managed to put their differences aside long enough to pursue you.

It made you nervous. To be going back into the lion's den no matter how reassuring Billy was, that everything would be okay.

How could he know something like that? How was he so sure, that the minute you two landed in New York, that both groups wouldn't descend on you both and take it all away? Take what you'd just been given...

You unbuckle your seatbelt, standing, and smoothing out your black dress for a moment. Billy peeks an eye open sleepily, looking up at you as you take the few steps to him.

"Are you okay?" He asks, his voice laced with heavy sleep, undoing his seatbelt and opening his arms for you to climb into his lap. You accept the invitation, straddling his body easily, burying your head in his chest, listening for a quiet moment to his heart, feeling fear and anxiety rise in your throat, and letting the soft scent of him calm you.

"I'm okay." You say after a little bit, "Just scared."

His arms encircle you, a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

"It's easy, in and out, nothing to be afraid of."

He'd said the same thing last night, but fear, held no care for rationality. Fear's only job, was to remind you of everything you could lose.

You grip his sweater, taking a deep breath, contemplating whether to tell him what you'd almost spilled yesterday- that you loved him, beyond words, beyond reason, maybe even beyond fear.

And yet, you still couldn't figure out if you could forgive him for the last two years.

It was... strange.

To love someone so deeply and still be burdened by the weight of their actions.

Maybe that was love. Imperfect, flawed, cracked, but so blissfully warm at the same time.

The Japanese art form, Kintsugi comes to mind next, and you wonder if that was something possible for you and Billy. An object, made more beautiful after being broken.

It's what lulls you to sleep.

The comfort of broken things, and the hopes that you have the chance to put them back together.

You wake a little later when the plane shakes, you stiffen in fright and his hand is immediately on the back of your head.

"Just turbulence baby, you're okay." He soothes.

You make a little hum, crawling off his lap to give a big stretch.

He watches you carefully, and you turn to look at him in question.

"What are you doing?" You ask, wondering why he's just staring at you.

"Nothing, just... remembering." He says, giving you a sly smile.

"Creep." You say, with mock malice in your tone.

"Careful," he warns, "You'll get me hard if you keep talking like that."

You almost choke on your spit with the speed you inhale at. Holy fuck what gave him the right?

You grin when a comeback flies right into your head.

"I bet it doesn't take much to get you hard, Russo." You tease, reaching under your dress to tug your panties down your legs. You watch the muscle in his jaw pop as he clenches his teeth together, never breaking eye contact with you as you free your panties and ball them into your fist.

"I bet it just takes the right move at the right time and that big cock is all swollen and leaky, hmm?" You tease, tossing your panties at him. The soft material hits his chest.

He doesn't say a word, looking at you with amusement as you silently dare him to say something.

He takes a deep breath, tilting his head to study you a little, before he extends a hand to give two swift pats to this thigh.

Holy shit that did not just make you tingle.

"Do you want something, Russo?" You ask evenly, and his smile deepens.

Shit. He had that quiet dominance about him that made you want to get on your knees and have him fist your hair in his large hand-

Christ almighty, where did your feminism go?

"Come here." He says casually, looking away from you for a moment, as if the clouds could ever be as interesting as the little brat of a girlfriend he had, one that he knew craved a firm hand.

"Bite me." You quip.

"If I have to get up from here," He warns "You're not getting to come."

You lick your lips.

"You're bluffing. You like me too much."

When he stands, your entire body gives you a warning that you were now in danger of being punished.

"I do like you," he acknowledges, "but that's not going to stop me from teaching that bratty cunt some manners."

Oh boy.

You take a step back as he begins to approach you, adrenaline spiking in your system, but in this private jet, there really was nowhere to go.

"Lesson number one, when I say 'come here,' do you know what I expect you to do?"

You keep backing away, knowing that your space to evade him is getting smaller and smaller.

"Do I look like I give a shit?" You ask, looking back to see how much space you have left.

It's all the distraction he needs to grab you. You gasp as he pins your lower half against a seat, you wriggle your body, but can't seem to get any leverage to push him away.

"I expect you, to bring that needy little cunt to me." He says lowly, as if you haven't spoken.

"Who said I was needy?" You gasp out, between small grunts as you struggle to get away from him.

His warm hand is sliding between your thighs in the next second.

"Oh please," he says, doubling down on you, using his body to stop any hint of struggle, "We both know how hot and wet this cunt gets for me."

Your mouth drops open when his middle finger slides over your clit. You bite down on your bottom lip, going still.

"There she is," he hums in appreciation, "Just ready for me, hmm?" His finger circles your clit slowly, you feel your thighs relax involuntarily, opening up for him to take what he wants. Your head is turned to the side, avoiding his stern, but deliciously warm gaze to listen to his sultry voice.

"Say my name, baby. Tell me whose cunt this is."

You can't deny him here. Not when you're in the air flying back to your ex-fiance, you wouldn't give him any doubts about this.

"Yours, Billy." You say so softly, still avoiding his gaze.

You're rewarded with firmer circles to your clit. You hiss, tilting your head up to expose your neck to him reflexively.

You were made to be taken. And he was made to take.

"The things I want to do to you, baby, the ways I want to ruin you would probably get me arrested in some countries."

Your mind fills with all the terrible possibilities. A small moan slips from your mouth.

"You want that too, don't you? You want to give me what I want?"

You nod your head, sighing as his finger on your clit pauses for a moment, only to push into you a second later.

You gasp as his thick finger breaches your entrance, filling you and pressing right against your g-spot. You go rigid, gasping as the pleasure builds inside you, teetering on an edge that doesn't come because he then holds his hand still.

You let out a low whine and he chuckles in response, your noses bumping affectionately as if he isn't a finger deep inside you.

He makes a small movement, something of a 'come-hither' with his finger, that creates a tapping motion on that spot inside you.

Pleasure blooms from your cunt all the way up your spine, exploding in your brain, before his finger stops moving.

Your eyebrows are scrunched together, mouth parted as he torments that sweet spot deep inside you.

"Why?" He asks, as if you can remember what was being said.

"What?" You question, out of breath, as he makes a few pumps of his finger into you. You gasp, tightening your walls around his finger in a silent plea not to stop.

"Why do you want to give me what I want?"

You shiver as his thumb begins slow circles into your clit, your knees wobble.

"Because..." you trail off.

"Because?"

He stops all movement and your frustration peaks.

"Because I'm yours." You say under your breath, finally looking into his dark eyes.

Is that what he wanted to hear?

His mouth stretches into a predatory smile.

Suddenly, his finger withdraws from you. You gasp, desperate to keep him close, but your hands are unable to grab him before he's pulling away from you.

"Good. Don't forget it." He says, his back is to you as he heads back to his seat.

Oh this asshole...

The fasten seatbelt sign pings on and you huff in frustration.

You make your way back to your seat angrily, sitting down and fastening your seat belt, glaring at him the whole time.

He sits too, fastens his seatbelt, but not before giving you a good show of sucking your arousal off his finger.

Which only throws you back into the memories of his tongue, and how much he genuinely loves tasting you.

You couldn't even fathom how that was possible. How his head between your thighs, his tongue working you over could give him so much pleasure, when Ward before wouldn't even-

You suck in a breath, heart squeezing as you look at him. Really look at him.

He looks at you too, from his spot opposite, and you're not even touching, but you've never felt this connected to him. It feels like he's in your head, like you're in his, like you know everything he feels from one look at him.

Billy Russo is a part of you now, he's in your bones, running deep in your veins, and he always will be.

And from the burning look in his eyes, he feels the same way about you.

Your face is pressed to the bed, a little bit of drool slipping past the edge of your lips and soaking into the soft sheets as he ruts into you from behind.

There's a couple of pillows under your hips, propping your boneless body up, presenting your body for his railing.

Your eyes roll back in your head, an unintelligent sound floating past your lips and you hear him chuckle above you between forceful thrusts.

"Do you like that, baby? Does it feel good?" He asks, and you can only make another dumb sound in response.

'Feel good' was an understatement. It was more than that. If your pleasure was the big bang, he was at its center. He was the source, the fuel, the reason. All emphasised by each rough motion of his cock.

"So perfect for me, baby. So fucking perfect." He gasps, his brain short-circuiting with the abundance of pleasure.

You clench fistfuls of the sheets between your fingers, your pussy tightening around his cock, warning him that you're going to come. He grunts, hips slapping against yours loudly, his hands smoothing over your skin, scraping at the curve of your back and ass with his blunt nails.

Open and pliant below him, you whine as you're brought right to the edge.

"Gonna come so hard, hope you taste it." He grunts out, and you let out another whine, so close... so close...

But he pulls out of you at the very last second and you whine in distress. He flips you over forcefully, the pillows still haphazardly beneath you, raising your hips so that he can reenter you easily.

You gasp his name, pulling the wild strands of your hair away from your face. His hands are firm on your hips, squeezing so tightly, you think it may bruise.

"All mine. Isn't that right?" He asks.

"Mmhmmm." Is all the noise you can make.

"Only me?"

"Yes Sir." You murmur.

He pushes one of your legs up, you gasp as you feel him go deeper, a droplet of sweat trickles from his forehead, down his nose and lands on your hip. You've been going at this for a while, and you know you're going to be so sore tomorrow.

Your back arches, you were on edge again. Shallow breaths and desperate sighs and the gasp of his name and the clenching of your core and he stops again and you swear you're going to murder him.

"Stop. Fucking. Edging. Me." You gasp out angrily between breaths, and you hiss when his hand wraps around your throat tightly.

"Lose the fucking attitude, baby. You're mine and I can do what I want." He grits out.

He pulls the pillows from below you, so that you're flat on the bed, it makes a good position to cover the entirety of your body with his and then he's back inside you again.

Your ankles lock behind him as he delivers swift thrusts, one hand cups the back of your neck to pull your mouth to his.

You bury your fingernails into his back and he groans into your mouth. You want to leave evidence on his skin that you were here, below him, taking his cock inside you.

He breaks the sloppy kiss to catch a breath, but you barely let him, before you're pulling his mouth back to yours in a heated frenzy.

There it is again. You whine as you get close, your body tightening around his, begging him not to stop.

He takes the message this time, speeding up. Your teeth sink into his bottom lip, your nails grip and scratch along his skin. His cock fucking you open faster and faster until an explosion goes off in your head.

Your scream is silent. Voice too gone to make an actual sound, your body squeezes down on his cock firmly.

He grunts at the feeling, your cunt fluttering around his cock so blissfully he has to squeeze his eyes shut to stop himself from exploding.

It doesn't work, because in the next second you adjust your head to bite down on his shoulder- and the explosion goes off inside him any way.

He fills you right up, all the way to the brim- you can both feel it. The way his spend slips out of your pussy while he's still deep inside you. Billy knows it's the hardest he's ever cum in a while.

And it's all for you.

You both pant, your skin uncomfortably hot, but unwilling to detatch your body from his. His nose brushes yours, the shared breath between you is hot as well, sweltering and likely to become uncomfortable soon.

'I love you,' you say with your eyes, and he smiles, kissing the tip of your nose in a gesture that lets you know that he loves you too.

Finally, he slips out of you, and you get your first breath of Billy-less air, and you sigh when you feel his come begin to dribble out.

You blink suddenly, realising that it's been a week since you took your last pill. You let out a shuddering breath, remembering that the last few days have just been you, being filled with his come over and over again.

"You okay?" He asks, noticing that you've been holding your breath for a little.

Your eyes flit to his concerned ones.

"Yeah...I'm okay." You answer quickly, pretending that you're not in a state of panic. Damn, when was your last period? What if you were-

"Want a bath?" He offers, and you turn to look at him. He links your fingers into his large ones, pulling them to his face to kiss the tips.

Would it be so bad?

"Yes please," you say softly, "A bath would be amazing."

He's careful. Like he always is, gentle to your body after thoroughly sating it. You lean against him, head tilted back on his chest, half asleep in the warm bath. The water makes gentle swiping sounds as he moves, raising his hand to gently trickle warm water over your neck and collabones.

"Billy," you whisper, the thoughts in your head going too wild for you to keep it in, he hums in question.

"We've never spoken about it... but... do you ever want kids?"

He pauses for a long moment. You squeeze your eyes shut, the silence is honey thick and you struggle to breathe while waiting for the answer.

"I've... never thought I could have something like that." He lets out a little laugh, "Hell, I'm probably the last person on earth that deserves that kind of life, and I definitely shouldn't be in charge of a kid, with a head as fucked as mine."

You listen intently, relating to his fears as best as possible.

"I'm not gonna tell you what you are, and what you aren't." You say, turning your head to speak against his neck, "But I know you're a fast learner, and if you wanted something, I don't see why you wouldn't be able to learn." You smile, kissing his neck, "As for deserving, there are worse people out there with families of their own. Don't judge yourself too harshly."

He makes a low hum, one that implies that he doesn't believe you, but he's not dismissing your words either.

"What about you? Do you want kids?" He asks, lips brushing your temple.

Another long moment as you think about your answer.

"It's....scary... not a simple yes or no, I'm terrified of both- having and not having." You reach to link your fingers into his, he squeezes tightly for a moment, "But it's just a little less scary with you."

The corner of his lip rises.

"I can confess one thing though," he murmurs lightly, dropping his hands to grip your hips, you gasp as his fingers press into your sore spots,

"The idea of getting you pregnant, makes me so fucking happy, I just want to fill you up all day long."

You laugh.

"You're insatiable." You comment, with a shake of your head.

"You have me this way, baby." He replies easily.

When you're almost asleep, face pressed into his chest, legs tangled together, he repeats the plan to you.

He's not going to be here when you wake, getting an early start on gathering the money he needs and assessing the meeting point for possible traps. There's a security team monitoring the hotel, so you'll be safe as long as you don't leave unnecessarily. Later tomorrow evening, he'll meet Fisk, and hand off the remaining money and he'll be back before you know it.

He kisses the top of your head and in your sleepy state, you hum something that sounds very similar to 'I love you.'

It makes Billy's heart skip a beat.

When you wake at around midday, he's gone as expected.

You stay in the hotel room all day, watching TV and catching up on random news, finding out what you'd missed in the little time you'd been gone.

Around six in the evening, the phone in the room rings, and you click the TV off before reaching for the receiver.

"Hello?" You answer, your heart pounding, unsure of who it might me.

It's the receptionist at the front desk who greets you on the other end.

"There's a Mr. Meachum here, requesting to speak with you." She says casually, as if you don't go rigid.

"Which Meachum?" You ask cautiously.

Ward, she tells you. Ward has found you and is waiting downstairs to speak to you.

Your heart hurts a little, remembering that the last time you were supposed to see him, you left him at the altar instead.

"Can you tell him to wait for me in the restaurant? I'll be down in ten."

She relays the message to him and confirms his acceptance to you.

You hang up, your stomach twisting into knots, the anxiety of facing him again is so strong, the worry of how you've hurt him is visceral, it makes you want to hide.

But you knew you had to face him, you knew that you had to go down there and look him in the eye and apologise for the embarrassment you caused him.

So you stand from the bed, determined to make it up to him in some way.

The elevator opens up to the restaurant on the top floor, a beautiful modern design with large windows to see the sun setting on the city.

Your heart pounds, smiling at the waitress and giving her your information.

You spot Ward, sitting alone at a table for two, sipping on a drink.

He stands when he sees you approaching.

He takes you into a hug when you get close enough, and you allow it, though it's not your favourite feeling.

"I'm so glad to see you're okay." He says, as his arms tighten around you, and you smile.

"I'm glad you're okay too."

You smile at him when you pull away.

"I hope it's alright that I ordered a drink for you," he says, pointing at the fruity drink on your side of the table.

You not at him in appreciation, sliding into your seat, and taking a small sip of the concoction. It's something slightly sour, and you appreciate the flavours.

He takes his seat as well.

There's a moment of silence.

"When you didn't-"

"I'm so sorry that I-"

A pause, filled with shared smiles.

He nods his head, silently indicating for you to speak first.

"I really meant to show up. It- It wasn't my intention to leave you there. I'm sorry if I hurt you in anyway, or made you look... bad, but, in the end, marrying you- it- well- I-" You give him a sad smile, trying to find the words, "I realised it wasn't something that I wanted. I'm sorry for that."

His face is stoic, all harsh lines and even breaths. He nods, sweeping a hand through his hair.

"When you didn't show up at the church, I knew something went wrong. But I was hoping, that it was just jitters, I waited there for hours. And then I found out that you'd disappeared. I spent the last week combing the world for you, hoping you didn't leave me there without a word."

You take another long sip of your drink before speaking.

"I- well- Billy paid my debt and got me out. But it's a good thing too, because- Harold- he tried to have my parents killed."

"That's not true." Ward immediately says, and you look up into his eyes.

You can see it now, something around the edges, something about his appearance is... off. He isn't as put together as he'd like to seem, and you feel like he's a spool about to be unravelled.

Too bad you didn't owe him a single thing.

"I trust Billy with my life." You say firmly, "He told me that Harold tried to kill my parents. They would have died if Billy hadn't gotten them out."

He grips the edges of the table, leaning closer.

"And you believe him? My father was about to pay off your family's entire debt- and you believe some low-level scum like Billy Russo?"

"Ward." You say his name in warning, letting him know you don't appreciate his words or his tone.

He blinks, catching himself, realising that his words have rubbed you the wrong way.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, "But, Russo has always had his own interests first. He lied to you, he told you he paid off the debt, and he didn't, he told you that my father tried to harm your family, and that was a lie too."

You bite down on the corner of your lip, deep in thought.

"What does he have to gain from lying?" You ask Ward quietly, afraid of the answer. You lean back, taking another casual sip as if his words will have no effect on you.

"You might not realise it, but your family name has a lot of weight. Even though it's been dragged through the mud in the last couple of years, a combination of our families opens a lot of doors."

You swallow.

"A combination of our families? By that, you mean that fancy clause in our contract to have me pregnant within the year?"

He blinks, "Y/N-"

"-No." You say, "No, I'm sorry Ward, but I think I've heard enough." Your drink hits the table with a quiet sound, "Billy might not be honest with me, but at least I know he wants me for me, and not for whoever's last name I'm carrying." You stand from your seat and he stands too.

"I'm sorry, please, wait." He says, taking a step, reaching for you slowly, but you dodge his hold, walking away from him with a muttered 'Goodbye.'

He doesn't follow.

The emotions are a mess in your head and it sticks in your throat, there's a permanent frown on your face as tears spring to your eyes.

You don't understand why, though. You wish someone would take your brain out, map it, and show you exactly why you felt like crying your eyes out.

Maybe they'd circle a spot, "This is where your trust issues come from," point to another spot while saying, "Your low self worth comes from your body image issues, only reinforced by the fact that your family almost sold you to make babies and look pretty for the rest of your life."

You press your face into your hands, letting out a muffled sob.

You no longer knew what to believe, who to trust but at least you were sure of one thing.

Regardless of his motives, regardless of any lie he's told you, Billy loved you. And he would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe.

You couldn't wait for him to come back to you, so that maybe you could forgive him for the lies he's told, and admonish him for the lies he would tell in the future.

You smile, shaking your head. No, you couldn't settle for being lied to, no matter how strongly you felt for him.

You begin to feel a little sleepy as the elevator doors open, yawning as you begin to make your way to your room. Your vision swims for a second and you frown, wondering why you feel so tired all of a sudden.

Were you drugged?

You sway, the panic setting in, and your first priority is making it back to your room.

You're at your door when someone calls your name. You look up in surprise, hoping that it's Billy- but it's not- it's Ward, making purposeful strides toward you.

"Ward?" You say confused, squinting at him as your body sags against the door.

He grips your shoulders forcefully, and you try to push at him.

"I think I've been drugged." You murmur, looking into his face, pleading for his help.

"You have." He says ominously and you whimper, realising that it's been him all along.

"Why?" You ask, your knees buckling as your body is forced to relax against your will. You feel so sleepy, you fight to keep your eyes open, pushing at him. Why won't he budge? Your fingers reach up to claw at his cheeks but your hands won't cooperate.

"Why?" He says, and you think he finally shows you his unravelling.

"Because I was promised a wife. And I will have one."

It's the last thing you hear before your vision goes dark.

His footsteps echo in the church as he steps in. There are candelabras scattered around the area, he counts them as he counts the pews. He also counts the number of people that are sitting with their heads bowed, praying, and the number of exits.

He sees the back of the marine's head, walking with purposeful steps to him. The marine doesn't look up, doesn't acknowledge his presence, doesn't move as he slides into the seat beside him.

He's sure that the marine has counted the same things he has, made a similar assessment of the safety of the surroundings, maybe even knows the approximate number of steps it would take to get to the back exit if the situation requires it.

"Mister Fisk appreciates your cooperation, and sends his regards for not being here in person." He says.

Billy Russo turns to give him a blank stare.

"I suppose everything can't go the way I want," he says.

James Wesley smiles.

"I suppose not." He responds.

You wake with a groan, your head is swimming, packed with cotton, preventing you from forming a thought.

Where? What? How?

You can't find any answers.

Another deep breath and you open your eyes a little.

Your vision is blurry at first, but you recognise the surroundings of a hotel room, just not your hotel room.

You're lying on the bed, pressed against someone who is petting your hair softly.

You sit up suddenly in shock, swaying as you turn to look at the person. Something else draws your attention at the same time, and you look down to find that your hands have been cuffed together. You tug at them experimentally.

"Just in time," Ward says, sitting up, and you squint at him, trying to figure out exactly where everything went south.

"You drugged me." You say to him accusingly.

"Yes. I did." He acknowledges, sitting up easily.

He's changed into something different, a dark tuxedo with a black bow tie around his neck.

"Do you like it?" He asks, looking down at the suit, "It's the exact same one I was wearing the first time. I tried to get you the same dress, but I got something that was easier for you to get into by yourself.

He stands, and you just look at him, eyes following his movements as he grabs a garment bag lying over the small couch. He unzips the bag, tugging a wedding dress free.

You can't focus on any of the details of the dress- not the beading or the neckline, in your hazy state none of it makes sense to you.

"Put it on." Ward says.

"No." You answer.

"I'm not asking." He tosses the dress beside you on the bed.

"I'm still not putting that on." You struggle to say something witty with such a cloudy head.

He takes a step forward, and you scramble back, slipping off the bed and backing away from him on shaky feet. When you try to get to the door, he intercepts your move- pressing you back against the wall.

"I don't have time for this." He says angrily and you seethe along with him.

"Fuck you." You spit at him.

The slap is sudden. You barely register the sound of it, your head is turned to the side, as your cheek screams in pain.

Did he really just hit you?

"I can't believe I ever defended you." You whisper, unable to meet his eyes.

"Karen once suggested you might hurt me, and I told her you weren't like that."

You raise your hand to touch your stinging cheek, it's tender and hot to the touch.

"You'd be mad too, if you were left at the altar to be laughed at by the entire city."

You swallow, looking up at him, fully awake now with the pain and adrenaline coursing through your system.

"You're delusional." You whisper with conviction.

"And you're not getting it. If you don't put that dress on, then I have no use for you." He leans forward, getting into your space and you grimace with disgust at the feel of his body pressed to yours.

"Do you know what I do with useless things, Y/N? I throw them away."

You wish for his death when your eyes meet his next. He smiles, raising a hand to cup your face, his fingers pressing painfully into the spot where he hit you. You don't make a sound, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of your pain.

"Get dressed." He says, stepping away from you finally.

James Wesley is appraising the contents of the briefcase for authenticity when the church doors open, and several footsteps can be heard.

Billy doesn't look back, he'd anticipated a move like this. And honestly, it might be exactly what he needs to get his plan back into action.

Harold Meachum steps into his peripherals. James closes the briefcase, looking up at said man, knowing James, there's only vague curiosity painted on his features.

"Sorry to interrupt your business, boys, but I have business of my own I'd like to take care of."

Billy is just, downright tired of looking at Harold's face, bored with this man's entire endeavour into making himself more powerful when he can hardly manage the power he currently holds.

"James, would you please call Mr. Fisk and tell him that is audience is requested?"

James doesn't hesitate.

"My apologies, Harold, but Mr. Fisk does not deal-" he pauses his sentence when Harold draws a gun, pointing it at James' head.

There's a moment of tense silence.

"Very well." Wesley says, pulling his cellphone out of his pocket.

Billy listens to half of the conversation, unable to hear any of Fisk's responses. James lets him know that an urgent matter has arisen that requires his presence, and that Harold Meachum will not accept no for an answer.

When James ends the call, he informs that Wilson will be here within the hour.

"Excellent!" Harold says, reaching to take the briefcase seated on James' lap, "That's just enough time to have a wedding in the meantime."

Billy's stomach drops.

It drops even lower when he sees the younger Meachum, Ward, step up to the altar.

"Now, if either of you move from here, the man sitting behind you is going to shoot you in the head."

Billy turns to look at the man. One of Meachum's bodyguards sitting in the pew behind, he's large, maybe even larger than Frank, which means he's probably slower. A mistake on Harold's part to have this man guard him. The other five or six people that were here before are being shuffled into the other room.

He watches a priest, step up slowly to the altar, he raises his hands, and then the doors at the back open with a slow groan.

Billy almost doesn't want to look. He knows what he's going to see. It fills him with murderous rage. He watches Ward's smug face instead, a man that looks like he's already won, as an unwilling bride walks down the aisle toward him.

He knows when he sees you there, the shock, and rage and fear of it all with sear like lightning down his skin.

Billy waits until the very last moment to turn and look at you.

He can't see much of your face, covered by the thick veil, but he can see the tremble of your hands as you hold the bouquet and Billy decides, that he's going to wipe the Meachum line off the face of the earth.

A/N: Heeyyyyyy guyssssssss, how are we doing?

Rent help needed!! ♡

*URGENT: PLEASE READ/SIGNAL BOOST**

Sunday, August 22nd: Hi everyone, I’m Gemma, a bi, mentally ill disaster, who’s in desperate need of help, as things have gotten worse and I'm really struggling to pay my rent and keep utilities on and due to late bills, my account is overdrawn and I really need help.

As most of you are already aware from my previous post, I have been struggling financially for quite some time due to my welfare benefit (Universal Credit) being under a review, which is due to my worsening mental health and the UK’s controversial changes to how benefits are assessed and assigned. And at the moment, I'm currently struggling to get by, as my application for Disability (PIP) was declined and I am currently awaiting an appointment for a WCA (Work Capability Asessment) from the DWP to assess my mental and physical health, and my debt from overdue bills is piling up to an amount that I'm really struggling with.

I know this is a huge ask, and I'm completely heartbroken to be asking for help again, but I still desperately need some as I don't have anyone else to turn to and my rent is due next week, and I'm really struggling to pay off my overdue account.

If anyone could spare any amount to help me, even if it’s just £1/$1/€1, it would literally save my life, and sharing definitely helps just as much as donations. Nobody is obligated in any way to donate if they can’t or don’t want to, I know we’re all struggling right now.

£12/£400

PayPal | Ko-Fi

@thebibliosphere @ndiecity @normal-horoscopes @bihet-dragonize @shareyourdollar @justsomeantifas @mortemia @posts-from-a-weirder-timeline @toastyglow @deadgodjess @taffybuns @carry-on-my-wayward-butt ❤

691 notes View Post

sophie-reads-too-much

3 years ago

Shadow And Bone Season 1 But It’s Just Memes

Shadow and Bone season 1 but it’s just memes

28K notes View Post

sophie-reads-too-much

3 years ago

All I Ask of You | Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha x Reader (established), Dom!Wanda x Reader

Summary: When you love someone you’d do anything to make your relationship work, but you never expected your girlfriend to suggest you have sex with someone else. Like the saying goes, it's unrealistic for one person to be everything you need.

When you meet Wanda, you soon realize that maybe the saying was right - and just maybe, you have enough love for two people. The question is, will they be ok with the other occupying your heart?

18+ minors dni

Part 1 | Judgment

Part 2 | Scarlett

Part 3 | coming soon

Part 4 | coming soon

Part 5 | coming soon

Part 6 | coming soon

Part 7 | coming soon

Part 8 | coming soon

Part 9 | coming soon

Part 10 | coming soon

"Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more." - Erica Jong, Fear of Flying

-☾-

a/n: I'm really excited about this one! It started as a dream and then morphed into what may be a long series but damn has it been fun to write. I hope you all enjoy!

821 notes View Post

sophie-reads-too-much

2 years ago

I'm not the devil

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x Durast!Reader

Summary: Things only get worse now that you've left the savety and familiarity of the Little Palace.

Warnings: attempted murder, murder, death of animals, skinning of animals, breaking bones, gun violence

Word Count: 4.6k

Authors' Note: I definitely have to go back and edit the old parts after the last chapter is out. Also, I'm heavily overpowering the Fabrikators in this fic, but honestly, who cares. They get barely any love from the canon material, so I think I deserve to have some fun in fanfiction. This isn't edited/proofread and I'm not a native English speaker.

Part 1 | Previous Part | Series Masterlist

It begins to snow shortly after you leave Os Alta behind. Thick, heavy snowflakes drop from the sky like a wall, and for a few hours you're genuinely worried that mother nature decided to start the ravkan winter with a devastating snowstorm, debating if it would be better to hide in the city for a while.

But before you can actually decide to turn around, you remember that Kirigan has the entire Little Palace at his disposal. Finding deserters and bringing them back no matter what is an honour for some of the Grisha there. A chance to prove themselves and their loyalties to the Second Army and General Kirigan.

The Heartrenders would be able to find you quickly if you decide to hide in or around Os Alta, picking up on the panicked heartbeat of someone hiding in a tavern or in the woods, and Squallers can make the travel through the thick snow easier for the General.

They also have horses, which makes them a lot more mobile and faster than you are right now.

You have to use the limited time you have until someone notices your absence from the Palace to create as much distance between yourself and the General as possible if you want to have any chance at escaping and living out the rest of your life in anything at least kind of resembling peace.

So you move further north, walking as quickly as you can to keep your body warm and get away from the only home you have ever truly known. Away from your friends, your family, your bed, your books, your research, your everything.

You think about returning home to your biological family for a while, but you know that he will look there first. In two days soldiers of the second army are going to stand in front of the house of your family in Duva, the house you were born in, and search the place for clues of your location, unaware of how little contact you've had with your family over the past few years.

No, you can't go there. Never again, probably. That chapter of your life has been forcefully closed, and no matter how much you might want to, you don't think you will ever be able to pry it open and revisit it. Not anymore. Not after all of this. Never again.

There are only three places in the world the General will not follow you to. You know this as well as every other Grisha.

Fjerda and Shu Han, due to the absolutely horrendous political situation between the two countries and Ravka, which would lead to him being reprimanded by the king if word came out that he send his Grisha – or himself – into the neighboring countries just to catch a deserter, and literally anything on the other side of the Fold.

You don't think you'll make it over the mountains in the south, so you move northwest, planning to stop in Ulensk before moving further up north to Fjerda or west through the fold to West Ravka, all depending on the situation in Ulensk and whatever seems more convenient and safer in the moment.

It's going to take a week to get to Ulensk on foot, because while you did remember to steal the winter coat of a servant to wear instead of your kefta, you did not think of stealing a horse.

You don't stop walking on your first day away. No, you walk and walk and walk until you lose feeling in the lower part of your legs, and even then, you don't stop, speeding up instead in hopes of heating up your body. It snows the whole day and night, thick flakes dropping from the sky as if the clouds have an endless supply of water collected in them, and the world around you transforms into pure white in the matter of a few hours.

The temperatures don't go above freezing during the day and the night only brings more frost, meaning the snow stays, piling up higher and higher while you attempt not to leave a trail, trying to stay in the steps of the people from nearby villages as much as possible in hopes of confusing anyone who may follow.

You fall asleep during your first break between the benches of a forgotten chapel, covered by a tapestry depicting one of the lesser known saints while you watch the shadows move and stretch on the dust covered walls. The fabric is so old and dirty that you can't recognize who it's supposed to honour.

You dream of bleeding out in a lake, dark eyes watching you as you struggle to breathe and beg for your life.

Throughout your travels, you can't stop chastising yourself, mind going over every single stupid mistake you've made that has led you to this situation in the first place over and over again. Cursing the names of the General and your own over and over again.

Homeless and alone, and it's all your fault.

The bag on your shoulder is surprisingly heavy, digging into your skin despite the many layers you put on before Baghra dragged you out of the Palace and sent you off. All you have with you is two bottles of water, a pouch full of nuts, some money, tea leaves, and half a loaf of bread. You can't bring yourself to complain.

It's not like the woman had much time to make you a care package that could keep you alive until you reach Fjerda. You should honestly be glad that she packed you anything at all. That she bothered to warn you of the General.

With every step you take north the snowflakes seem to grow heavier and heavier, slowly taking your sight until the only way you can still tell where you are is through the Small Science, your powers reaching out to trace along the trees, the metals sleeping deep in the ground and the bones of people in nearby villages and distant cities to keep track of your location and progress.

Less and less villages start to appear in your vicinity after a while, which means that after day five, you're not only drowning in snow, but you're also entirely alone. You've been lucky until now, always able to find firewood and a save place to sleep, usually close to a village in some form of abandoned shed, but so far up north it's almost impossible to sense anything close. People are scared to live in small villages so close to the border, and even more scared to pray to the saints, so you doubt you will be able to find a place to sleep tonight.

The only upside is that the weather has finally calmed down a bit. The snowflakes are still thick, but you finally don't feel like you're wandering through the forests of Ravka blindly. Travelling is still slow due to the deep snow that refuses to melt away, but at least you're able to see where you're going.

It's the middle of the night between day five and six when you finally pick up the feeling of bones and metal moving close by, your eyes noticing faint light between the trees only seconds later. You briefly wonder how how didn't notice them miles ago, the ache in your bones and heaviness in your eyes answering you a heartbeat later when you move to hang your bag up on a branch and get into position to fully use your powers.

You're absolutely exhausted. The cold has found its home in your bones and muscles days ago, and the fact that you're also getting closer and closer to the fold isn't helping, it's looming, dominant power distracting you sometimes.

The fact that you haven't frozen to death yet, that you've always been able to always find a roof to cover your head when you had to rest, is a miracle. You have only ever managed to sleep for a maximum of three hours, plagued by nightmares of gruesome death, but at this point you're thankful for any break, no matter how short. A bigger miracle than anything you could ever even hope to achieve with the Forbidden Science, you're sure of it.

There's a whisper in the back of your mind that questions if it may have been better to stay in the Little Palace. Sure, the General would've probably executed you for your experiments by now, but then you wouldn't feel like you're three minutes away from freezing to death. Your muscles wouldn't be screaming at you like this. You wouldn't be starving.

The camp in front of you seems small, based on the few quiet noises you hear, so you reach out to count the people, just in case it's a small family. There have been reports of people fleeing the villages near the borders in order to get closer to the safety that Os Altas proximity provides through the royal guard and the second army, and you don't want to take resources from a family on the run, especially not one with kids, no matter how desperate you might be.

Your power crawls through the trees like invisible fog, following your command as you count the moving, living things in the little camp, then their equipment.

Three men.

Three tents.

Two bags with water bottles and food.

Three guns.

Three sleeping... dogs? Wolves?

No. Too big.

Three Isenulf.

The fact that the beasts haven't woken up yet is another miracle to add to your never ending list, but you're barely able to focus on that as a wave of fear threatens to take over your mind. The sudden rush of adrenaline makes you a bit dizzy, your body overwhelmed after getting so little food, water, and rest over the past few days.

Drüskelle. This is a camp of witchhunters. Witchhunters who will kill you the second they notice that you're close by.

Your mind works faster than usual, your thoughts almost too fast for you to grasp as you try to come up with a plan. The smartest move would be to go, to leave the camp behind and disappear between the trees, making a big detour around the Drüskelle and their horrible pets, but that would probably delay you even more. Another day to spend in this unending, ruthless weather, starving slowly to death.

The little food you have left will not be able to keep you going for much longer, and your clothes barely keep you warm at this point. Sure, the Drüskelle might kill you, but if you don't get their food and the warmth of their fire you'll be dead tomorrow.

Before you can stop yourself you move towards the closest tree, using your powers to silenty bend the wood into a better position, and climb up until you sit high up, body hidden away from sight by the many needles decorating the spruce.

In the distance you can see the fold towering over Ravka. The ink black wall that splits Ravka into two, it's darkness so all consuming that you can still make it out during this moonless night. The merzost keeping it stable and in position hums almost, with a strength so noticeable that you can feel it even before fully waking your powers. It almost feels like a friend standing behind you and cheering you on silently, as stupid as it might sound. It gives you strength you need right now.

Taking a deep breath to calm your keyed up nerves, you reach out to try and grab hold of the vertebrae of one of the Isenulf, the warnings of one of your teachers echoing loudly in your mind.

These are not normal wolves. They are bread to be immune to the powers of heartrenders. If you see one of them you will have to run. Your fellow Grisha will not be able to protect you.

But are they immune to the powers of a curious and powerful Durast as well? You have never done this before, never tried to break bone the way you break metal into smaller pieces to make working with it easier. Will you be able to do it? Can a Fabrikator really control something in the human body? Shatter it like glass?

Are we not all things?

Your fingers cramp up a bit when you force your left hand into a fist, and you can hear a yelp a few metres below you.

The formerly calm and peaceful Drüskelle camp wakes, the men grab their guns and yell orders at the two remaining Isenulf. You grab hold of the pelvis of the next wolf before you even know what you're doing, breaking it into pieces half a second later.

You're about to reach out for the third when a shot rings through the air, your body involuntarily flinching. The witchhunters don't realize where you sit, their attention glued to the ground level while they fire more shots into the shadows of the forest. If one of them looks up for just a second, they might notice your eyes staring down at the chaos, liking your lips as you watch them panic. It's almost addicting, seeing the men who have instilled so much fear in you and your fellow Grisha tremble in fear. Fear of you.

The breaks are not as clean as metal, the bones a bit softer than you anticipated. You never had the privilege of working with bones in the Little Palace, aside from your experiments with the dove, and it shows now.

The last Isenulf left barks loudly when his eyes finally find you, but you manage to break his neck before the Drüskelle notice.

You can almost taste the panic they feel when the animal drops to the frozen ground, limp like a wet blanket.

The other two wolves yelp in pain, but the men don't seem to really hear it, too busy yelling commands at each other while they try to figure out what's going on. Your Fjerdan has never been great, but you understand enough.

Their voices are younger than expected. Another miracle to add to your list.

"Drüsje!" You hear one of them call out. Witch.

"Desjenet!" Another yells. Stand down. Probably a command meant for you. Like they wouldn't shoot you in the head the second they see you.

His lips move, his voice almost too quiet to reach your ear. A sick feeling of pride swells in your chest when the word registers in your mind.

The third man is quiet, eyes flickering around as he tries to detect movement in the forest. You decide to have fun, just once, using your power to bend the material of the gun he's holding towards him, curling the metal around like the house of a snail. It moves like clay under the influence of your powers, m carefully bending to your will. The witchhunter drops his weapon quickly, taking several steps back before stumbling and falling to the ground.

"Demjin"

Demon.

You let the word seep into your muscles and bones, flodding your body with confidence as you move your hands together, grabbing the hard material of the mans skull, before clenching your right hand into a fist, your left hand wrapping around it only a heartbeat later, breaking the hard bone. You can feel the splinters of his skull dig into the soft tissue of his brain. His body drops fully to the ground and one of the other two Drüskelle screams, but you pay him no mind.

It's stupid how easy this is for you. How could anyone see your order as weak weapon makers if this type of potential sleeps under your skin? A power that moved a witchhunter to call you demon?

Shaking your head slightly, you reach out to shatter the rib cage of the second Drüskelle and break the neck of the last man before beginning to climb back out of the tree. When your feet meet the ground, you grab your bag and walk into the camp.

It's obviously small, with only three men and three wolves to take care of, but you will survive comfortably for a while with their supplies added to your own. You dig around in their bags for a knife for a bit, humming when your hands wrap around the sheath of a dagger.

A smaller knife than you would've preferred, but it will do.

You work quickly and efficiently, skinning all three wolves as fast as possible before removing the meat from the animals. You try your best to hang it up to let gravity pull out the blood while you work, making sure to keep the fire alive. Something in you finally finds rest while you complete the simple tasks. Skinning animals and hanging their meat up to cook later is something you learned, like all Grisha do, years ago. Simple survival techniques that are drilled into your mind and require no thinking from you.

You are too tired to think.

Two and a half hours later you sit in front of the fire, covered by the still fresh and stretchy skin and fur of the wolves, and eat a piece of meat as you watch the rest of the flesh cook. The Drüskelle carried mostly dried food with them - meat and fruits that you can keep for a long time, if you're smart - and you don't want to waste the meat of the ice wolves either. You've already taken their fur. Might as well take their flesh too.

The corpses of the witchhunters are hidden in one of the three tents they brought for them and their wolves, stripped of their clothing. It will be helpful in Fjerda when you will no longer be able to wear the recognizable fur of the Isenulf to warm your freezing body. Their clothes warm you just like the furs of their former companions.

You do not feel bad, not for a single second, but when you finally get comfortable around the fire, covered in bloody wolfs fur and stolen cloaks, you ask yourself if the price of your second time summoning merzost, the first time you tried to shape it into something, was your very soul. Or perhaps your innocence.

You dream again that night.

A dark figure is standing over you, holding your face between his large, cold hands as he looks at you.

His voice is smooth like satin when he finally speaks.

"You can't run from me forever, moya golubka. I will catch you."

When the sun rises, so do you, packing your bags quickly before abandoning the camp. You're well rested, despite your dream, and warm too. You can feel your hands and your feet, more than a bit relieved that you probably won't lose your fingers or toes to frostbite. Another miracle.

The heavy white furs are tied to your body with leather strings stolen from the supplies of the Drüskelle. It would be easy to shape them into a well-fitting coat, but you're pretty sure that it will probably be easier to sell raw furs for some money in Ulensk than a full coat. You won't be able to enter Fjerda safely in a coat made of Isenulf fur after all. You have to get rid of it before you cross the border. Hopefully, you will find the time to change the cloaks worn by the Drüskelle enough until they're no longer recognizable before you leave the town.

You're moving a bit slower now because of the extra weight of two new bags hanging off you, filled to the brim with food, water and fabric, but you have hope that you won't have to add another day to your travels. You can feel how close you are to Ulensk, even with the Fold so close. In the back of your mind, an idea crawls out of the darkest corner of your thoughts once more, asking what would happen if you did get close to the fold.

Would you be able to move it? Or to take some of the Forbidden Science inside of it and clean it from the darkness tainting it? Maybe use it for something else? The only experience you've had with Merzost that's not summoned by you is the Merzost tied to the bones of General Kirigan, and it's not like you were able to do anything with it before you had to flee. You just felt it, tried to understand how it works, how nature weaved it into his body when he was still an unborn baby growing in his mothers womb.

You're almost in Ulensk when you notice it.

The most familiar thing you've ever felt, more familiar than the wood of your bed frame, the plates in the Little Palace, the chair of your workstation in the basement.

Corecloth.

There are keftas in Ulensk. More than there should be.

You have come up with many different plans for all sorts of emergencies that could come up during your travels, but not once did you stop to think that the General could predict your plans to go up to Fjerda. There is no reason why so many Grisha would be in Ulensk otherwise. He must've known, somehow.

Maybe the saints betrayed you, led him right to you for the crimes you have committed against the order of things. There has never been someone who messed with merzost and got a happy ending, after all. Maybe this is supposed to be your end.

And how poetic it would be. Getting your heart ripped out by one of the Generals lap dog heartrenders after being pushed around by them for years.

Turning your head, you stare up, eyes finding the fold immediately. It's incredibly unlikely that you'll be able to cross it undetected. There are guards making sure that no one unauthorized crosses.

The corecloth starts moving.

But do you have another choice? You can't stay in Ravka, not while the General is looking for you. You won't be able to cross the border either. If there are Grisha already up in Ulensk, then there are definitely more at the border, waiting to catch you.

The corecloth gets closer.

In the distance, you hear someone bark out an order, and you drop your bags a heartbeat later, all three of them hitting the cold, snow-covered ground and tangling around your legs. Thinking quickly, you lift your hands, trying to locate the closest person moving into your direction before quickly breaking their legs in half.

As soon as you realise what you've done, guilt begins to rise in your chest. The break was not as clean as you would've liked, the bone shattering into dozens of splinters under the pressure of your raw, uncontrolled power. But you don't have time to take a short breather and take care of the Grisha the way you did with the Drüskelle.

Reaching down, you free your legs from the bags on the floor before turning to the fold once again.

Your one chance. Your only chance.

There's more yelling in the distance, now a lot closer and louder than it was when you broke the first persons legs, and you feel a bit like a deer frozen in fear after seeing a hunter, before you finally manage to rip yourself out of your paralysis and start running.

Between the trees you can see the brightly coloured keftas of your fellow Grisha, and you silently pray that the white fur covering you helps you blend in more with your surroundings while you jump over roots and rocks, reaching out with your powers to get an idea of what treacherous traps linger below the undisturbed snow, waiting to trip you and break your neck.

When you think you see something red in the corner of your eye, you reach out further, moving your hands together once more to break the first bone your powers can grasp.

But your heart is still beating.

A scream echos through the trees. Your lungs are burning. Your body feels like it's on fire.

A gust of wind hits you seconds later, throwing you against the trunk of a tree. You cry out under the impact, unable to move for a few seconds while you try desperately to figure out where exactly up and down are, where the fold is.

Your luck can't run out right here, right? Not when you're so close to the fold. So close to your last chance of freedom.

Biting your teeth together, you lift your arms again, focusing on the squaller. You almost rip her left arm off her body with the force you use to detach it from her shoulder, accidentally cracking her shoulder blade in the process.

There's another heartrender a few metres away, flinching when he hears the squaller scream out in pain. You use his distraction, breaking ulna and radius of his left arm cleanly in half before jumping back up to your feet.

Your ears are ringing and you stumble a bit, the world turning, but the only Grisha you can see right now is a single Inferni who is too busy hiding behind trees and calling out for back up to attack you right now. You have to use this small window of opportunity, or you'll be stuck here until Kirigan finally shows up, so you take the risk and turn away from the other Grisha, running towards the fold.

Distracted by your panic, you miss some roots, stumbling and almost falling to the ground when a fireball crashes into a tree right in front of you, just barely missing your head. The wood goes up in bright orange flames, some sparks flying into your direction and making contact with the Isenulf furs that keep you warm.

Cursing loudly, you sprint around the tree, hands frantically hitting the furs to prevent them from going up in flames. A second ball of fire hits a bush left from you, and you stop, whipping around quickly and looking for the Inferni who seems so determined to set you on fire. When your eyes find the blue kefta, your hands are already up, grabbing her femur and breaking in half before you turn again and continue running.

This is it.

As soon as you leave the last trees of the forest behind, you speed up, desperate to cross the wide strip of grass and dirt as quickly as possible and enter the all-consuming darkness of the fold.

So close. You're so, so close.

You're only a few metres away when you hear his voice call out, calm and smooth in the worst way.

"Moya golubka," He says, triumph and glee audible in his voice, and a heartbeat later, you feel something wrap around your ankle to rip you off your feet. Your body hits the ground with a scream, the fold only centimetres away from your outstretched hands.

Digging your fingers into the dirt, you try to fight against the pull of whatever is wrapped around your legs, tears filling your eyes as it slowly dawns on you that you've lost. It's over. This is the end. All of that suffering in the last few days was for nothing.

You refuse to look up when the shining black shoes of the General enter your view, his shadows continuing to drag you away from the fold. He towers over you, watching you struggle for a few seconds before positioning himself right in front of you, between your body and the fold, blocking your last chance of freedom from your sight.

"I finally caught you, little dove."

When you look up, you see a smile on his lips.

Taglist: @shawty-writes-a-little @dreamlandcreations @watersquirtpewpewboomm @magicstrengthandcourage @blossomedfloweroflove @sande5098 @thewriterthatghostedyou

300 notes View Post

sophie-reads-too-much

2 years ago

Masterlist

📖 - unfinished

📚 - finished

👀 - finished, but might continue if requested

🎈 - soon to arrive

be careful at the 💥triger warnings💥 (they're at the beginning of each fic where needed) please, stay safe! 💛

also, further explenations can be given in the longer A/N's, so don't skip on those

let me know if you wanna be tagged

Marauders era:

- dating Sirius as Lily's friend 📖

*y/n's life at Hogwarts, falling for our brightest Black, dating him and what comes after up until Lightning era and possibly during it as well* (currently 3 parts, more to come) - IF YOU STARTED TO READ IT AND DON'T WANT TO GO THROUGH ALL THE CHAPTERS AGAIN, HERE IS THE FIC'S OWN MASTERLIST

- young and tangled - Sirius blurb 📚

*One afternoon at Hogwarts, reader braids Sirius' hair for Quidditch - fluff*

- the white ship of the House of Black vs the poisoned snake - Sirius x fem!reader (x Regulus !platonic!) 📚

*Life after Hogwarts is not easy. The war puts everyone's nerves to test. When y/n and Sirius break up and her purebloods parents want her to marry Regulus, the Gryffindor Black must take action*

- flirt and a shirt - Sirius blurb *short*📚 (plus size!reader)

- Remus dating slytherin reader 📚 (link for part 1)

*forced marriage trope but happy ending* (2 parts) link for part 2

- Regulus and muggle born reader: all great couples pull a great con 📚 (link for part 1)

*they're clever and madly in love, what can possibly go wrong with two water snakes in the cobras' nest?* (2 parts) link for part 2

- save me (Reggie x you) 📚

*you heal Regulus, not just his body, but soul and mind as well*

- Operation prison break (Sirius x wife!reader, Regulus x platonic reader) 👀

*An unexpected visit to the disowned Black household brings out secrets and a powerful alliance*

- the life of the Black brother's 📖 (act I)

*a tragedy in 5 parts about Reggie and Sirius* act II, act III, act IV, act V

- don't love me like that: Sirius/reader/mean girl📚

*dark magic is not love and y/n plus our favorites from the wizarding world help Sirius deal with it*

- my true north (Sirius x potter!reader) 👀

*James' little sister is a brave wizarding self proclaimed pirate, but there is a good reason for it*

- Peter Pettigrew: a spy with no choice📚

*wormtail's betrayal from his POV*

- Unrequited until proven per contra 📚

*Regulus doesn't know how to cope with his feelings dor y/n. But thankfully, winter serves as a muse as he tries to mend what he broke.*

- Jily drabble: baby, my baby🎈

*Lily is a well grounded witch, James is a family guy, despite the war, love finds ways to bloom*

- wolfstar angst, pre Azkaban and post Azkaban: the beauty and his beast📚

*how does Sirius and Remus reconcile after years apart, with old and new scars painfully visible despite them not being physical*

- self care for Sirius - gn!reader 📚

*y/n helps Sirius relax with face masks, make up and nail art*

- I loved and I loved and I lost you 📚

*when Regulus uncovers his fiancèe secrets he makes decisions he comes to deeply regret. Unable to fix them, he shall join his beloved in both war sides and death.*

- modern au + text au + blurb + jily📚

*just some fluff with James and Lily because we all need more of it*

- Sweet spices (Reggie smut) 📚

*a soft, sweet and intimate marriage scene after a fight*

- the ABC of magic folks for marriage 📚

*arranged marriage trope gone right with Sirius Black*

- panic attacks (marauders boys x reader)

Sirius Black *PTSD* 🎈

Remus Lupin *impostor syndrome* 🎈

Peter Pettigrew *eating disorder* 🎈

James Potter *anxiety* 🎈

Regulus Black *dissociative amnesia* 🎈

Shadow and bone:

- Aleksander's daughter 🎈

*the Darkling changed his tactics after his daughter has been killed by the king, becoming more ruthless and more of a monster than a man. But Ketterdam has a way to surprise even an immortal, powerful grisha like him. With his daughter back into his life, his plans turn upside down, especially since she likes to keep a certain company around: a traitorous heartrender and her fjerdan lover, a vigilante suli captain and her devilishly cunning trickster, a materialki who won't accept his gift and his otkazat'sya lover and her stupidly annoying half brother with his followers in tow*

- Who? 📚

*a Darkling angst one shot about his identity*

Folk of the air:

- jurdan power couple moment: Her majesty 📚

*Cardan is full of the folk disrespecting Jude and Jude is learning how to love fully*

- Oak and the throne 📚

*Oak is old enough to take over the throne, except he doesn't want it.*

- Magic and kids 📚

*Oak wants a magic friend in the mortal world. Taryn's child would be perfect for it.*

- Bow down, your highness! 📚 (part 2)

*Jurdan smut: Jude shouldn't have go on a date*

- 'Til death do you apart 📚

*Jurdan angst: Jude is about to marry a mortal, Cardan has an issue with that*

- Old love, young love, fae love 📚

*After TWK Jude's grandparents try to set her up with someone – enter a certain fae king, set on stopping it from happening*

- Shockingly familial/r 📚

*How does Jude's fanily react to the new High King and High Queen*

- How the cruel prince and the wicked king came to let go of the queen of nothing 📚

*A long-ish blurb on what would have been if Jude found another after her exile (focused on Cardan's thoughts and, mostly, feelings)*

Acotar:

- what it'd be like to be Azriel's mate 🎈

*from the first meeting until falling in love (slow burn of course), the reader and Azriel must make the journey to learn each other and their new bond*