#I quite like yellow I’ll be first to admit
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I’ve always been a blu scout has freckles truther✊
#team fortress 2#tf2#lil pootis#sniperscout#speeding bullet#sniper tf2#scout tf2#my art#sketch#TRYING to be normal about them mb#I quite like yellow I’ll be first to admit#I’m actually question my choice of yellow because it’s such a sunny colour for a such a somber scene#but ig it serves to contrast the blue. I didn’t lean the yellow towards orange because the blue is more purple (indigo ig)#so that’s why orange was really unappleaing to me… you could argue I’m even less normal about yellow it’s something I like to think about
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II Most Wanted Pt.I: And I don't know what you're doin' tonight…
Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup"
Summary: The feeling and flashbacks you get when you saw your high school boyfriend Jake Syverson at your 20 year reunion was quite the unexpected twist in your orderly life.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, Angst, pining, body image issues, flashbacks, horny teenagers doing horny things (over 18 tho) heavy petting, fingering, mentions of teen pregnancy, mentions of breakups, teenage mean girl behavior, the Powerpuff Girls, old automobiles, mentions of drug abuse and difficult childhoods, 20 year high school reunion, drinking, swearing. Explicit description of sex acts. Read at your own risk. Not Beta’d. All errors my own.
A/N: This is the first installment of II Most Wanted. This is also my first fic in nearly half a year. If you like it, please reblog and comment.
I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘
I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
-------
June 2024
The visceral reactions started as soon as you entered the parking lot. There it was, Sy’s 1978 white Ford Bronco. Not thinking, you pulled into the space right in front of it, wanting to look inside. You almost lost it when you saw the old charm hanging from the rear view mirror. You couldn’t believe he still had that.
Especially with everything that happened since you put it there.
April 2004
“I claim this ancient truck as my throne!”
You were lit and in love, parked with Sy at the lookout. You were also silly and giggly from smoke and hormones.
“Mmmmm, careful Buttercup.”
Your boyfriend growled in your ear, making you shiver against him. His attempt at menace was thwarted by the smile you felt against your neck, where he was busy marking you up, a sure sign later for everyone to know who you belonged to.
Sy was known for making bloody the face of those who expressed hate for his beloved Betty Bronco. But you had him whipped.
“It’s a classic, but I’ll let that slide...”
He wished that you would let him slide, but you were adamant that you weren’t ready to be a parent. He was adamant that that didn’t have to be the outcome, but beneath the red blooded country boy was a gentleman. Sy would never do anything you didn’t want to, not that it stopped him from trying to convince you to admit that you in fact, wanted it as much as he did.
He wasn’t wrong.
You sighed as you placed the Powerpuff Girl necklace you got from Hot Topic on Sy’s rearview as you sat on his lap, giving him a treat. He had you in his grip by the hips and he was subtly moving you against his boner. The attraction between you two was heady, and he almost got what he wanted plenty of times. But you were a romantic and wanted it to be special. You promised him prom night, and Sy couldn’t wait.
“..Driving me crazy, Baby. You can put anything on my rear view as long as you let me get your rear view in the back seat….”
You giggled.
“You’re so corny, Sy.”
You whispered as you turned your head and kissed him over your shoulder.
“Hmmmm. And you’re so sweet.”
Sy’s sea blue eyes gazed at you as he licked his lips.
He was crazy for you. And you were for him. You felt it. And you just knew you’d be together forever. You grinned as you climbed over him into the back seat. Didn’t hurt to fool around a little, even if you weren’t gonna give him the p that night.
——————
You shook out of the memory as a warm June breeze whipped your short skirt around your thighs. You pulled on the yellow and white designer dress as you contemplated driving back to your hotel and changing. This dress was not a good idea. The triumphant feeling of serving looks when you appraised yourself in the mirror was replaced with anxiety. The dress was too short and you were not the same size you were in high school. Thighs you considered pretty and thick in the mirror just an hour ago seemed massive and you tugged at the deep plunge of the neckline without a bra.
You sighed as you tried to center yourself. You told yourself that you were growing out of negative self talk, especially in the last seven years since your divorce. You were reminded of your promise to never care about the, male gaze again. It just wasn’t worth it.
But you hadn’t been under Jacob Syverson’s gaze in 20 years.
——
Sy posted up at the bar, blue eyes taking in the scene of his former classmates reuniting. He downed his two fingers of Maker’s Mark and asked for another. His heart rate was up as he scanned the room, eyes going back to the door again and again. He was waiting for you. No use in denying it to himself. He wanted to see you again, and more. It was his one objective. An objective he was unsure of attaining.
He was more nervous about being in a hotel ballroom tonight than in Afghanistan.
Christ, he felt like that 17 year old kid again who first laid eyes on you.
——-
August, 2003
Sy knew what he wanted the moment he saw your face.
You stopped the world when you first stepped into his British Literature class the first day of senior year. He was seated and talking with his best friend and wide receiver, Jeremy Atkins, when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He let the conversation about which route they should run at the scrimmage that afternoon slip as his eyes lighted on your face. You were anxious, but trying not to let it show. Those eyes held fire, and your lips…
…well your lips besides being everything he dreamt of, he just knew the words that came out of your lips would light someone up as well. He could tell you had spirit by the way you carried yourself.
Your hair was wild and shoulder length, bangs swept aside for vision, and you couldn’t hide that body under your baggy clothes. He lasered in on the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra underneath your graphic tee, and power that the strip of skin between your shirt and your baggy jeans was not lost on him. He was a 17 year old male, after all.
Sy shifted in his seat as he leaned back and grinned to himself when you scanned the room, glaring at anyone who looked askance. He tapped his pencil on the desk to try to get your attention but you just ignored him as the group of seatless students surrounding you dwindled. You were left alone under the scrutiny of soulless cretins, otherwise known as teenagers.
You gave each one brazen enough to stare at you a side eye, but you stopped when you finally noticed Sy smirking at you. You stuck your tongue out at him, causing him to choke on a chuckle.
Becca Ferguson, Sy’s girlfriend, kicked him in the leg after noticing that not only Sy, but Jeremy were openly staring at you. Shit, he’d forgotten about her. He caught the way her eyes cut over to you, and he knew what came next. He tried to distract her with a flip of the shelf of his blown out curls and a smile, something that had worked many times before.
But you were a threat to Becca now; she had to do something about you.
You raised your head high as you walked to the seat that Mrs.Beatty pointed out. You passed down the aisle between Sy and Becca, who scrunched up her face as if she smelled something bad. Sy got a whiff of you and you smelled divine, like that Sweet Pea bath gel stuff that he played off sniffing when he went to the mall with Becca.
His head turned.
Becca glared at him and he turned toward the front of the room, where the teacher had started to pass out the syllabus.
—--
June 2024
Just like lunch on the first day of school at Central High all those years ago, Carla and Tiffani engulfed you and took you under their wings when you walked into the Marriott, the venue for your reunion. They crowed over you; your hair, your dress, your glow. You forgot any anxiety that you were feeling about how you looked. These were your best friends. Your Bubbles and Blossom.
These women filled the gaping place in your heart torn open from attending 10 different schools from K-12, following your mother’s loves and whims when she didn’t take her meds, or when she self-medicated. They were your soul sisters. And you still kept in touch even though distance separated you.
Carla had that grin on her face while Tiffani expressed her excitement that you were in town.
“Girl! I am so glad that you made it!”
Tiffani was the gentle one.
“Yeah, I owe Tiff a c-note, because I was sure you’d chicken out.”
Carla laughed at you while you scowled at her.
Tiffani tskd at her bestie, and took your arm while Carla took the other and they ushered you through the doors of the ballroom.
“Well, she has a new job in town and everything, she had to come.”
“Yeah, she had to come to town, but coming tonight is a wholeeee different story.”
You laughed.
“I don’t have the job yet, Tiff. Interview is Monday. And why wouldn’t I come tonight?”
The familiar banter was back, as if 20 years was no matter at all between you and your girls.
You heard someone clear their throat behind you and Carla peered over her shoulder and then smirked at you. She jerked her head back.
“Because of that.”
You looked over your shoulder, smiling right before your stomach dropped.
There was Jake Syverson, all grown up, and staring at you as if all this time hadn’t happened.
—-
Sy saw you enter the ballroom and he almost wanted to run away. Being in country on a dangerous mission was nothing compared to the thought of actually facing you again.
At least he was trained for war.
Love was another thing entirely.
He took a deep breath as he focused on you. You had always been beautiful, but now, as a grown woman, you were absolutely gorgeous. Your hair was sleek and your face was perfectly beat with makeup that accentuated your natural beauty. You were glowing and that smile was…everything.
As he leaned on the bar and scanned the rest of your body in that dress, he took another drink. Sy indeed felt 18 again, because his body was reacting as if he were a randy teenager. Your body was everything he remembered, and more. More of everything he remembered loving and lusting over 20 years ago.
“Damn.”
He said it out loud and the bartender replied.
“Agreed, Brother.”
Sy looked at the young man admiring you who couldn’t be over 25, and threw down some money.
“Watch it, kid.”
That little bit of jealousy fueled Sy’s bravado, and he found the courage to step to you.
—--
You froze like a deer in headlights.
Over the years, you imagined seeing him again, in all different kinds of scenario, and you thought you could handle it, but the reality of the situation just about knocked you on your ass. Time stopped as you stared at him.
Sy was more handsome with age, if that was possible. His eyes, his shoulders, his hair! His gorgeous curls were short and a shock of hair was growing from his chin. Your body reacted as your traitorous brain instantly thought of how his beard would feel on certain parts of your body. He looked good in a suit, but he was massive. You had on heels, but Sy seemed bigger than you remembered. He wasn’t the lithe high school quarterback you remembered.
You unconsciously walked closer.
He was taller.
But he was also huge: bigger muscles, thicker limbs; his body seemed more powerful all the way around.
Heaven help you.
And the way he was looking at you as if he still owned you, as if all everything that happened hadn’t happened. As if all these years…
Your arms went out to Carla and Tiff beside you for some support, but they were gone, and you stumbled a bit. Sy grabbed your arm quickly as you laughed to play it off.
“Hey Buttercup. You good?”
Goodness, his voice!
How could that damn drawl be deeper and sexier than you remembered? And his touch on your skin felt familiar, yet strange, like a touch from a dream. What was happening to you?
“I need a drink.”
Sy was silent for a bit as you got your drink and had a sip. The way you licked your lips made him want to fall to his knees and beg.
—--
May 2004
“Please, please, please Buttercup. Just let me put the tip in. I promise I won’t move. It wouldn’t really be doing it…”
Sy was whispering in your ear and you were mute, waiting to hear more as your pussy pulsed in your jeans, the grind against his crotch delicious torture.
“I dream about it, Buttercup. I feel you, Baby. So fucking wet for me. I just know that it would feel so, so so good. I’d slip right in.”
It was midnight on your 18th birthday and you were in the Bronco, letting Sy feel you up under your panties for the first time. Your head was thrown back and your eyes rolled at how good it felt. You didn’t know how you would hold out. But it was just three weeks until Prom.
You were sat on his lap and he had one hand down your jeans and one up your shirt.
He pistoned his hips up, causing your back to arch against his chest. You could feel his heart beating a mile a minute.. Sy’s voice lowered to a whisper.
“‘M Gonna taste my fingers, Buttercup. Watch.”
You opened your eyes as Sy pulled his fingers out and brought them to his mouth. You whined when he closed his eyes and moaned. You throbbed. It had never been like this before.
“You are so delicious… Need more…”
Sy pushed his hand back down into your pants to get you to do that arch again. It sent him feral to see that for some reason.
His fingers found the source and circled it, causing your body to tense up and your fingers to grab his arms.
“Oh my god! Sy!”
You’d come close to this feeling before just grinding with him on the back seat, but this was incomparable.
Your fingernails sunk into his forearms, creating marks for sure. This fueled him even more as he continued his ministrations at your core. He toyed beneath your bra and your mouth opened to seek oxygen as the feeling in your belly continued to tune you to a fever pitch.
“Yes…. Baby….. fuck… You gonna cum on my lap?”
“Hunnnh, hunnh, hunnnh!”
“You’re so fucking hot… I’m about to jizz in my pants… cum for me, Baby…”
Sy grinded against your bottom, and you stiffened while the world’s most wonderful feeling washed over you. You cried out as Sy pinched your nipple and you came, feeling as if the Bronco was caught up in the Wizard of Oz Twister. The world was certainly now in color when you could open your eyes.
Sy held you, watching your beautiful face as you pouted and came back to earth. When you did, your smile was worth all the gold in the world to him. He kissed your temple and slipped his hand out of your pants, sucking your juices off of them again.
You were about to jump him, but Sy interrupted your thought.
“Now that you’ve got a preview of Prom night, let’s get you home, Buttercup. Gotta get your beauty sleep for the festivities later on tonight.”
—-
Sy cleared his throat after staring at you silently for a solid three minutes. The way you licked your lips clean and focused on him was some powerful magic.
“So. How have you been, Sy? How is the family?”
You tried to keep any bitterness out of your voice. The fact that Becca Spurgeon ruined your prom (and your relationship with Sy) by announcing that she was pregnant with Sy’s baby after she was crowned Prom Queen and he Prom King was something you’d tried to get over for 20 years.
Sy straightened up and looked over your shoulder. You glanced in that direction to see Carla and Tiffani hovering protectively.
“Well, now Buttercup, that’s a long story. I know you want to hang with your friends. And I don’t know what you’re doin’ later tonight, but I would like to go somewhere quiet and talk about it.”
——
If you like it, hit Reblog!
Next part here.
#henry cavill#henry cavil x reader#henry cavill fanfiction#captain syverson#captain sy x reader#captain syverson fanfiction#syverson fanfiction#syverson x reader#syverson smut#captain syverson smut#syverson au#captain syverson au#syverson x black!reader#captain syverson x black!reader#syverson angst#captain syverson angst#syverson imagine#captain syverson imagine#ii most wanted#II most wanted fic#henry cavill smut#Sy x Buttercup#am writing#writeblr#creative writing
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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 15
Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader
a/n: I became suddenly ill about three days ago and my brain is still quite mushy so I think this has been proofread but there might be some errors here and there I’ll try to iron out once I’m better!! Sorry for any scruples and I hope you enjoy!! 🧡💛
warnings: angst, general depression, violence (self-attempted)
word count: 16,175
-Part 14-
——————————————————————————————————————————————
Azriel catches her eye from across the room, weary hazel locking with bright amber that swirls in the faelight of the living room.
His tension is more palpable than usual, the conversation from yesterday with the golden-eyed male only further contributing to the death knell gonging quietly at the back of his mind, creaking through his knees, echoing in each footstep—each breath he takes. Time seems to be dripping by faster, even more so than usual. In the cobwebbed chambers of his mind he’s able to recall a time where days were his chosen measurement, where a twenty-four hour period contained beginning, middle, and end. But as he’d grown older, those chunks had grown with him, his perception of time shifting the more of it he lived through. Soon enough weeks were his days, calculating how much could be done over the period, sleep a small break to be indulged in between work. Then it had shifted to months—twelve to fit everything into, nights morphing into short naps.
Now years feel like days once had, time no longer a steady drip of water from the roof of a dark cell ceiling where he’d been kept locked away from the light, but a steady trickle as it carves its way through stone.
Shadows conceal his absence from the laughter-filled room, removing himself from the uncomfortably bright corner to a place of familiarity, shifting into the darker hallways as he sighs, feet positioned instinctively equidistant, weight spread evenly, fearing one lapse in discipline might bring him back to those days where he knew nothing of fighting, nothing of how to defend himself. To those days where he had to learn relentlessly, practice until his body couldn’t move in desperate attempts to cover the ground he’d lost years to.
Mor enters into the darkness, coming from the yellow-orange light that’s spilling into the blue-purple hallway, heels effortlessly silent upon the floorboards as her nocturnal eyes seek him out. Her features are already serious, easily picking up on his mood despite his efforts to conceal it. The depths of it, at least.
“Az?” Mor asks quietly, expression curious but solemn.
“She’s gone,” he murmurs shortly. Mor’s eyes flash with alarm at the revelation, before her brows tuck together. “What do you mean she’s gone? Where?”
“I don’t know,” he admits grimly. “I paid a visit to one of her friends afternoon yesterday, but he refused to answer anything.”
“What do you mean, she’s gone, Az?” Mor hisses, disbelief sharpening her muffled tone. Azriel grinds his jaw, but relents—this is more important. “I mean, she isn’t at the House of Wind. She left a note saying she would be at Bas’, and would be back but she wasn’t. When I went to get her, she wasn’t there either,” he summarises, expression sombre.
“What else?” Mor asks sternly, the brightness about her having faded faster than a flame extinguished. Azriel licks his lips, bracing himself, before explaining: she has magic but it’s been giving her trouble, she’d wanted to try using it without anyone else knowing and he’d let her, Elain’s vision prophesying his death at her hand.
To Mor’s credit, her features don’t drain entirely of colour, and it takes her no more than a few seconds of heavy silence for her to muster up a response. “What magic?” Mor asks first, keeping her tone quiet but clipped, judgement clear enough she doesn’t need to voice it. And Azriel won’t address it, either. “Her hands could glow a little around the fingertips. We didn’t know what it did, though.”
“And the trouble?”
“It dried her skin out, among other things.” Mor’s lips part, eyes closing briefly as she sighs. “The gloves.” Azriel doesn’t need to provide confirmation for her to have connected the dots.
But then her eyes open, slowly sliding to his, an edge of viciousness underlying their amber cut, one he withstands reluctantly. Mor swallows, jaw tense, watching him. “How long have you known about this?” She asks, lethally softly. Not how long has she had magic, how long has he known. And not told them. “About a fortnight.”
Mor’s eyes gleam with hostility, and his features become stony, walls raising up as she watches him silently. Judgement falling heavy on his shoulders. “Why tell me now?” She asks shortly. She isn’t chewing him out, nor is she outwardly rancorous. Not good a good sign. “Bas won’t tell me where she is,” he replies neutrally, Mor’s eyes flaring as she puts it together. “You want me to ask him.” Azriel nods, despite her already knowing.
She glances at him reproachfully, another look he withstands passively, and then she’s turning sharply on her heel, making back toward the light, back toward the laughter. Silent as a shadow, Azriel catches her upper arm, having to exert surprising force to keep her still. “Where are you going?” He asks coldly.
“Where do you think?” She counters sharply.
“They have enough on their plates,” Azriel mutters. As if on queue, Nyx’s laugher giggles through the halls, a stark contrast to the gloom lurking just beyond the light’s end. Mor snatches her arm away. “You have enough on your plate,” she says lowly, eyes glinting as they cut through him, “we could have made room. You should have told us.” But Azriel stands his ground, not giving an inch. “It was the right call.”
“You have no idea where she is,” Mor counters. “No idea where she is, or what state she might be in. What makes you think that was the right call?”
“You’re questioning my judgement?”
“Yes, I’m fucking questioning your judgement,” she hisses back lowly.
“She told me she didn’t want any of you to know,” he counters coldly, “she’s reclusive anyway, suddenly outing her wouldn’t have done anything helpful.”
The wording seems to strike something in Mor, ire banking, eyes shuttering briefly, before she’s gritting her jaw again. “You should have told us.”
“She barely managed to tell me,” Azriel states, “Elain didn’t even know until the vision that her sister had magic.”
“You know you should have told us.”
“And betrayed her trust when she chose to tell me?” Azriel asks cooly. “You didn’t see how scared she was.”
“Maybe she wasn’t scared of us finding out but of speaking with you.”
Azriel blinks, the only sign of his falter he’ll allow, caught off guard by the accusation. She’s never shown any fear of him before… “She has no reason to be scared of me.” He says finally.
A look of frustration flits through Mor’s amber eyes. “She’s young. This is probably the first time she’s experiencing strong feelings toward someone else,” she says lowly, “surely you can remember what that’s like.” Azriel bristles at the pointed look, the insulting comparison between his past love for Mor and the affection being unwelcomely pushed his way. “She’s infatuated. It happens,” he replies tersely, not taking kindly to the manipulation. “And she went through the war too—she isn’t that unaware. You’re doing her a disservice.”
“The disservice here is you not affording her the care she needs—to the point she’s chosen to run away,” Mor practically spits.
Terse silence stretches between them, sour and resentful.
“We aren’t going to come to an agreement,” Azriel says at last, tone clipped, but both of them know it’s better to move on for now. They can fight it out later, once things are resolved and taken care of. “You speak to Bas first, then we can find out who she’s gone to. She could be anywhere in the Night Court, knowing him.”
“We tell Rhys and Feyre first,” Mor demands lowly. But Azriel shakes his head, “if you want to be the one to tell Feyre her sister is missing and we don’t know where she is, be my guest.”
Silence stretches further, growing tauter by the second, until Mor sighs sharply. “Fine,” she grits out. “Bas first.”
Azriel nods, making to turn around, heading for the door.
“But you are telling Feyre,” Mor hisses lowly. “Whether we find out or not. Tonight.”
Azriel pauses, jaw tightening. But gives a sharp nod.
————
Once again he slinks back to the male’s house, the bright sun lost to winter’s oncoming grip, dark clouds shielding the stars from view.
Despite the silence between them, he can feel Mor’s judgement pressing into him, but he has no time to argue or persuade. After the…discussion, with the male the other day, he’d needed time to plan, regroup his thoughts. Time. Seemingly so sparse, as of late. He could afford little more than twenty-four hours of inaction before a decision would have to be made—he hadn’t come this far by sitting around aimlessly when faced with a hard choice. It seemed the only reasonably way forward would be to acquiesce to the male’s demand, as much as Azriel despised so. It was the smarter option.
The other would have been to lay hands on him, and no matter how urgent the matter was, the male was still a civilian, and untrained for war, at that. Violence was entirely out of the question.
He knocks thrice on the door, sharp and punctuated hits to alert the male of company, before stepping back to allow space for Mor.
Gleaming golden eyes pierce out into the darkness, and Azriel knows he doesn’t miss the hint of smugness in their gilded depths as he marks the presence of another, as he’d requested. To verify his claim that there were indeed urgent matters afoot. Azriel refuses to show even a hint of irritation, keeping his face cold and passive—Bas won’t get the satisfaction of seeing him riled. He’d have to work much harder for that.
“You’re back late,” Bas drawls from the warm glow of his house, once again leaning cockily against the broad wooden frame, ankles crossed, one foot keeping the door held to—away from prying eyes. “And you’ve brought company,” he muses, glancing to Mor at his side. The female steps forward, the yellowy-orange light from inside making her glow as she offers a tight smile. “Bas, correct?” Golden eyes sweep over her analytically, before he nods, shifting slightly. “Mor,” he acknowledges, “she mentioned you, too.” No signs of surprise mar her open expression, kept sealed beneath that deceptive mask she can wear to charm at any time.
“That’s why we came to see you, actually,” Mor begins calmly, straightforward. “I’m of the understanding you know her whereabouts, but are unwilling to disclose them for various reasons.”
“That’s right,” he replies slowly, expression shifting to something more wary. His provocative nature shying away from perceived earnestness. “She doesn’t want any visitors.”
Mor nods her head gently, understanding shimmering faintly in amber eyes, threads of her hair catching the golden glow of inner light, glinting with the motion. “I can understand that, but this is very important,” she says sincerely, worry shining in her face Azriel know she doesn’t have to fake. Still the male remains cautious in the doorway. “Azriel wasn’t lying when he told you this conflicts with Court matters,” Mor begins slowly, and the shadowsinger tamps down on the urge to glance at her warily. Though he knows she won’t reveal anything, there’s no need to offer scraps. “I’m afraid there’s little I can honestly tell you due to their private nature, but nonetheless I would like to speak with you about her. She is a part of our family, and we are deeply concerned about her. I’m sure you can understand our worry.”
Quiet pauses long enough to take a deep breath, before resuming to its consistent noise.
Eventually, Bas nods his head, standing straighter. A grain of tension is released from his shoulders as the male opens his door, yielding to a conversation. He makes to step forward, but sharp golden eyes flick to him, piercing and accusing in their nature. “I’ll speak with Mor, and Mor alone,” he states clearly, an edge of provocation creeping back into his features, though the Shadowsinger doubts its sincerity.
But Mor nods her head, “that’s fine,” she answers, brushing past his side, pulling the cold night air with her, a whisper of icy breath grazing his side as she moves forward, leaving him out in the dark. “Don’t move from here until we’re done,” Mor instructs from over her shoulder once Bas has disappeared from the entrance hall. Azriel nods, understanding the implication.
Listen in from outside.
————
The room she follows Bas into is cozy, well-kept. Clearly lived in.
The pillows of the sofas are slightly worn, slightly faded in colour, waned down to more earthy tones that compliment the pale terracotta of the walls. Fire crackles from the hearth, dried rosemary hung from the ceiling beams, as well as other dried herbs and plants. On the wall are some paintings, mostly stills, but they’re watery around their edges, faded colour bleeding over fine, distinct ink lines.
Bas takes a seat that seems to fit him comfortably, likely one he usually chooses, while Mor opts for one nearby, a quilt thrown over its back, squares of purple, blue, turquoise, and magenta knitted together, and she can make out small patches in the yarn where its been run thin and had to be darned with slightly mismatched thread.
“So,” Bas starts, quieter than she had expected, sitting forward in her chair, attentive. “You’re worried about her. Why?” It’s hard to conceal her frown at such a strange question, but she doesn’t really try to. She doubts she’ll get anywhere through masking her reactions. “She’s part of our family,” Mor replies, “why wouldn’t we be worried about her.” Bas settles deeper into his chair, hands braced on arms, head tilted back into the pillow as he watches her intently. It’s not an expression she’s unfamiliar with, but not one she had expected to encounter here—something wary and deeply protective.
“She doesn’t speak much about any of you,” he hedges slowly, keeping his posture relaxed. “But it’s enough. You aren’t as close knitted as family.” Mor opens her mouth to speak, but he continues. “Even if you try to be,” he says, nodding, “she isn’t easy to get to.” Mor closes her mouth, lips pursing in a tight line. He sighs, shifting in his seat, pushing a thick loc of hair from his face, hooking it over a thoroughly pierced ear. “I believe that you’re concerned about her, and that you truly want to help,” he says heavily, attitude shifted from how he’d been outside, and Mor wonders what Bas might have been told about the Shadowsinger to warrant such ice.
“We do,” she urges sincerely, and Bas nods again, hearing her.
“What I…worry about,” he starts hesitantly, forming the words carefully, considering each one. “I worry you don’t understand her enough to make an informed call,” he settles on, and Mor bristles a little. How long has Bas known her for? Does he know her more than Mor does? “What leads you to that way of thinking?” She asks, keeping the stiffness from her tone.
“I know you don’t see her much,” he replies simply, and again Mor’s lips purse. “She doesn’t enjoy…full, settings. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t care, though.” He sighs, eyes briefly closing, before reopening with a fresh intensity, sitting upright in his chair, forearms braced on his thighs. “Do you know how we met? Me and her?”
Mor’s brow dips, but she answers anyway, curious where he’s going with this. “Through Nesta, right?” Bas nods, something passing through his eyes at the right answer. “Right,” he confirms, “making time to visit those stuffy inns, filled with groping hands—she hates places like that.” Bas sighs again, hand rubbing one side of his face. “I don’t even know if it helped at all, but I know she felt it was all she could do. Even if it was just company, and nothing material. Even if it might not’ve had an overall impact, that was her way of trying to help.”
Mor remains quiet, not seeing what he’s trying to say.
Bas shakes his head, as if telling her to forget about it, again rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, I don’t even know if I can speak on her behalf, and I like to think we’re fairly close with one another,” he admits, sighing heavily. “I don’t want to mislead you.”
“So you’ll let me where she’s gone?” Mor asks, concern heavy in her voice, making no effort to conceal her worry. She watches as the pads of his fingers rub over his eyes wearily, as she wonders if this is straining on him more than he’s letting on. “Try to understand her, when she talks,” he requests quietly, eyes still shut, fingers rubbing faintly. “She still confuses me sometimes, and she never shows if it bothers her, but I can’t imagine someone being okay with being misunderstood.”
“Bas,” Mor urges gently, sensing he’s on the verge of telling her whereabouts. “Please tell us where she’s gone. We don’t want her to feel alone.”
Bas doesn’t look up, face still covered by his hands, but Mor can make out the tightness of his brows, torn between his decisions. So close to cracking open.
“I don’t know,” he whispers.
Mor blinks, eyes locking with gold as he looks at her through his fingers, fatigue obvious beneath his gaze, the lines more pronounced as the flame casts the shadows of his digits across his features, deepening the half circles that have appeared.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mor asks, biting down on shock, clearing it entirely from her voice. “She didn’t tell me,” he answers quietly.
Silence stretches, and even in the haze and confusion that’s been stirred up she has enough clarity to feel the piercing weight of a glare through a window, heavy and accusing. Tension crackles in her spine, flipping her golden hair over a shoulder, a subtle message to piss off to the shadows that are watching from outside.
She sighs heavily, meeting the golden eyes of the male opposite her, now sat back in his chair as he was before, but his back is slumped, as if containing all that worry had been stretching him taut. Relieved to no longer be the sole barer of her secrets. “Do you—…” Mor eases in a sharp breath, settling the worry and gradually increasing panic that’s tightening around her throat. She swallows, pulling herself together. Recomposing herself. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” She asks calmly. “Anything could help.”
But Bas shakes his head, guilt clear in his golden eyes. “She didn’t give me any hints. But she had a bag with her, so I’m guessing she had somewhere in mind and didn’t just aimlessly wander off.”
Mor nods, getting to her feet, golden eyes tracking her movements. “Thank you for telling me,” she says sincerely, before turning for the door.
“I know that leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone where you’re going seems rash—maybe even a bit stupid,” Bas says after her, voice a little clearer to catch her attention. “But she’s smart. I’d wager it was probably something she’d had in the back of her mind for a while.”
Mor swallows thickly, the possibility not sitting well with her, but nods nonetheless.
“I’ll let you know when we find her.”
————
Azriel waits sullenly in the front garden for Mor to exit the male’s house, darkening the doorstep he’d been instructed to remain in until she was done.
He watches the door open and close, Mor stepping out into the night air, latch clicking softly as it locks behind her, and the two make their way silently at first down the garden path, back into the street before they begin communicating. “That certainly didn’t take long,” he muses lowly, glancing at her sidelong. “I take it you heard everything?” She asks quietly, tension clear in the cold bite of her usually honeyed voice. Azriel gives a brisk nod, and Mor sighs. “What now?”
“There are only so many places she could have gone to,” Azriel replies smoothly, mind already running through the possibilities. Honestly, Bas not knowing almost helps more—it has to be someone she knows. There are only two places she could have possibly run off to, though neither of them seem particularly believable. That being thought, he knows where he’ll check first.
“You have an idea?” Mor asks tightly, a bit of a bite to her question. Azriel nods grimly, “Elain mentioned a fox in her vision,” he explains, “apparently they grow close—enough to make a bargain of some sort, anyway.”
“Elain saw the bargain in her vision?” Mor questions. Azriel nods. “We don’t know if that’s symbolism or not,” she mutters, “we have no idea how accurate they are, either. Nor how soon they’ll come to pass.” Her tone softens toward the end a little, but Azriel isn’t willing to speak about that part of the prophecy yet. That he will be dying. Probably soon, going off how vivid Elain’s descriptions were—as if it were urgent. Impending.
“And you’re sure Elain doesn’t know where she’s gone?” Mor asks, keeping her gaze ahead, brows pulled together in concentration, a glint in her warrior’s eyes. “She might do,” Azriel sighs, “they are close, after all. And the fox…”
“Could be Lucien,” Mor finishes heavily. “You think she’s run to the mortal lands. Back to her home.” Azriel remains silent, keeping pace as they return silently to the River House.
Piercing amber eyes dig into the side of his skull, the intensity of her attention almost startling if he hadn’t had centuries to grow accustomed to it. He senses the question, just as she could sense he was holding something back.
Azriel doesn’t look at her as he speaks, “there’s only one other person the fox might represent.”
Even without visuals, he can hear how her pace nearly falters, then comes to a stop. He pauses with her, at last turning to face the golden haired female. Her skin is paler, even taking the silver of the moon into account. “You think she might have gone to Eris?” She asks, voice thick, but quiet. No more than a breath of wind. “I think it’s one of the two. There’s no one else it could be.”
“She’s only met him once,” Mor snaps lowly, nails digging into her palms. Azriel makes a show of shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s one or the other,” he says calmly, “if she isn’t in the Mortal lands…”
Mor stares at him, amber eyes drained a little. “You really think there’s a chance he could have…taken her?” She practically spits, unable to keep the hiss out of her voice. Because when it comes to that long ago trauma, her only responses to fall back on are fear, or anger. He doubt she’ll allow the vulnerability of fear right now. Not with the tension between them. “I think it’s better to question Elain first to see if she knows anything. If she doesn’t, I’ll make my way down Prythian.”
Mor blinks, realising the situation. She had demanded Azriel be the one to tell Feyre, regardless of whether they find anything or not. But with the new possibility of her having somehow found herself in the Autumn Court…Mor’s throat rolls heavily. She can’t bring herself to go there. Even now, the thought alone…she pushes against the urge to settle her palm over her abdomen. “We question Elain first,” she manages quietly, and Azriel can see how she’s gathering herself back together.
Instinct is the closest it comes to, that feeling she’s somehow run off to the Autumn Court, like a tug toward the unfamiliar land. Surely Elain would have mentioned something to him about a plan for her sister to leave when she’d been telling him about the vision. It’s the option that makes the most sense, for her to have spoken with Elain, and used a tunnel to reach the border quickly. With all the books she’s read in the library…the kind of things they contain, he doesn’t doubt she’d be more than capable of figuring a way to sneak out of the Night Court. To sneak out of Prythian if she set her mind to it.
Mor nods, and Azriel redirects his attention to the street, continuing the pace. “Question Elain,” she murmurs, “then head to Autumn first. If she isn’t there, go to the Lower Lands. Be as quick as possible.” He nods, admittedly relieved he won’t have to yet face Rhys for the mess he’s inadvertently caused.
————
“Eris, I’m tired,” you sigh, hands aching, sitting dejectedly on a tree stump.
As much as you’d protested, he’d dragged you back out into the forest, where everything feels encased in a glass bubble. It’s hard to explain when you think about it, but it’s like being in another world, how easily the trees sweep away and redirect noise. Hairs prickle at the back of your neck as you remember the giant, boar-like creature that had rampaged upon you mere days ago. The sight and smell of steaming blood as skin slid from flesh, melted apart.
“You haven’t even done anything,” he mutters, watching. “Get back up.”
You sigh heavily, reluctantly getting to your feet, then blinking heavily, suddenly crouching down as you press your palms to your eyes, trying to steady yourself from the abrupt dizziness that had ballooned into your head. Lips part as you try to concentrate on your breathing, wishing away the sudden feeling of unevenness beneath your feet. Eventually it passes, a few extra moments spent crouched for good measure, before you slowly stand back up, hand pressing to the side of your head. Cutting whiskey and amber eyes are piercing into you from across the clearing. You scowl back.
“What was that?” He asks, disapprovingly, your scowl deepening at the tone.
“I told you: I’m tired,” you snap, but it lacks the bite you’d wished for, fatigue building into a slow but heavy pulse inside your head, just above and behind your brows. A yawn rises from your chest, and you cover your mouth as it stretches you open, eyes squeezing shut, watering a little before you slump back into your usual posture, no longer pulled taut by your muscles.
His sharp eyes narrow accusingly, and you bristle at the look, trying to summon up the energy to glare at him. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” He asks sharply, and you grimace, knowing he won’t approve of the answer. But you really don’t have the energy to lie, either. “No, I didn’t,” you sigh, “I was feel sick.” Something flickers behind his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly for you to even attempt to recognise. “You were probably feeling sick from hunger,” he mutters, as if it’s obvious, arms folding over his chest, leaning back against a tree. “Using magic can take up a lot of energy, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You should have—”
“I know the difference,” you hiss, lip twitching up in the beginnings of a snarl, before once again flattening out, and you sit back on the stump, uncaring if it pisses him off. You hope it does.
“Do you?” He muses, a bladed edge to his tone that has your stomach tightening, glancing at him warily from across the clearing. You tense as he pushes off from the tree, then vanishes, and you jump as he appears on your other side, peering down at you, unimpressed. “You know how to tell when your magic is draining you? Because those are some pretty big steps to have made seemingly overnight.” Your lips purse, averting your gaze, sullenly looking away. “That’s what I thought.”
“I know the difference between hungry sickness and—” you falter, but manage to finish the sentence, “…and being unwell.”
Eris pauses, and you want to meet his gaze and glare at him, but your head just feels too heavy on your shoulders, and the general fatigue hasn’t been aided by the light sheen of sweat that’s been layering your body each morning, before you’ve wobbly stumbled to the washroom, clutching your stomach. You’ve yet to actually regurgitate anything though—your one blessing. It’s like those initial months after the Cauldron all over again.
“Look at me,” he instructs, and you glare at the ground, irritation growing in your chest. It wouldn’t hurt him to be a little more gentle with his attitude. His demeanour, in general. A curse sits, unspoken, at the tip of your tongue when he grips your jaw, angling your chin upward so he can examine you. Again your lips twitch in a slight snarl, but the energy fails quickly. Amber eyes sweep over your features, and you avert your gaze when his own settle intensely on yours. He releases you after a too-long moment, allowing you your space again, and you glare at him. “What was that for?”
“You look worse than usual,” he answers flatly.
You glare at him resentfully, unable to muster up the laugh you usually would whenever he makes a comment like that. Instead you just feel irritated. His brows narrow further, “how much have you been sleeping recently?” He pushes. You shrug, briefly glancing away.
“A normal amount. I’m fine, just let me sit down, it’s not that big of an issue if I’m not standing, right?”
“Are you coming up for your cycle?”
The bones in your hands creak, groaning with strain and you hiss as pain flares weakly beneath your gloves at your fingertips. You tuck your hands under your arms, trying to soothe their sting as you glare at him. “Do not ask me that,” you snap, legs crossing on the tree stump. You half expect his lips to quirk at the easily given reaction, but his brow dips a little. “You don’t have to give me a direct answer,” he says at last, a touch gentler than before, but still stern. “Just answer if it could be related.”
You hesitate at the tone, jaw still tight with tension, but you swallow thickly. “No,” you manage quietly, “not for another few months, at least.”
“Then as much as you disagree, it would be a good idea to eat first, then see if you improve,” he replies, back to his usual drawl, laced with distaste. Enough to almost have your lips curving a little at their edges. “So we’ll be going back to have lunch right this second,” you muse, glancing up at him, “and you aren’t going to set some stupid challenge for me to fulfil beforehand. Right? Because that would be very impractical.”
His amber eyes glint with something you’ve decided is the closest he’ll get to open amusement, brow raising slightly. “Why waste a good motive?” He counters, “looks like you’re catching on.” You force a groan, if only in attempts to lighten the mood from whatever dark grave it had settled into, and you reluctantly get to your feet, taking it slow incase your head starts swimming again. “What is it this time?” Eris nods to the tree that looks to have been recently cut down, the counterpart to the trunk you’re sat upon. “I want you to try touching the bark,” he instructs, and you look at him quizzically. Seems easy enough.
You watch him questioningly as you stand and make your way over to the tree, putting your hands down.
“Done?” You say slowly, confusion blatant in the furrow of your brows as you stare at him.
Eris stares at you blankly, before raising his palm to cover the lower portion of his features, concealing his mouth. “Using your magic,” he adds disbelievingly, mouth still covered.
You blink, then flush with embarrassment, hand covering your own mouth as laughter bubbles up from your chest. “Oh,” you manage, shoulders shaking lightly, not helped by the matching amusement reflecting in his amber eyes—amusement he’s struggling to conceal. “I thought—” you break off, a smile stretching wide behind your palm, chest stuttering with mirth. “I thought you meant I just had to touch it.” He shakes his head, seemingly beyond speech. “You want to see how the bark reacts when I touch it with my magic,” you clarify, nodding your head, still trying to tamp down the laughter that’s heating your eyes faintly. He confirms with a slight nod of his head, and you take a deep breath, trying to sober up. “I see,” you nod again, at last recovered enough to lower your hands to remove your gloves, a smile still faintly curving your lips. “I’ll give it a go.”
“Why would I ask you to touch a tree?” Eris asks from somewhere at your back, tone almost settled back to his usual drawl, dripping of disapproval. “I’m tired,” you reply, not nearly as practiced as he is at keeping your tone neutral as you glance at him over your shoulder, “you should have clarified better.” Eris shakes his head, before nodding to the tree trunk.
You take in a breath, returning to look at the bark—what would happen if you touched it?
Closing your eyes briefly, you steady out your breaths, inhaling slow and deep, feeling your shoulders lose their tension before reopening your eyes. Focusing on the bark again now that you’re settled. “What should I do?” You ask, not taking your gaze from the tree or your hands.
“Try thinking about different things, exploring how they make you feel,” he replies steadily. How helpful, you think, but leave the comment unvoiced—you’re trying to concentrate. You think about how the light had appeared before, when he’d gotten you to briefly sustain it. It had hurt at first, you’d had the chance to realise, but after the initial rush of pain, the creak of bones and your groaning carpals, it had faded more into a slight tingle, like your fingers had fallen asleep, wrapped in a vague warmth.
You swallow thickly, thinking about the flat-topped ring in your pocket, the absence of weight in your ears, how they correlate. You don’t regret the decision to sell them off, to your slight surprise. More indifferent to the change, if not slightly excited at your choice. Doing something for yourself, on your own, that nobody knew about. It’s nice, having secrets.
“Now press them to the bark,” Eris instructs, and you look down in surprise to spot the faint greenish-gold glow weaving between your fingers—almost like fish slowly weaving throughout water as they struggle upstream, but less frenetic. Slowly, keeping your breathing steady, you press your palms against the bark, palms shaking slightly as the light flickers, almost flinching slightly as it hesitantly makes contact with the new surface.
You jerk away when something lances up your wrist, stinging pain spearing beneath your skin as the tang of copper bursts in the air. The magic extinguishes in an instant, snuffed out with a single recoiling thought, and your breathing loses its pattern as you glance down at your right palm. What looks like a popped blister sits on the heel of your hand, except the liquid that gleams had a red tint to it, mixed with blood. You sigh heavily, left hand holding your right wrist lightly, thumb pressing the flesh just below the blister, watching as blood rises to the surface. The skin around it is flakier than before, a little discoloured, and you spot a mole at the knuckle of your little finger, poking meekly out from the skin, as if worried over being spotted and pulled away.
Eris walks up to your side, glancing down at the bark, the absence of any sort of change. It looks exactly the same. “I guess nothing happened,” you hedge, glancing warily down at the tree, searching for some kind of change.
Eris is quiet, and you at last turn to peer up at him, wondering what he’s thinking. His silence is waring. Amber eyes latch with your own, narrowed and slightly impatient, before the emotion is swiftly wrapped away. “I had hoped to make more progress,” he muses lowly, and you regard him with caution at the hushed tone. His eyes gleam with something you can’t figure out, wariness intensifying as he pulls something from his pocket—a small silk pouch.
You tilt your head, brows furrowed, “what is that?”
His lips sharpen at the edges, and tension coils beneath your skin—that type of expression is never good. “Open it,” he instructs simply, and you cautiously take it from his fingers, eyeing him again before carefully pulling the strings open, tipping the contents out into your palm. You blink as you take in the smooth band of metal, silver and gleaming against the flaws of your skin. “A…ring?” You ask, peering up at him questioningly. He nods, and you suppress your jolt when his fingers brush over your knuckles, plucking the band up and watching you intently as he smoothly slides it down to the base of the pointer finger on your left hand.
His demeanour has noticeably shifted, and your brows narrow further, suspicion roiling in your gut.
“It’ll help with keeping your magic calmer,” he explains lowly, secretively, and you manage a nod, confusion running rampant in your blood stream. “How so?” You ask, glancing down at the band, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist to keep you from moving. “You have a habit of straining yourself to keep the full force of your power from coming out,” he answers, thumb brushing your knuckle, and this time you glare up at him. His mouth only sharpens, amber eyes glinting with something that has the hairs raising at the nape of your neck. “I’m sure you’re familiar with how the Illyrians use siphons—so their raw type of magic doesn’t destroy everything around them?” You nod, tension lessening, again glancing down to the band. “Think of it like that—now you don’t have to waste concentration on keeping it all in check.”
He releases your hand, and you pull it closer to look at the silver, angling your head a little, understanding this must have been what that exchange had been about, when he’d gone down that dim, dark alleyway into the hidden chamber. “So it’s…a magic ring?” You ask, brows scrunched together as you look up at him. He raises a brow, “how astute of you.” You glare, lips curving faintly at the familiar intonation.
You swallow, stepping back a little, nodding your head. “I guess…” you breathe deeply, “as good a time as any.” You pull the flat-topped ring from your own pocket, and extend it toward him. “I saw this the other day in the market,” you say honestly, watching as his expression shifts, brow raising as he opens his palm. “It reminded me of you a little, and I probably won’t see you over the solstice anyway, so might as well give it to you now.”
Eris takes the ring, examining it, the small carving of the fox set in sterling silver. “A rather unique gift,” he muses, making the edges of your mouth curve.
“If you hate it, you don’t have to wear it,” you say, smiling lightly, “I just wanted to get it.” Though to your surprise, he doesn’t seem to despise it, sliding it over the thumb of his right hand—it seems to actually fit.
That viper’s smile returns to his sharpened mouth, eyes glinting again. “I don’t think your family would approve of a gift like this,” he drawls, more clearly than before, causing you to cock your head in question.
Lips fashion themselves into a razor-sharp grin, the expression more vulpine than fae.
“Isn’t that right, Shadowsinger?”
————
Eris raises his gaze to the forest, how the trees had whispered to him, calling out about the figure stalking their movements. Really, the shadowsinger should know not to hunt outside his own territory. The hulking, shadowy figure steps silently out into the clearing, with a quiet that’s been well-earned by the Spymaster of the Night Court.
Powerful wings are pulled to his body in traditional Illyrian fashion, save for the darkness wreathing the gleaming talons at their peaks, cold hazel eyes clashing with Eris’ own. Marking what the Spymaster has come for. It’s proximity to the male he hates viciously, bloodily, gruesomely.
“Shouldn’t you know not to sneak around in the shadows by now?” Eris drawls, hands settling around its shoulders, feeling stone-tight tension beneath his palms. Its magic fading, unable to winnow two people away, so left trapped in the clearing as the male prowls closer.
“Eris,” the Spymaster greets coldly, darkness unspooling upon the ground he treads, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing. Not close enough for hand-to-hand combat, but too nearby for a proper display of magic. At least he’s smart enough to recognise he’s at a disadvantage in a foreign court—uninvited, at that. “Shouldn’t you know the consequences of displacing a member of Rhys’ court?” The Spymaster questions, lethally quiet.
Tremors flutter beneath Eris’ hands, still gripping her shoulders to keep her in place, and he glances down, only to find her already watching him. If it weren’t for the tremors, she would be as still as death. Her brows lifted and slightly curved, mouth pointed down at the edges. Betrayal stark in her normally bright eyes.
“You’re clearly uninformed,” Eris muses, pulling away from her scared eyes to meet cutting hazel. “This is a perfectly amicable meeting, isn’t it, cygnet?”
The Spymaster’s canines flash at the pet-name, the blatant taunt, the insinuation he’s made that she would choose himself over the Spymaster. That well-concealed wrath suffers a blow when she raises her hands to grip his wrists, nothing demanding about the touch—it’s a weak hold. As if asking for attention.
“Amicable or not,” the Spymaster says, expression stony, “you’ll return her. Unless you want Rhys to know about this abduction?” Eris shrugs, amusement sharpening his mouth as he selects his words carefully, “I’m not her keeper. She will return when she likes.” By the looks of it, the arrow lands, pupils constricting as the Spymaster takes a menacing step closer.
————
Your ears have hollowed out, stomach swallowing your heart. A quiet kind of panic tightening through your chest, pulse spiking. Dread sluicing through the rope holding you taut.
You’re staring up at him, holding on with as much strength as you can manage as a strange emotion rushes through your blood, softening your muscles until you’re struggling to stand, pushing every pleading word you’ve ever read into your eyes, silently begging for him to do something. To keep you from facing him on your own.
You know how easy it is for him to shatter you.
Amber eyes lower to yours, walls risen against Azriel’s presence, and your fingers stutter over the cuffs of his tunic, before the last of your strength drains. They’re glinting again with that challenge, and in the very back of your mind you can understand he’s using this as just another training exercise, but it’s hard to focus on through the ringing in your ears, that strange quiet that’s so loud it drowns out every other thought, like a thousand whispers hissing instructions too swiftly, too viciously for you to make them out, coming together in a swirling spiral that’s pulling you under.
Eris’ mouth is moving, eyes peering at something behind you, but you’re fine not hearing. Would prefer to fade from the world, to slip away quietly, unnoticed and un-missed. But then amber again returns to you, and with it sound comes crashing in too. “Pack up,” Eris orders, and you blink, his hands tightening on your shoulders as he feels the slight sway of your body.
“She’ll take a while,” Eris drawls, glancing back at the Shadowsinger—your stomach lurches—who remains a heavy presence at your back. “You may be unwelcome, but let’s not waste this opportunity. Using your General’s absence as an excuse not to meet has lost its worth. You will suffice.”
————
You feel half-awake as you pack your things, watching from some far away place as you fold clothes meticulously, with much more care than you usually would, taking your time gathering the few items you brought.
Clothes, an empty blue box, the thickly bound volume. A thin wooden box about the length of your arm, a note attached atop.
Use it wisely.
You pack the box in your bag, recognising the elegant script.
————
Azriel had followed silently, concealed within Eris’s shadow as he’d strode through the stretching hallways, leading the way to his own chambers, where they will be able to speak freely and most importantly, privately. Tension had simmered beneath his war-roughened skin the entire time, disliking even having to blend his shadows with the heirling’s, but it’s an intimacy he’s forced to yield.
The room Eris takes him to is big, to say the least, and open, with a large bed against a wall, a wooden chest at its foot, his desk adjacent so natural light fills the cavernous room—one that’s above ground. It’s here he emerges from shadow, filling space just beside the large wooden chest, an unlit fire quite a way to his left. Eris takes his time walking around the desk, sitting down comfortably, having the nerve to look relaxed—prick.
“So,” Eris begins, and Azriel bites against the urge to grind his teeth at the smug tone. “She ran away from you. Took her long enough.”
“How long have you been planning this?” Azriel asks coldly, completing a triple check of the room, making sure there’s no one else around. “You act like it was my idea,” the autumn heir drawls, successfully snaring his attention, something foul rising at the back of his throat at the implication. Likely the confirmation he needs that she had indeed left of her own volition. A muscle ticks in his jaw.
“You want me to believe she came all this way on a hope that you’d provide temporary asylum?” Azriel asks, rooting deeper. “She has a smart head on her shoulders,” Eris drawls, amusement glinting in sharp, amber eyes, “she knows how to bargain.”
His blood ices over, skin turning cold at the wording, demeanour plunging as his shadows deepen. “You made a bargain with her?” Azriel growls, pulse spiking. If a bargain has already been made… But Eris waves his hand, enough of a light dismissal for Azriel to figure she hasn’t mentioned Elain’s vision to him. One small ray of light amongst the storming thunder clouds she’s already brought upon herself.
“Do you find it so unbelievable that she might be capable of making arrangements on her own? Why do you assume I had any hand in it?” Eris drawls, making that glittering rage sharpen into razor-tipped icicles, poised to carve and slice. “You’re a conniving bastard,” Azriel says lowly, violence glinting in his hazel eyes, “she wouldn’t have come to you without some prompting.”
“You think I tricked her?” Eris muses, a trace of humour in his tone, Azriel’s brows narrowing with detestation. “What would I get out of that, unless she was complicit? I have no way of forcing her magic out of her, she has to want that on her own—as much as that might irritate Rhys.”
Loathing simmers in Azriel’s chest, but he remains quiet, allowing Eris to talk so he can gather as much information as he can from both sides. So he can compare her side with his later.
“I’m sure after Nesta Archeron, Rhys would be eager to find out what other weapons he might have at his disposal.”
“She isn’t a weapon,” Azriel snarls lowly, fury held back by straining iron manacles.
“But she could become one,” Eris counters, tone shifting to something more serious, and Azriel stiffens. “The timing’s a bit strange, don’t you think? Her magic only now coming through? After two years?”
“That’s not for you to speculate on.”
“Even without an alliance, it is a matter of concern,” Eris growls, brows narrowing as ire blazes in his eyes, glowing like freshly forged steel. “Why doesn’t she know anything?”
Azriel growls in warning, violence itching at his fingers, fists aching to slam down. Sparks crackle in the air, his own intentions seemingly reflected in the male before him. “You don’t have the luxury to ignore this pathway,” Eris growls lowly, “choosing to turn a blind eye would be damning.”
“She has her own problems to deal with,” Azriel snarls lowly, “you do not get to make that call.”
“I will make the call if Rhys doesn’t,” Eris snarls back, canines flashing viciously, “she could use some toughening up.”
“You don’t know enough to make an informed choice,” Azriel mutters coldly.
“Then Rhys had better hurry up. It’s not as though he’s unaccustomed to having to make decisions like this. What’s taking him so long?”
Azriel keeps still, features neutral, refusing to let even a hint of emotion appear in his blank expression.
Eris’ eyes narrow, sensing he’s being denied information. Vulpine senses picking up on a weak spot. Unnervingly keen. Then he blinks, leaning back in his chair, torso losing tension. “You haven’t told him.” Despite the utter neutrality, Azriel knows he’s figured it out. The heirling nods, a cynical curve to his sharpened mouth. “She didn’t give the impression she’d willingly display her failures to you.”
“They aren’t failures,” Azriel mutters, ice burning in his eyes as he watches Eris with a glacial look.
“No? Because the control over her magic was pretty pathetic to me,” Eris replies lowly.
Azriel snarls, low and threatening, shadows concentrating into a darkness worthy of the Night Court’s Spymaster, deep and deadly as they writhe in warning. “I didn’t realise she had you so tightly wrapped around her flaky little finger,” Eris croons, and darkness rears back, preparing to strike, when three quiet taps are landed to the door, meagre and unimposing.
————
You peek your head into his chambers, bag slung over your shoulder as you pause on the threshold.
Tension is blatant in Azriel’s shoulders, wings slightly flared, an icy emotion tucked between the stern set of his brows, shadows darker—more frenetic—than they usually are. Looking over to Eris, you can see how he’s leaned back in his chair, that taunting glint in his naturally piercing gaze, and you can guess fairly easily the conversation they were having was not a friendly one—even without the aid of body language.
Maybe they were discussing Court matters.
“I—…Should I wait out—”
“Come in,” Eris orders, cutting you off, and your brows narrow a little at the tone, before softening out again, remembering who else is present. You shut the door behind yourself, turning your back to them to make sure it clicks shut quietly, then walking further into the room, stood a little distance from Azriel, not wanting to encroach on his space while he’s surely furious with you. At the very least immensely disappointed.
“Took you long enough,” Eris drawls, bringing your attention away from Azriel to meet his cutting gaze. Well, your eyes meet his. It’s practically impossible to not focus on the male at your right. You’re not sure if you're imagining the displeasure rippling from him, but you can only hope Eris hasn’t intentionally stirred things up. You know you won’t be able to protect yourself against whatever words he has for you after your abrupt departure.
“You haven’t left any tatters behind?” Eris asks, and a slight scowl dips your brows.
“I have everything,” you reply, readjusting the strap of the bag on your shoulder.
“Excellent. Then you can leave.”
You blink at the abrupt dismissal, glancing at him warily. “Weren’t you discussing something?” You ask Eris hesitantly, cautious about prodding where you aren’t welcome. “We were,” Eris replies, a viper’s smile on his sharp lips, amber eyes cutting to the male at your right. “But it appears your Spymaster doesn’t think you’re trustworthy enough.” It’s obviously a manipulation of truth, but that doesn’t make it easy to hear, heart hollowing out, spine losing a bit of rigidity.
“And who could blame him,” Eris continues, “you haven’t exactly been particularly honest with him, have you, cygnet?”
Your lips purse, averting your eyes from both of them, peering at the floorboards to your left, shame tightening around your throat. “Seems logical enough,” you say quietly, managing to keep your voice steady. You’d rather vanish right then and there, wiped clean from memory and existence than allow a tremor into your voice.
You’ve gotten yourself into this situation. Self-pity won’t fix anything.
“Then that is that,” Eris muses, pulling you from your thoughts. Azriel shifts, not saying another word to either of you as he makes for the door, and you glance at Eris a little longer, searching for a way back. He quirks a taunting brow, resting his jaw on his right hand, the flat-topped band of sterling silver catching the light with the motion. Your thumb brushes the ring on your own finger, before you turn, making for the door where Azriel’s waiting to take you back.
Back to the Night Court.
Back to Velaris.
Back to your family.
Back to be judged.
————
It was unnerving how alone you’d felt on the way out of the palace. Even knowing he was present, slipping through shadows, you couldn’t sense a single thing, and on more than one occasion had glanced around, worriedly trying to find him—but nothing.
It wasn’t until you passed the walls, heading out into the forest again that he emerged—silent and looming—unable to hear his footsteps even when he was right beside you. Unnervingly ghost-like.
You wait for him to speak, to say whatever it is that’ll inevitably bring tears to your skin, but he’s completely silent, leading the way. Knowing you’ll follow behind. Knowing you won’t speak to him until he initiates.
You’d been brought here by winnowing, but he makes no move to wrap either of you in his shadows, and a small part of you whispers that he wouldn’t want you to contaminate them. You try to ignore that part, but even the quietest voice will be heard over silence. Instead the tales spin deeper, that he hadn’t even wanted to retrieve you, content to have you out of the way, out of the Night Court, away from his home. At least that way there’d be no chance of his prophesied death coming to pass.
He’d be safe, and you wouldn’t be bothering him.
Wouldn’t be bothering any of them.
He walks deeper into the forest, silent and steadfast, while you watch as his boots tread through the fallen leaves, not daring to look any higher in case it disgusts him further. You have no concept of how long you follow after him for—long enough your feet begin to ache lightly, but you push through it—silently waiting for the conversation to start. For the first question to be asked. For the first blow to be landed.
Azriel doesn’t stop when you try to shift your bag to the other shoulder, your right one aching, and something in your stomach drops when your pace slows but his remains constant, so you hurriedly finish the switch, and make an effort to catch up, careful not to trip. Hunger gnaws at your bones, but you keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt his pace. It’s not until your stomach audibly protests that he comes to a pause, glancing over his shoulder to you, and you swiftly duck your head, averting your eyes from his painfully familiar hazel set. Breaths deepening as you come to a stop with him.
“When did you eat last?” He asks. The first words he’s said to you.
“Yesterday,” you answer quietly, pressure tight across your chest as you try to keep your breaths quiet but even. “Do you have food on you?” He asks. You nod. You’d wrapped up a pastry from breakfast, it being the only thing you’d be able to savour. Even years later, the habit of not wasting food still remains prominent.
His boots shift, turning to face forward as he begins walking again. You follow silently, seeing no point in nodding or replying. It’s not like you’re going to do anything else. “There’s a clearing up here. You can eat there.”
Azriel pauses beside a particularly large oak tree, and you swallow, and you habitually consider where the least offensive place to sit would be. So you’re nicely out of his way. The ground is muddy, so you’re forced to follow beside his footsteps to the oak, setting as silently as you can on one large branch that’s gnarled and shoved through the earth to curl into a large seat.
Your pulse spikes, wondering if this will be where you have the one-sided discussion, perching the bag on your legs, searching through for the little pastry. It’s made harder by your bare hands, how every piece of fabric seems to bite at your skin with each brush, piercing painfully as you search, until you spot the orange scarf, pulling it out to find the pastry wrapped in a napkin.
He doesn’t say anything, but you feel like you’re wasting time.
You peer at the pastry in your hands, not particularly keen on eating it. You’re close enough to nausea as is, and don’t want to tempt fate with giving your stomach something to regurgitate. But it would be weird to put it away now, so you’ll just have to take small bites. Hope that you can stomach it. A few minutes pass, but you’ve hardly made a noticeable dent in the food, guilt weighing on your bones, pausing between each mouthful to peer around the clearing dully.
Your fingers fumble a little when Azriel moves, settling on the root beside you, your muscles stitching themselves taut, and you hastily shift yourself tighter so he has his space. Almost dropping the pastry in your stuttering movements.
He’s quiet for a bit, and you swallow thickly, attempting to focus on the food before you so as not to stare, but internally you can feel the beats passing, heart ticking tighter…tighter…
“Why did you leave?” He asks quietly.
You still, able to feel the narrow wooden box digging into your thighs. Pausing as the tension abates a little, like how you imagine it would feel to watch an arrow loose from a bow, watching it arc in the sky, then slowly plummet down, seeking out its target. The breath that would breathe out in relief once it embedded itself in flesh, those few, stretching moments at last having come to an end, and one can relax into the clarity of the pain. The certainty of the wound.
“I wanted to get out,” you mumble thickly, keeping the shake from your voice.
“So you went to him?” Azriel asks. You head lowers a little in sorrow.
Where else were you supposed to go?
“You could have asked to be taken somewhere,” he says quietly, and guilt tightens itself around your throat. Is there any way to explain to him why you’d left when you hardly understand it yourself? It had been a crescendo of nerves, of bottled up worries tightening with pressure, like air being blown into a brown paper bag until it burst. Is there any way to tell him you’d like to be able to ask things of him, but in truth you’d rather be slowly pulled apart by pressure than worry him with pointless tasks that only serve your benefit? How can you ever hope to speak with him honestly, when your very heart seems to be the thing warning you away—that same heart that wants to press into him, to beg and cry for forgiveness and reassurance.
“At least have the decency to answer,” he says quietly when you don’t respond, and you feel the small tremor that shudders up your throat, fearing the oncoming disaster. “I wanted to go on my own,” you get out, words softer than a whisper.
He’s quiet, and you wonder if that’s the end of the discussion for now.
But, “did you think at all about what the consequences would be from going to him?” He asks, gaze ahead, but attention pressing down on you. “Or did you forget you have people around you, that your actions impact.”
Your grip loosens on the pastry, choosing to wrap it back up in the napkin, fingers shaking slightly. A lump rising in your throat.
“Answer,” he murmurs, promptingly.
“I just wanted to go,” you whisper hoarsely, fingers wringing together. “I thought—… I thought it would be better if I was fur—… If I was gone.”
“Are you going to tell Mor where you went?” He questions softly. “Or did you not think about that part either?”
“I made progress,” you try, raising your gaze to his. “I can summon it, if I concentrate.”
His lips remain unmoving, but his eyes…gods, his eyes. You betrayed her, you know. All of them.
Breath catches in your throat, and you have to look away. Unable to face him. It. Any of it.
“Why is it so bad?” You ask quietly. “All I did was leave for a little under a week. I was trying to get better.”
“Stop. Lying,” he mutters lowly, blood freezing in your veins, fingers wringing together. Silence ticks by, and you wonder if he can hear the humiliatingly loud pulse of your heart, erratic and stumbling as it usually does around him. You don’t think he’s ever so obviously shown what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.
Why is this the first way you see it?
Why is this the first time he allows it?
“Just tell me what you want,” you ask quietly, voice faltering as you stare at him helplessly. “You’re never happy with anything I do,” you manage, trembling with growing turmoil, “so please, just tell me what you want, and put me out of my misery.”
He exhales harshly, leaning back into the trunk, lips tugged down at the corners, reproach tucked between his brows, so rarely softened by charm anymore. At least not while you’re around. Almost never when you’re around.
“I don’t feel I should have to tell you how you fucked up here,” he replies lowly, and you push back on the flinch at the crude wording. “You made a bad choice.”
“Imagine how much worse the others were,” you reply lowly, a hint of resentment—not directed at him—present in your tone. He stiffens at your side, then his gaze slides slowly over to you, lethal and condemning, but it’s like you can’t look away. You physically can’t duck your head, or shy away. “You’re really joking at a time like this?”
You meet his eyes fully, presently, taking him in against the darkening sky, winter sun already on the way out for the day, the chill more than prominent, but you don’t dare reach for the scarf in your bag. “Tell me what you want,” you repeat softly, no louder than a last breath on dying lips.
“I want you to be honest,” he replies, brows narrowing, “for once, apparently.”
“About what?”
“Why you went to him.” He nearly spits, unable to entirely keep his ire at bay, something passing behind his eyes.
You’re quiet. Silent.
Then you lean back into the trunk of the tree, head tilting back into the rough bark, hands settling numbly in your lap. Shoulders slope, and you peer up into the grey sky, gloomy and heavy with unshed tears. Thick and thunderous. Fitting for the storm that’s on its way.
“Please don’t be angry,” you whisper, hardly a breath from your lips, a prayer whisked away by the static air. He’s silent, and your throat closes up. “Azriel,” your murmur, swallowing thickly. “Please.”
Moments tick by, stretching and warping as your heart thumps heavily in your chest, utterly bewitched, utterly at his mercy. It’s exhausting.
He sighs, and you try not to stiffen as he glances over to you, feeling that familiar prickle of skin as lovely hazel settles on you. A few warm rays making it through the dim clouds before being frozen off by the icy breeze. Winter’s most definitely on its way.
“I won’t be angry,” he murmurs softly. “Just…talk to me. Like you used to.”
Your arms fold over your chest, closing in on yourself, feet pressing together as you hunch over the bag in your lap, peering at the muddy ground. The smell of parchment rises from your memories, dusty and familiar, but lacking the warmth of nostalgia. Like the bitterness of a tea left to steep for too long, so it dries out your throat, eyes watering from its ticklish bite.
“I couldn’t do it on my own,” you admit quietly. Fingers brushing your knuckles. Raw and flaky.
The thoughts swirl in the back of your mind, ready to roar and rage, becoming so loud they’re deafening, suddenly cutting quiet so fast you have no desire to understand what it means when the waters draw back. What it means when the sea itself shrinks away, leaving a barren and washed-up beach.
“But, the idea of trying in front of you…any of you…and then falling flat at such a small hurdle…” You look to your left, away from him, pulling tighter into yourself. Can anything good come of this kind of honestly? With him?
“I don’t have much anymore, Azriel,” you breathe lowly, struggling silently with the humiliating vulnerability. How bare you are, just waiting for steel to pierce your skin. Like tossing yourself over a cliff and hoping the jagged rocks far below will soften your fall.
“I just wanted to keep my dignity. The scraps left of it after…what happened…”
Your toes curl in your shoes, feet crossed, feeling as though your heart is trying to cave in on itself, swallowed by a vacuum suctioning you back down with the force of a flooded spring river.
“So it was better to fail in front of Eris?”
“But I don’t owe him success,” you argue uselessly, eyes squeezing shut in attempts to keep the tears at bay as your head falls into your hands. “I don’t—…I don’t owe him anything.”
“You don’t owe us anything either,” he replies.
“I owe my entire life to you,” you nearly hiss, spine curving in as your brows cramp together, jaw wound so tight you feel like a tooth might crack beneath the intense pressure, nails pressing into the soft skin of your brow.
“Feyre was the one who saved the three of you,” he reminds quietly, slowly, but you’re shaking your head. Staring down into your lap, tension rippling so clearly from your bunched up form Azriel considers laying a hand on your trembling shoulder as if to pull you from a trance. “No. I know, but…” Your fingers press into your eyes, unable to articulate what you can feel in your stomach. “If she hadn’t gone to Night,” you breathe heavily, shakily, “if she hadn’t gone here, we’d still be back there, entirely human, and I—… I wasn’t going to last much longer there.”
Azriel pauses at your side, taking on the information silently. “You were ill?” He asks softly—he’d had no idea about that. Your shoulders shake, and he can’t tell if it’s with laughter or muffled sobs. Maybe a little of both.
“Maybe,” you whisper, “I don’t know enough about medicine to say, but I…” You shake your head again, and he’s able to sense that’s as much as he’ll get. It’s been over two years, and this is the first he’s hearing of it even in vague detail—he knows this isn’t something he can press.
“It doesn’t matter now,” you say with rueful conviction, palms pushing wetness from your cheeks, spine straightening before collapsing back against the trunk. Tired and exhausted. “We’re out. I don’t need to do anything now.”
Azriel’s brow furrows. “You’re content to stay in your room and rot away?”
You rest your head in your hands, leaning over the bag, staring down into its contents. What else is there?
“You could spend time with your family, for starters,” he replies and you aren’t sure if you imagine the note of impatience in his voice. “Your sisters worry about you a lot. It’s not good for you to be up in that room all the time.”
“Well it seems every time I come out of that room I somehow end up getting in your way.”
“Is that what this is about?” He asks abruptly, and your lips press together, lower one curving over. “I thought we sorted that out,” he says quietly, calming the sharpness of his tone, hearing it even in his own ears, glancing over your hunched figure. “We did,” you reply, muffled by your arms, voice turning watery as you ease in a short breath. “We did.”
A beat passes, then tension stutters in your chest as he gently lays his palm over your shoulder. “Please just talk to me,” he says softly, and you struggle to keep your breaths even as your lungs shudder beneath that touch. After spending so long wanting it…craving it…convinced feeling how gentle his touch could be over and against your skin would fix everything…even temporarily… You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “If not me, then Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta,” he pauses, “…Bas.”
You aren’t paying much attention, though, thankful for the way your mind melts beneath the warmth of his palm. How heat is sinking into your skin, slowly spreading through your shoulder as your muscles thaw. Pressure is lessened, and the tension that had been stitching the tendon taut loosens, allowing breath the ease in and out of your lungs with tiring relief. You could deflate with fatigue. Just turn limp and boneless, better for absorbing impact than having it crack against you.
“Just talk with us some more so this doesn’t happen again,” he urges quietly. “Come down to the river house—you know Feyre keeps your room open—or join us for dinner. At least try. If that doesn’t work, we can find something else.”
You don’t reply. Just remain tucked away from the world. Content to remain within your small shell as long as you can keep that warmth on your shoulder.
The pressure lightens, and your heart hides away as his hand slips from your shoulder, leaving your skin starkly cold with the absence of his presence.
“I’m sorry for what I…for how things transpired. Between…us,” Azriel murmurs, unsure how much to say, to not bring up past pains, especially if they aren’t as healed as you’ve led him to believe. He’s starting to become unsure what to believe about you—he hadn’t ever considered you might run from them. How bad things might have become to force you into that position. Are things that bad?
“I’m sorry, too,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse, and Azriel listens attentively. “I shouldn’t have told you how I felt, in the library. I shouldn’t have made my feelings your problem.”
“They aren’t,” he says softly, but you shake your head as if you haven’t heard him.
“I’m sorry.”
————
He tries speaking twice more on the way back, but the conversations lead nowhere, no longer flourishing as they had, once upon a time. So long in the past they feel coloured by age. Turned stiff and yellow at the edges.
He tries slowing his pace so she’ll walk at his side, but she just drops further back, silently pressing between his footsteps as she trails, head kept down to remain focused on taking one step at a time. The shadow that is cast across her face from the down-tilted angle of her head is deeper than he would have expected.
When he hears her shifting the bag across her shoulders for the third time, he quietly plies the straps from her hands, relieving her of the physical weight. She makes no obvious protest, aside from the stiffening of her body at his approach, but he can spot the relief when he takes the bag. Moving it to his own shoulder, he can make out what feels like a wooden box, the kind made to keep a weapon from being damaged. The thought gives rise to instinctive alarm.
Why might she have a weapon in her bag?
His shadows subtly shift at his back, rising secretively to examine her. Questions begin rising to his mind: unkind, unfair questions that are habitual in his line of work. He tries to shake them off, but they remain firmly rooted in his mind, burrowing deeper with each stride that has the narrow box digging into his side, as if already trying to burrow into his flesh.
How did she know Eris would take her in? How could she possibly guarantee making the trek across Prythian over night would pay off? It’s an absurd risk to take, regardless of circumstance. He can think of answers to those questions, but they don’t sit well with him. An answer to why she might be so familiar with Eris supposing they’ve spoken less than a handful of times. A certainty she must have possessed to take the risk that isn’t one she would have from that little contact. And if she’s hiding how much contact she might’ve had with him…
She was already hiding her magic from them…then there’s the prophecy too. Bas, and the illness. Why were these things she hadn’t mentioned? He can understand the recent silence, but why not before…? Regardless of immediate relevance, it shows she’s prone to secret-keeping.
Azriel eases in a steadying breath, descending into a calm, cold mental state. Sinking into indifferent objectivity.
She isn’t stupid. Far from it, having spent so much time in the library, where there’s all kinds of information just ripe for the picking. And Eris isn’t stupid, either. If he saw a weak spot, he’d go for it. And if Eris went for her, would she be able to resist something she was unable to see for what it truly was?
Azriel’s skin goes a little cold, reminded of the prophecy.
He will die, and it will be by her hand.
He supposes he can only control how much impact it will have on those around him. If Eris has managed to wrap her up in some slow-moving scheme…but that’s just speculation. Still, his instincts are telling him something is wrong with the narrow wooden box, one that must have come from Eris. A box fashioned like those to hold weapons. From Eris. To the female who will kill him.
He should ask her what it is.
Azriel would’ve shaken his head if those habits hadn’t been crushed out of him centuries ago. He can’t just ask her if she’s planning to kill him.
But it would allow a chance for her to explain what’s in the weapon case.
But it would alert her to his knowing about the blade inside her bag. She’d wanted to hide her magic from the start, and earlier she’d mentioned she’d gotten further…how much further? If it’s magic any similar to Nesta’s, it would be unwise to have a confrontation here, alone. Still within Autumn Court territory.
But it would be more dangerous to bring her back to Velaris. To bring her back into the beating heart of the Night Court where her detonation would be fatal.
Azriel blinks, and returns back into the waning light of day—it’ll soon be night.
What can he do, really? If he’s destined to die….who is he to try and get in the way of the Mother? Would he kill her to save his own life? Is that what he would do in order to live a little longer, before a new threat looms to end him? He wants to kill her no more than he desires his own death.
But if it came down to it…what would he choose?
His shadows observe her silently, as they had been throughout his internal struggle. He focuses on what he can see, discarding the lens of suspicion that’s been embedded in him as Spymaster, centuries of limited trust having an impact on his mind.
All he sees is a young woman walking through a dark forest, following him off the pathway.
Internally, he sighs—there always seems to be a constant flow of problems as of late, and peace seems to be persistently remaining just out of reach. A few more years, and then there will be peace; a few more political aggressions to navigate, and then they can rest; just one more person to heal, and then they can be happy. When will the peace truly arrive, though? Is it all wishful thinking? An imagined utopia that will make every sin he’s committed acceptable? Is it just his mind finding more excuses to justify the things he’s done in the name of protecting his family and court?
She’s just one more disturbance, keeping peace from settling.
Azriel swallows, thinking heavily. Even if she was out of the way, there would still be everything else to deal with. Will this problem be the last one, or will a new threat fall in to fill the space of the old one? Hasn’t it been long enough, by now? Hasn’t he done enough?
Shadows check on her again, her head hanging silently, those once bright eyes dull and dark as they follow numbly in his footsteps. The female with whom he’d spent so many afternoons with discussing things in the library…where is she? Is he at fault for her disappearance?
Closing his eyes briefly to relieve the ache that’s been slowly building just below his brows, he allows himself to ponder.
Is it pointless to try and salvage their relationship?
Would it be better if she did kill him?
————
The storm clouds have gathered, full and swollen with rain and thunder. No lightening though. Lightening would suggest some kind of magnificence, and there’s nothing magnificent about the cool temperature of your blood, nor the dull buzz in the back of your mind. The overwhelming grey of your surroundings as you emerge from the tunnel.
The air is drier in the Night Court, you vaguely realise. No dampness nor humidity that you’d grown subconsciously accustomed to from less than a week’s stay in Autumn. A small break of sunshine between the dismay grey you’d all grown so accustomed to for the first few months of the year, back when you were human. Weak, fallible humans, but simpler. Quiet and peaceful, even if that silence was from the constant prowl of starvation. It had been easier to bear.
You don’t wait to see if Azriel will try to speak again once he’s flown the both of you back up to the House of Wind, silently turning your back to trace the familiar halls of the House, moving without awareness, muscle memory guiding you down the corridors, past the tables littered with napkins and cutlery, past the shelves displaying pale crockery and silver chalices, past the chest with a few discarded daggers atop, arrowheads littered haphazardly across the surface as if someone had cast them down carelessly.
The room is greyer than you remember, too tidy to be a lived in space, but it has those reminders—the gifts you were given, and you absently touch your earlobe, squeezing it between your finger and thumb.
Azriel pauses at the threshold, taking the bag off his shoulder. Does he know you sold the earrings? Those pretty, pretty earrings? Probably some of the nicest things you could have believed to be your own.
They must be getting tired by now. All of them.
Blonde hair and sparkling eyes pass dully through your mind, and your heart dies a little more, understanding how you’ve ruined the small blessing. There’s no coming back from what you’ve done—not without significant work, at least, and you’re so tired. In your bones, in your eyes, in your mind. You’ve lived through a lot, but thanks to immortality, you have no choice but to live through more. A body being dragged through the mud, carried towards a grave that was never dug.
Azriel’s mouth is moving, has been moving since he removed the bag from his shoulder, but you haven’t been hearing. Mind too tired and numb to manage focus, grasping only basic colours and lines.
He’s looking at you, and you’re looking back, but not into his eyes. His words pass through your mind meaninglessly, and you wonder if you’re real. A strange pressure is wrapping its tingling fingers around your skull, squeezing like you’re wearing a hat that’s a little too tight. It will take a lot of work to fix what you’ve done. A lot of work you can’t manage. A debt that deepens faster than you can repay it. A sink draining faster than you can fill it. Blood cooling faster than you can stop it.
Maybe it would be better to let it cool, for a while.
————
Azriel doesn’t feel comfortable leaving her in the House alone, with that dull look in her eyes.
He had planned to fly back down to the River House, to let Rhys and Feyre know she was back, and she was safe, to give her some space maybe for an hour or so to let her get her bearings again. Not too long alone, though. That look hadn’t been bright. Instead he ends up slumping into one of the boney, wooden chairs in the kitchen, the House already brewing two cups of tea. He reaches out for Rhys, mentally feeling for the hidden bridge kept open. He finds it almost immediately, and an icy wind slams into him in greeting. Cold, swift, and perfectly telling to his brother’s current temperament.
You’re back.
Azriel bites back on the cringe at the ice in his High Lord’s voice—belying fury. He should have put together Rhys would be furious for Feyre, too, for stirring up this kind of stress for his mate.
She’s with me. How is Feyre?
More furious than I am, though I doubt she’ll show you.
There’s a pause, and Azriel steadies himself.
How is she?
It would be good for her to have company. Preferably in the River House, but if not, then having people up here. This time Azriel pauses, before adding, I think the ward on her room should be removed. So she’ll be able to hear that people are around, should she need them.
He’s met with silence, and Azriel wonders if Rhys is repeating the message back to Feyre, or if he’s simply that furious. A small part of him feels resentment at the constant speculation, that if the matter had been left between him and her then it wouldn’t have gotten so blown out of proportion.
We’ll be up in ten minutes, comes the clipped reply, before the mental bridge is severed. Leaving Azriel no choice but to wait in silence. It will likely be Rhys and Feyre coming up then—knowing she isn’t ready to see all of them so suddenly, though they’ve yet to learn where she’s been.
Feyre will go and speak to her sister.
And Rhys will be the one to speak to him.
What a mess.
The tea has a few minutes left of brewing, and he wonders if the House will demand he be the one to take the mug to her, or if it will be delivered on its own. He’s not sure she would appreciate being disturbed right now.
As if his thoughts summoned her however, he hears quiet footsteps out in one of the hallways, reaching his sharp ears even through the closed doors and secure walls. He listens carefully, but she seems to just be pacing around, not coming toward him, or even really going in any particular direction. They pause, the silence heavy, and Azriel pays full attention. Another minute passes, then another, and another, but he couldn’t have missed those familiar footfalls.
After a fourth minute, he hears them again, ever so slightly heavier than before, and then they cut off abruptly. Sound sliced in two as she closes the door to her room.
Azriel glances over to the brewing tea, then blinks when he realises the House has set it on the table within reach. Just one cup, made with milk and sugar—not the way he likes it.
Looking over to the countertop, his mug remains steeping, steam trailing up from the hot liquid. The House seems to be demanding he take her the tea now.
Azriel shifts in his chair. It isn’t a good idea to disturb her again. He’s trying to give her at least these few minutes to herself, before Feyre arrives with Rhys—and that’s a conversation that might very well stretch hours. There’s a lot to discuss, after all. She’ll need her energy, and he’s probably the last person she wants to—
The mug slams down on the table before him, hot liquid spilling over with the force that it was dropped onto the surface.
He stiffens, watching the mug tensely as if the House might spill it onto his lap. The liquid ripples in the mug, splashing from side to side for longer than it should, before reluctantly calming.
Blowing out a breath, Azriel wraps his hand around the mug’s handle, reluctantly standing from the kitchen table.
If the House is being so adamant about giving her the cup, then he supposes he’ll just have to follow.
He still finds it a little strange, how the House came alive after Nesta lived inside it.
————
Silence hums in your ears, so quiet.
You’ve caused them so much trouble. Irreparably ruined your ties to the people you hadn’t wanted to hinder.
Silently, quietly, you move the bag to your bed, able to even hear the stretch of fabric as you raise it from the unnaturally clean floorboards. Opening it, you begin pulling the first thing you see out—the orange scarf form Autumn that has some small crumbs tucked between its folds, smelling faintly of pastry and something damp. One piece at a time, you make the slow trek to and form the wardrobe, feet unfeeling as they tread numbly across the smooth grain of the wood, mindlessly repeating the to and fro, the mechanical movements of unaware motion, folding fabric and hiding it away.
Your fingers bump the box, surprised by the hard collision, having expected to find more fabric, but are instead confronted by the narrow, wooden box. Use it wisely, written on the note in a neat and elegant script. Raising it from the bag, you sit down, hands resting over the surface before slipping your fingers into the indentations for ease of opening, cracking it open to find what’s inside. Eyes ease across the narrow length of wood tucked inside, the softly flared end for it to whistle through the sky.
The world disappears around you as you fall into thought, suctioned inwards by a gentle riptide as you dissolve into your mind. Imagining the blank look in Mor’s eyes when she finds out what you’ve done to her, the wall that will rise up as she sections you off from her life, rightly so, brings a quiet kind of sadness into your chest. A longing that has been numbed and dulled, desaturated by hopelessness. Imagining the dinners, voices chatting merrily around you but never at you, the way she won’t look at you. They are all immortal, and their disgust will reflect their lifespan.
You’ll be stuck. Endlessly dragging you feet after them in attempts to make amends. Stumbling and fumbling carelessly trying to make reparations, but smashing more pieces in your frantic hurry to clean the mess you’ve made. Gazing up from the pit of a well as the icy water slowly drains in, the small pin-prick of daylight so far above there’s no hope even trying to scale the wall. It would be more honourable to drown.
To wipe yourself from memory.
It would be better, you understand. To snuff out your own dwindling light, than force the trouble on them of bearing your sputtering flame.
You walk out into the hallway, quietly, silently. Passing the table with napkins and cutlery set, past the shelves with crockery and cups, past the chest with dull steel and blunt arrowheads. Passing further along, until you pause before the large mirror that’s mounted on the wall. You peer dully into the reflection, deciding to look upon and assign shape to name for what’s been causing all these problems. To see what they think of when burdens are mentioned, to understand where the impatience is directed.
You peer higher, the reflection skewed as you meet your own eyes in the blade’s polished steel, held above the mirror’s frame.
Time warps, and you look through the drawers. A few daggers, some unused sketchbooks, a piece of yellow wool, a ball of string. You check the second draw. Some folded napkins, more arrowheads, a shard of porcelain, a thimble, a discarded marble. You check the third draw. Some salts, spices, dried leaves, matching Illyrian blades, pots of ink, a copper coin. You check the fourth draw. Crisp bedsheets, off-white pillowcases, a dented metal mug, a small container of some kind, one arrowhead, a crossbow.
You return to your room with the ball of string and the empty crossbow.
Swallowed in the silence of the bedroom, hidden behind the wards.
The snare is easy to set up, directions still vivid in your mind and for a few short moments, you allow yourself to settle into the certainty of following through with those instructions. Encountering a bit of trouble with how to keep the tension of the string with no earth, but your mind works quickly, weighing the string taut with the one book from your shelf, and a square box containing a mechanical universe. Making sure the string is just tight enough so the faintest touch will snap the tension loose.
You glance at the string on the floor, eyes catching on the small painting on your desk.
You slot the arrow into the crossbow with a satisfying click.
The ash stings your fingertips.
You stand with your back to the door, facing the crossbow head on. Your heart bleeds a little, tears at last dripping slowly down your cheeks, but it will be better this way. Easing in a deep breath, you relax into that feeling deep in your chest that’s telling you this is the right thing to do. It was always going to happen, there was never a path you could have taken that wouldn’t have lead you to this one way or another. It’s a feeling almost like relief: there’s finally a way out.
One perfect, swift, execution. An ash arrow to your heart, splitting the muscle and ending its relentless beat. Your breathing increases to a stuttering pulse before calming, and you swallow, glancing to the windows. You know you’ll cause a mess.
Fingers open the latch to the window, fresh air gently rolling in, and your breathing stutters again. You’ll be irrevocably gone.
Peering about the bedroom, one you hadn’t felt was truly your own, but had stayed long enough to begin putting down roots—the bookmark laying beneath the pendant on the desk beside the painting, the jigsaw still wrapped in a bow beneath the bed, the sealed nail polish and briefly used lip tint within the cupboard. Sobs shudder through your chest strangely.
A part of you doesn’t want to leave yet.
A small, human part, that still fears solitude despite your chosen loneliness.
You step toward the book, body caving in, heart collapsing in on itself, the emotive feeling similar to the convulsions you’ve experienced after vomiting. A vacuum hidden inside of your chest, finally imploding. You should end it now.
The door creaks behind you, and you flinch from terror at someone witnessing your vulnerability.
Hazel eyes meet your own, at once scanning the room out of habit, and those lovely eyes widen as you recoil on instinct, foot knocking into the book.
————
Given the pleasure of time, he had been allowed to ponder the impossible question: to choose between his death and her own, each equally impossible. How is anyone to make a choice like that?
But, caught in between precious moments, there’s no time for thought or debate. It’s easy to declare gallantry, to flippantly comfort a companion with those easy words—I’d take an arrow for you.—but it’s an entirely different matter when the arrow is whistling straight toward them.
And yet before the mug has even hit the floor, he feels the familiar, burning pain as the arrow pierces through his flesh, slicing him open as the wrongness bleeds into him, swiftly poisoning his blood, draining the inherent magic from his body.
————
You stare up into wide hazel eyes, agony etched across his delicate features, the very tip of the arrow lightly piercing your skin from where it’s shot straight through him, caught in his flesh.
He groans lowly, his weight falling more heavily on your shoulders where his hands had grabbed you to switch your positions, and you’re helpless as his knees give out from pain, dragging you down with him as he collides with the ground.
Horror pounds through your body, heart beating a thousand times a second until it’s risen into your throat, hands shaking violently as you try to hold him steady, stinging with the burning heat of blood from his side.
Mother murder you.
“Az,” you stammer hoarsely, staring at his twisted features, brow furrowed deeply, breathing ragged as it puffs against your skin. The familiar scent of blood filtrates through your system, undiluted and metallic, and he’s dying he’s dying he’s dying—
His hand weakly grasps the back of your neck, grabbing your attention as your hands fumble, trembling with uncertainty and despair, fingertips beginning to sizzle as panic floods your veins, tossed into the rapids, utterly out of control as your mind unravels, regret stabbing through your heart.
His lips are moving but your ears are ringing, itches burning at your skin, a streaking noise piercing through your head like the screaming from those bloody fields. He’s speaking and you try to read his lips, but your eyes aren’t focusing, tears blurring your vision as sobs heave in and out of your chest, burning at your throat and lungs. You had tried to stop it! You were so close to preventing it!
Your hand settles on his cheek, already feeling cool beneath your burning, burning, glowing—
Feyre and Rhys, his lips form, and you shake. Eyes scanning his features frenetically. His own flick to the door, and you understand them to be here? You stare at him helplessly, hopelessly—it won’t matter how you scream or cry for them, not even if you bled your throat raw. The ward against noise that you’d been so thankful for, that Feyre had given in attempts to help, to remedy a wrong.
Something so small, yet so immoveable. Impossible to defeat. Felled by your own, stupid need—
He’s going to die.
Neither you nor Azriel have a second to prepare as the power wells up inside of you with the force of a damn broken loose, that internal wall shattering entirely, blown to bits as you feel the staggering pressure swallow your brain, crushing in intensity at the rapid division of cells, splitting atoms colliding as the explosion blows you apart.
Brilliant green light detonates, silence settling for a second before the noise crushes back down, the room blown to pieces.
The ground shakes beneath you, floorboards cracking and splintering as a hole is torn through the side of the House, tearing through the wards as the noise thunders above the city, sweeping across Prythian with the force of the Cauldron that had torn down the Wall.
One final surge of magic before the life is taken from his body.
Pain lacerates through your figure as something fundamental cracks open inside of you, all at once draining the agony that had beens steadily building up, all of it gushing out, skin resplendent with a sickening golden-green light, radiating your flesh.
Then you collapse, falling into the pool of steadily cooling blood surrounding Azriel’s body.
The prophecy having come to fulfilment.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
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cold enough to chill my bones.
a roronoa zoro drabble !
pairing : zoro x gn!reader, teasing frenemies to ???
genre : fluff, romance, they like each other but aren't dating...yet.
warnings : not any i can think of! if you find anything alarming then lmk :)
author's note : enjoy this quick drabble while you wait for the first chapter of the zoro series!! and also i got the idea to make after i got almost sick last night- maybe zoro is a bit of ooc? idk i just love the idea of him being a menace while flirting but not knowing what to do when someone flirts back at him lololol let me know what you think ! <3
word count : 1k
Despite the sun almost blinding you as it set, the sky turning into shades of deep pink intertwined with light purple and hints of yellowish orange, you felt cold.
Naturally, you'd always been the type to get cold easily, quite literally. Before even the harsh winters used to begin, you'd be getting the chills amid the warm autumn.
Though. it was beneficial when it was the blazing summer and you were always not on the brink of dying due to the immense heat as your cooler hands and feet made you more comfortable.
But today, it was a bane to your existence as your teeth chattered as you sat down on the lounging chair in the middle of the ship, trying to rub your hands to bring life back to them.
“Seems like someone can’t even take the fall breeze huh?”
The familiar voice taunted you and you didn’t even need to look at him to know he was probably smirking as he looked down at you.
Sighing in annoyance, you faced Zoro and clicked your tongue when you were right about him smirking.
It was a tad bit distracting though, especially since he looked too…attractive than you’d like to admit.
“If you’re here to taunt me then leave me be.”
“The weather is annoying enough anyways, I don’t need another nuisance.” Not wanting to entertain him today, you turned your back towards him and faced the sunset.
Too bad it was such a beauty but your body wasn’t allowing you to just simply be in bliss to enjoy it.
Suddenly you felt a heavy weight on your shoulders, which took you by surprise as you flinched to stand up and yelped loudly.
“Calm down idiot, it’s just a jacket,” Zoro said as it was his turn to roll his eyes,
“For the record, I didn’t come to ‘annoy’ you as you said which is quite ironic coming from you but I saw you shivering like a drenched cat,”
“So me being the considerate person I am,” You scoffed at his humble attitude which he chose to ignore, “I’ll let you wear my jacket for the time being.”
Honestly, you were confused. Zoro was a confusing man you‘d concluded. Since the time you’d joined the crew, he’d been confusing you by saying something different, different as in finding every way to taunt you but then he’d be nice as a true gentleman with his actions.
Like right now for example.
So ultimately, you were confused about how to thank him.
“Uh…thank you?” You’d thought it was best to just say it, figuring it was enough as you pushed your arms throughout the black clothing that was a tad bit larger than you.
Of course, it was larger near the shoulders, enough to fit almost two of you inside.
“That’s it? That’s how you thank me? You know I almost saved you from I don’t know shivering to death here?”
You sighed, now in exhaustion at his over-exaggeration, it wasn’t like if he hadn’t helped, you’d have not gotten up yourself and gone into the kitchen since it was usually always warmer as Sanji was always cooking something and the heat was always bubbling there.
He tsked at your sighing and supposedly unappreciative attitude, ready to go on a rant about how people nowadays never appreciated the little things and whatever.
When suddenly you got an idea.
“-sometimes even if a gesture may be less, you should sti-” You shut him up by leaning forward, on your tiptoes and pulled him by his yellow shirt closer to you, landing your lips on his surprisingly soft ones.
That oughta shut him up.
You pulled away in about three seconds, eyes shut as you just relished how soft they were and how right you’d been about them being like this from the countless times you’d imagined kissing him.
When you pulled away, you saw something you didn’t think you’d have seen anytime soon.
Zoro was red, a bit wide-eyed as he stared at you, not speaking another word, his cheeks highlighted with a blush that was familiar to you in a way it was something you’d always experience whenever you’d check him out for too long.
“Sooo is that enough for a thank you?” You smirked at him tauntingly, thriving in the way he was speechless, happy he could feel how you felt at times when he decided to shamelessly be a menace, a cute one, at that.
“Now if you excuse me, I have some work to do.” Turning around, you didn’t say anything else as you tried to hide your giggles recalling his comical expression of astonishment.
“YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT!” After a few moments of gathering his thoughts, Zoro was able to form a proper reaction.
“I deserve more than a peck! Kiss me like you mean it-” You burst out into giggles now at the way he was whining as you shook your head abruptly turning around to face him when he began to follow you.
“For that you have to earn your way to it!” You mocked him, pocking your tongue out as he glared at you, now crossing his arms.
“Are you seriously messing around with the Roronoan Zoro, demon pirate hunter?”
You rolled your eyes at his seemingly serious tone but you knew he was playing into the little thing you’d created as his lips twitched, trying to hide his grin.
You grinned widely at him, now your dimples peaking out,
“Ohh if you are the pirate hunter, you’ll have to catch me first to get your treasure!”
As cheesy and cringy as it was, you caught him off guard as you turned around and ran, figuring the place to run to was likely the kitchen in the confined space you had.
“HEY! Now you’re just cheating!” You heard him shout behind to which caused more giggles,which left your cheeks aching from how widely you’d been smiling.
Admittedly, the once cold you’d been feeling was now replaced by the warmth unknowingly yet knowingly caused by the oh-so-famous pirate hunter.
Maybe he did deserve a proper thank you afterall huh?
all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri.do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest. I don't own any of the characters from the movie, rightfully belonging to One Piece creators and the Netflix franchise and also this is a fictional work, not relating to any of the cast in real life.
writingmeraki Ⓒ 2023
#[ pri works ]#one piece#roronoa zoro#zoro#zoro x reader#zoro roronoa x reader#zoro roronoa#zoro x you#one piece fanfiction#one piece live action#one piece ff#zoro fanfiction#zoro ff#one piece zoro#x female reader#x male reader#x gn reader#zoro drabbles#zoro opla#roronoa zoro x reader#opla#opla fanfiction
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spaghetti straps - r. shidou ࿐
warnings: 2.4k; fem-bodied reader, coercion, reader wants to fuck more than she’d like to admit, shidou is a little annoying, shidou can lift and hold you (he stronk athlete), dirty talk, semi-public sex, a little plot, p in v, creampie
note: hi! (✿◠‿◠) my first shidou fic (finally) and my contribution to @saintshiba’s sundress szn collab! truly hope everybody enjoys my take on him cause i am so obsessed with him. banner manga cap colored by moi! plspls let me know what you think of my writing! feedback means a lot (≧◡≦)
You aren’t used to wearing things other than your typical track shorts and t-shirts, never one for fashion or dressing up, though you admire anyone who enjoys that kind of stuff.
But it’s summer, and it’s hot, and you’re at a beach house with some friends. Pulling a cotton shirt and shorts on and off over a wet bathing suit is simply not it, so for this weekend you’ve decided to pack sundresses instead of your usual attire.
It’s been 2 days and all the stares you’ve been getting from the guys are still weird, most of confusion and/or surprise, but there are a couple friends, specifically one infuriating, blond-haired insect of a man, who is very obvious in the way he looks at you, magenta eyes half-lidded, salacious smirk stretching across his lips. It’s maddening, made even worse by the fact that he already knows what you’re hiding under your little sundress.
“The yellow suits you,” Shidou purrs in your ear in the kitchen, and you feel one of his fingers wiggle underneath the thin shoulder strap of your bikini top. “Goes nice with the purple suit.”
“Too bad none of it’s for you,” you grumble, trying not to pay him much attention.
He isn’t so much your ex-boyfriend as much as your ex-mistake, a fuck buddy you had the misfortune of catching feelings for only for him to let you down gently. Or, as gently as someone like Shidou could manage.
I still wanna fuck you, though, he had told you thoughtlessly. It’s better than nothing for you, right?
You had immediately cut things off, both hurt and offended that he just assumed his dick would be enough to keep you around. That you were so desperate for him that you would just take what you could get.
No, you hadn’t quite reached that level of infatuation.
You’re still a little bitter about it, a little embarrassed, but you’re also irritated, especially since he insists on coming onto you even now.
“Who’s it for then, hm?” he asks, bending down enough for his breath to hit your neck. It gives you goosebumps. It also makes you squirm away from him.
“For me. ‘Cause it’s easy and breezy.”
“And beautiful… cover girl,” he quotes. You fight not to laugh. “But really, the dresses look good on you. You should let me take some pictures…” he wiggles his eyebrows. “More for my private collection.”
You make a face of disgust. “Ugh, you haven’t deleted those yet?” The thought of him having all kinds of lewd photos of you both disturbs and excites you. Does that mean he still uses them?
“Why would I delete such quality content?”
Narrowing your eyes at him, you threaten, “if you post those anywhere, I’ll kill you.”
Shidou grins crookedly. “Kinky.”
With an exasperated huff, you walk away.
~*~
Even with crazy, windblown hair and covered in sweat, you can still sense Shidou watching you. It makes your already heated skin burn even hotter.
Currently you’re situated under an umbrella, just scrolling on your phone while all the guys play a game of beach volleyball. If it can even be called that. They should definitely stick to soccer.
You aren’t surprised when Shidou plops down next to you, dusting up some sand so that it powders your bare thighs.
“White today,” he comments, picking at the hem of your short dress.
All you offer is a noncommittal, “mm,” gritting your teeth at the feeling of his fingertips grazing your skin.
“Makes you look innocent,” he continues. “Which we both know is a lie.”
“Shidou, please drop it. Admire from afar if you have to, but—”
“Miss when you used to call me Ryu.” He nuzzles into your shoulder, inhaling deeply, and when you try to shrug him off, you feel his teeth against your skin. He doesn’t bite hard, but it’s enough to anchor him to you.
“Ryu!” you squeal, shoving his face away.
“Just like that,” he grins before mimicking you ‘Ryu’. “Used to scream my name like that when I’d fuck you real good.”
“God, you are insufferable!”
He’s also turning you on, much to your disappointment. Hand slowly slipping under your dress, a small nibble to your earlobe.
“I know all your spots, baby. Just give in. You know you want to.” He’s using that seductive voice that always makes your breath quicken and your eyes dilate. Everything is brighter even with your sunglasses.
“See, you’re already spreading your legs for me.”
He’s right. Your knees aren’t pressed together anymore, leaving a gap between your thighs.
“There are people around, Ryuusei,” you tell him sternly, a last ditch effort to spur his advances.
You aren’t the least bit surprised when his only counter is a petulant, “so?”
His hand slides up further until his fingers brush against your covered pussy, and you bite your lip, ashamed that you’ve let him get to you like this.
“Sand,” you whine. “Don’t want…”
He hums in consideration then turns onto his back, rolling and propelling himself straight to his feet in one fluid motion. Annoying.
“To the showers, then,” he says, pulling you up.
He ignores your mumbling as he leads you to the little shower, on the beach for the purpose of rinsing sand off of sticky bodies. A little blue curtain is all that will block you from view. You’re supposed to keep your bathing suits on after all.
The water pressure isn’t strong, but it is enough to get the sand off both of you. You swear out loud as you pull your bottoms off. The dress is staying on; there’s no way you’re getting entirely naked. Shidou, on the other hand, shamelessly pushes his trunks all the way off, letting them pool on the wooden plans right next to yours.
You gasp when he suddenly spins you around, finding the strings of your top and tugging them loose.
“Get this shit off.”
He yanks the material over your head, turning you to face him again, and groans when he looks down at your chest. With your white dress entirely soaked, your hard nipples show through the sheerness. Shidou immediately starts groping you, his head falling back like he’s already on the verge of cumming just from playing with your tits.
It feels good, his palms rubbing over your sensitive buds before he pinches each one. You’d rather skip the foreplay, though, eager to have something inside you while also nervous about being caught.
To move things along you reach between your legs, running your middle finger between your folds and hating yourself for how wet you are. Like you’d said the other day, water makes a terrible lube, but if you’re already ridiculously slick, it doesn’t really matter.
You slip two fingers into your hole and scissor them apart, well aware that it’d be unwise to take Shidou without any prep. His cock is too pretty, something to be proud of, and he is. It’s thick and long, fat mushroom shaped head perfect for dragging against your walls.
“Yeah, you want it now, don’t ya?” he teases.
“Don’t push your luck.” It’s meant to be a warning, but you’re too breathless for it to have any weight.
Shidou abandons your chest in order to guide your hand away from yourself, replacing it with his own and fucking you with his longer fingers. He hikes one of your legs up, holding it to his hip, and as he stretches you out, he ruts his pelvis forward.
“Okay, I’m good,” you tell him. “I’m good, I’m ready.”
“Oh? Baby girl all cock hungry now?”
“Ryuuu,” you whine, grinding down on his hand.
“Only ‘cause you’re making such pretty sounds for me.”
He grabs your other leg, hoisting you up with the strength gained from years of dedicated workouts. You shift in his grasp until you feel the tip of his cock rub against your cunt. The amount of times the two of you have fucked, you know each others bodies well, and it’s almost second nature for you to guide him into your hole without the use of your hands.
Your mouth hangs open as he slides inside, the muscles in Shidou’s arms straining as he lowers you on his cock. You’re relying on him entirely. He’ll be in control as he supports you, and you’ll be completely helpless.
He doesn’t ask if you’re ready, if you’ve braced yourself, just starts bouncing you up and down. His fingers dig into the fat of your thighs, definitely creating bruises, and you steady yourself by tangling fingers in his hair. He’s so fucking hot like this, water running down his toned frame, blonde strands plastered to his face.
The way that you’re gripping his hair pushes his face into your tits, and Shidou groans like a porn star, lapping up the droplets that cover your chest.
Short moans are forced out if you with every bounce. Hn, hn, hn until Shidou starts moving you more aggressively and your jaw drops. Ah, ah, ah.
“Missed this sweet pussy,” Shidou pants. “Take my dick so good. Think she missed me too.”
You’re not a huge fan of him personifying your literal vagina, but you’re too far gone to chastise him for it. In fact, you agree, nodding and huffing, “I do, I do…”
His thrusts are shallow because of the position, but he still feels so good as he bullies your soft, gummy walls. The way you’re wrapped around him has your hard clit rubbing against his pelvis, the coarse hairs at the base of his cock beginning to rub you raw in a delicious way. You always did like a little pain with your pleasure, and Shidou is amazing at delivering just that.
“Really should open this curtain. Let everyone see how gorgeous you look getting fucked like this.”
“Don’t you dare,” you gasp.
“You sure? You don’t wanna put on a show for the guys? I bet they’d all get jealous.”
“Ryu, please!”
He bites the top of one of your tits then relents, rolling his striking eyes. “Fine.” His thick eyelashes are dripping with water, so pretty. “But only if you cum for me.”
You wouldn’t be able to if he hadn’t been fucking you so perfectly, cockhead massaging your g-spot, clit now overstimulated.
“Think you can do that for me, sweetness?”
You nod. “Are… are you close too?”
“‘’m always close when I’m fucking you,” he tells you. “Just looking at you gets me hard.”
Vulgar but flattering.
“You want me inside? Stuff this pussy full of cum?”
“Nnng, pleeease.”
You shouldn’t let him, shouldn’t reward him after how much he’s annoyed you on this vacation. But you love the feeling of him dripping out of you, thick and warm, enough to spill down your thighs. If you weren’t on birth control, you would never. As it is…
“Alright, cum for me then,” he commands. “Wanna feel your cunt milk me.”
Heat spreads from your pussy to the place between your hips, pooling into your tummy and traveling to your toes.
“Oh god, Ryu,” you sob, “I’m… don’t stop…”
He spreads his legs, squatting slightly so that his thighs can support some of your weight as he quickly rocks back and forth, his fat cock pistoning in and out of your spasming hole.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“m’gonna blow,” Shidou huffs. “Gonna fill you up… take my cum, baby, take all of it.”
It’s a subtle sensation, him spilling inside of you. You can’t feel every individual rope of cum, but you can feel your pussy getting fuller and fuller, stretching you even further. And then, you can feel it begin to leak out of you, coating Shidou’s cock as he pulls out until only his tip remains inside of you.
“Still as good as I remember,” he remarks, lifting you until he slips out of you before setting you back on wobbly legs.
He’s right, unfortunately. The best lay you’ve ever had.
“It was… nice,” you mumble regretfully. “Glad we’re already in a shower.”
“Convenient. Since you always get so messy,” he smirks.
“Because you make me messy.”
“I take that as a compliment.”
You rinse off the slimy fluid dripping down the insides of your legs, retrieve your bathing suit from the ground. The bottoms are easy enough to wiggle back into, but you have to ask Shidou for help with your top.
“You look so good without it, though, he says, but when you cast him a glare, he concedes. “Fine.”
As he ties it back around you, you can’t help but ask, “is it just the sundresses that did it for you? You like them that much?”
“I mean, I do like little dresses like this,” he confirms, trailing his hands down your ribs and pulling you back into him. “But anything you wear gets my dick hard. My jerseys, pajamas, your boring t-shirts n’ shit.”
“Boring but comfy.”
“And still sexy cause you’re the one wearing ‘em.”
Your stomach flutters in a familiar way, butterflies accompanied by dread. “Careful. You’re starting to sound awfully sweet, Ryu.”
You feel him shrug, his arms locked around you and his lips pressed to the skin behind your ear.
“What can I say? I missed you.”
You can’t even formulate a response to that, refusing to get your hopes up. The vacation will be over soon, and Shidou will go back to being a fuckboy. You’re not about to let him hurt you again.
So you shake your head and step out of his arms then bend down to grab his swim trunks off the ground.
“Put your pants back on,” you sigh, and, taking a page out of his book, you leave him with a casualness that you hope will mess with his head in the coming days. Just like this whole encounter is sure to mess with yours.
2023©️shidou-x. please do not plagiarize, edit, or share my work to any other platforms.
#shidou ryuusei x reader#shidou ryuusei smut#shidou x reader#shidou smut#bllk x reader#sundressszncollab
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Taking Deuce To Build-A-Bear
Reader/Yuu is female
Masterlist
“Come on, handsome,” you beam at your boyfriend, laughter lacing your words as you tug his arm forwards into the mall and lead the way to your mystery location. Deuce chuckles fondly at your enthusiasm, finding your youthful joy absolutely adorable. The pure elation glowing on your countenance makes it impossible for him to even think about suppressing his smile (not that he would ever dare to).
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he smiles back at you, letting you drag him around your homeworld without a care in the world. Right now he’s too busy relishing in the fuzzy warmth that the comfort your hand clasped in his brings. He did ask you where you were taking him when you had first started this outing but your only reply was a cheeky grin, placing a finger on your mouth as you mischievously whispered, “it’s a secret.”
He didn’t really care where this date was, honestly. All he knows is that if only the thought of it makes you this happy then he can be patient. With that lambent smile, you could push him off a cliff and he’d die a happy man.
“Alright,” your voice cuts in through his thoughts. He looks at you and sees you buzzing with excitement, bouncing on your feet as your eyes sparkle with eagerness, “we’re here. Ta da!”
His eyes follow the length of your arm to see what you were gesturing towards and he finds himself looking at a technicoloured store with vibrant crimsons and sunflower yellows dancing along the exterior. Inside of a large, brightly lit window, he could see a display table exhibiting an array of smiling stuffed animals all dressed in colourful clothes. With its lively music, toddler picture book-esque vibe and majority population of children that appeared to be under twelve, he had the feeling that this wasn’t the type of place two teenagers would go on a date.
“Is this,” he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, looking at your still beaming face with the expression of someone who hadn’t quite caught on the punchline of a joke, “are we at a toy store?”
“‘A toy store?’” you repeated with mock outrage, “it’s not just ‘a toy store’. It’s Build-A-Bear Workshop! Where best friends are made! I’ll have you know, handsome, that in this world, entry into such a respected and renowned institution is a rite of passage, a coming of age if you will.”
He couldn’t help but feel amusement at your giddiness and he didn’t even think about resisting the urge to wrap an arm around your shoulder and bring you closer to him so that he can press a loving kiss onto your forehead, the giggle he receives in return makes him want to do it again but, with all of the willpower he can muster, he says, “Alright then. So I guess this is where our date is then?”
“Yep,” you respond with a chirp, “I thought that it would be really cute if we made teddy bears and dressed them up. I passed by here the other day and I thought of you. So, do you like it?”
“To be honest, I’m not really sure what ‘it’ is,” he admits with an embarrassed smile, “but if it makes you happy then it makes me happy.”
The resolution in his words made you smile and you pecked him on the cheek. After taking a moment to appreciate the pink that blossomed across his face, you took his hand and pulled him into the store.
“So the point of Build-A-Bear is to choose a teddy that you want, make it nice and cuddly and fluffy, take part in a Frankenstein-esque reanimation ritual and then name it and dress it up so it’s nice and warm.”
“Alright,” he nods once and then pauses, “wait, what was the one in the middle?”
“Make it nice and cuddly and fluffy,” you respond, “now, here’s our selection. Do you have any preferences?”
He surveys the wall in front of him, taking in the sight of smiling stuffed animals and the rows of unstuffed plushies that filled the baskets, “I’m not really sure.”
“That’s alright, we’ll figure it out,” you say, “did you have any teddies when you were younger.”
“Well,” his cheeks darkened as he looked away from your expectantly smiling face, “I had a stuffed white rabbit when I was little but I quit playing with it when I was like seven. To be honest, I kind of like those big stuffed animals you get in toy stores but I’ve never really been able to ask anyone.”
You make a mental note to ask his mother to send you as many baby Deuce pictures as she can and then you also make another one to take this boy to IKEA so that you could introduce him to and purchase the perfection that is the blahaj™.
“Well, the ones here are all the same size but the rabbit thing I can work with,” you reach into a basket and take out some fleecy brown cloth, “the brown bunny is a classic. What do you think?”
He held the tan material in his hands, letting the warm and fluffy fabric gently rub between his thumb and fingers, and glanced at its stuffed counterpart on the display shelf. It was so soft and loveable, so much like you that he had to accept it, “I love it.”
“Perfect,” you grin and take another for yourself,“now, onwards, to the hazing.”
“The what?”
You bring him to the next station where a lady wearing a white shirt and cobalt blue apron with a cartoon bear on it was sitting beside a large blue and yellow machine with a big window showing heaps and heaps of fluffy white stuffing getting churned around and around.
“Hello there,” she greets you amiably, “will it be just these two then?”
“Yes, please.”
“Wonderful. Now can one of you just hop on over here and step onto the pedal so we can get your new friends stuffed?”
To show Deuce how it’s done you step forwards and step onto the black pedal in front of you. You watch his eyes widen as the woman attaches one of the bunnies to the pole sticking out of the machine and it plumps up to full huggability. When she calls him over for his turn, he turns to you and you just smile supportively, give his hand a squeeze and gesture to where you were standing.
Next, you take two small red material hearts from the heart shaped box attached to the side of the stuffing machine and pass one along to Deuce, who has finished getting his plushie filled, before eagerly asking the lady manning the station, “can we do the heart ceremony, please? It’s my boyfriend’s first time.”
Her eyes glitter as she nods her assent, clearly excited at what’s to come. Knowing what was going to happen next, you place your phone on the honey coloured apparatus opposite you, propping it up so that you and your boyfriend are distinctly in the frame of your recording camera.
Deuce looks at you curiously, cheeks still a little rosy from hearing you call him your boyfriend, and notices your suspiciously playful smile, “what are you recording for?”
“For memories” is what you say.
‘To send to your mother’ is what you mean.
Okay both of you,” the employee said brightly, “first I need you to warm up those hearts so they’re nice and warm and toasty.”
You enthusiastically complied, rubbing the crimson fabric between your palms as the older lady demonstrated. Beside you, Deuce did the same but with his eyebrows pinching slightly in confusion.
“Now rub it on your heart so it's full of love,” she continued.
You both did what she asked and your smile did little to hide the laughter that was threatening to burst out of you at the cautious and tentative expression on his face.
“Now rub it on your cheek so it’s always smiling.”
You figured she was also getting a kick out of Deuce as well and you wondered what it would be like to be paid to mess with people.
“Now rub it on your arms so it’s as strong as you.”
“Hmm,” you muse innocently, “I don't think my arms would be strong enough.”
Deuce goes pink when you then turn to him and rub your heart on his bicep, “that’s much better.”
“N-no way,” he stutters, completely flustered, and in retaliation, he rubs his heart against your forearm, “you’re one of the strongest people I know.”
“You can carry more than double the weight I can,” you counter.
“I’m not talking about physical strength,” he shoots back, his cerulean eyes looking deep into yours.
Now it’s your turn to get flustered as you simply mutter, “oh.”
The employee claps her hands, instantly snapping both of you out of whatever was going on, “Alright you two, now hold them in your hands, close your eyes and make a wish.”
You clasp the little heart between your hands and do just that, your mind drifting off to thoughts of Deuce and his kind eyes and warm smile, before you open your eyes and look back at your boyfriend.
Once the both of you are looking at the lady for the next instructions, she concludes with, “now, finally, give it a big kiss so they know you love them.”
You kiss yours and then Deuce tugs on your sleeve and shyly hands his over to you with an expectant smile, so you look at him knowingly and press your lips against his heart as well before the both of you give them to get inserted into your plushies.
As you stop the recording on your phone and both of your hearts have been placed inside your bunnies, the employee swiftly stitches them up, nice and tight, before handing them back to you with a smile and a cheerful “enjoy yourselves.”
The two of you thank her before you turn around and grin at Deuce, “okay, clothes time.”
With one hand hugging your new companion protectively against you and the other clasped in your boyfriend’s, you drag him towards the clothing section before gesturing to the miniature garments.
“We need to dress them up now,” you explain, “why don’t we look for something together for your little guy first?”
“Alright,” he smiles back at you, “I don’t really know what I’d want though.”
Your eyes scan the hangers in front of you, “well, there’s got to be something - ah ha!”
You reach over to grab a hanger and excitedly present it to the dark haired boy. On it was a black leather jacket, very reminiscent of the one he’d drape over your shoulders whenever you visit his hometown, “look! Doesn’t it look a lot like the one you have?”
Admittedly, the thought of the adorable smiling bunny in his arms donning such an outfit was a funny one but his nose wrinkles in distaste, “well, yeah, but I don’t think I’d want this little guy to wear something that has such bad ties to my past.”
You lower the hanger, your smile decreasing ever so lightly. You should’ve known. You were aware of Deuce’s self-loathing for his past and he was forever thinking back on the shameful actions of his younger self with disgust and guilt and you saw how the weight of trying to redeem and prove himself would rest heavily on his shoulders. You’re always ready to talk about his insecurities, to comfort him and to show him how much you care for him and your love for him was because of his past, not in spite of it. Instead of addressing his regretful look like you usually would do, seeing as such a deep topic shouldn’t really be done during a cute date in a very public Build-A-Bear, you simply place the jacket back where it was and let another outfit catch your eye, one that you were sure that he would definitely like.
You immediately unhook its hanger from the rod and show it to him. At the sight of the three piece police uniform, consisting of a smart light blue shirt and tie with a dark blue tie that was paired with navy trousers and a police hat, his eyes brightened, “is that a-?”
“A police uniform?” you happily supplied, “yep, it is. Since you told me that it was your dream to be one back during the Starsending event, I figured it would be nice for your bunny to share the same goal and to remind you that I know you can achieve it.”
Deuce looks at you with an expression you know you will be unpacking late into the night, his eyes filled with wonder and reverence as he stares at you as though you’re something impossible, something he’s never seen before.
You swallow and look away, once again reminding yourself that you are out in broad daylight and that you don’t think the young mall-goers or their parents would appreciate the two of you doing what you reserve for closed doors. Beside you, you hear Deuce clear his throat before unsubtly suggesting, “why don’t you get that one?”
Your eyes trail to where he’s pointing and land on a shimmery white angel dress, complete with silver wings and a halo, and you can’t help but chuckle to yourself.
“What?” he reacts to your fond laughter with a look of both confusion and defensiveness, “I think it fits you perfectly.”
“In your eyes maybe,” you respond, “mine, not so much. How about something a bit more-oh my days, no way!”
Instantly, you get drawn towards something peeking out of the clearance bin and you find yourself holding the Holy Grail. In your hands lies an Alice in Wonderland themed dress with a rounded checkered pattern collar with a black bow in the centre, glittery black spades running down the middle of the bodice and glittery black and red card suit symbols that ran along the bottom of its sparkly blue tutu-like skirt.
“It’s perfect!” you exclaim, looking eagerly to Deuce who watches your joy with fond amusement, “and they’re both blue as well so we’ll have sort of matching outfits.”
He nods, smiling adoringly at you, “that’s great!”
After you get some black trainers for Deuce’s bunny and some glittery black flats to match the sparkly black bow that came with your dress (you also grab a jacket and a cute pair of wellies that you just couldn’t not buy for Grim) you make your way to the naming station. You then print out your certificates, pay for your items and happily leave the store, one of each of your hands clasped together and the other one swinging a bulky white cardboard cub condo.
“So~” you stop him near the entrance with a hopeful lilt in your voice, “what do you think?”
“I loved it,” he tells you, smiling radiantly at you, “definitely one of the best dates we’ve been on.”
“Well, I’m glad that you enjoyed yourself. I certainly did. And now you’ve got your own little police guy to cheer you on,” you jerk your head towards the box in his hand.
“Actually,” Deuce’s face was pink as he smiled at you bashfully, “do you mind if we switch?”
“Hmm,” you look at him perplexed.
“Well, I was thinking that maybe, it might be a cute couple thing if we had each others’. We don’t have to if you don’t want to but I thought it might be a nice thing to have to remember each other by since we don’t really see each other that often.”
Without a question, you hand over your box to him, “I think it would be nice as well. Got to admit though, what are you going to tell Ace and your dormmates once you show up to your dorm room with a toy bunny wearing a sparkly dress.”
“That my girlfriend gave it to me on a date,” he answered resolutely as he traded his box for yours, “besides, she’ll fit right in at Heartslabyul - she’s already dressed like us.”
“True. Well, I certainly feel much safer now that I have a Deuce made and approved police rabbit to protect me. Thank you, handsome,” you smile lovingly up at him and peck his cheek. He slings an arm over your shoulders and pulls you against him in response, letting your head rest against him as you both walk onwards, “Alright, next on my list: food. Come on, let me introduce you to the delights of my world’s food courts.”
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Kinktober 4
4. Overstimulation, Oviposition/Egglaying, Human Urinal
notes: this was inspired by this incredible fic from @naromoreau, thank you so much for putting naga!crowley into my mind! also this is super monster-fucky. i do not apologise.
afab!reader
biologically this is not at all how snakes work but uhhhhhhh Crowley is a demon so I’m allowed creative license 🤷♂️
Crowley’s been irritable.
Snapping, brooding, being generally difficult to be around. You can tell Aziraphale doesn’t love it either, but he’s at least had the commodity of knowing Crowley for longer. In fifty years of happy romance between the three of you this is the first time that your demon has ever gotten on your nerves, and you won’t stand for it.
“Look,” you say through gritted teeth after he’s barked at you for some unrealised slight, “you’re in a mood. But it isn’t my fault, and it isn’t Aziraphale’s, so stop taking it out on us.”
Aziraphale freezes and looks between the two of you. Crowley raises himself up to his full height… and then deflates.
“Sorry,” he mutters, running a hand over his face. “You’re right, it isn’t your fault. I’m just…”
He trails off, and you can tell he’s trying to work out if he should admit something. You close the gap and take his hand.
“Crowley, love. If there's something the matter you need to tell me. Tell us. We can help!”
Is he blushing? It’s hard to tell, as he turns his face away.
“Look, I’m just a bit… worked up.”
“Oh! …Oh. Well, there’s no reason we can’t assist with that?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Crowley sighs. You look over to Aziraphale. He clearly has more of an idea of what’s going on, but knows it’s Crowley’s truth to tell. “It’s demon breeding season.”
Your cheeks get hot all of a sudden.
“Oh, I see. I didn’t even realise they had one of those.”
“Well, of course. Otherwise where would new demons come from?” he asks, baffled at your confusion. You suppose you don’t have an answer for that.
“So what do you need to do?”
“Well, usually I’d just slither downstairs and find someone receptive and we’d –”
“No!” you say, suddenly, with such force it makes both of your partners jump. In the future you’ll experiment more with other bodies, engage in orgies so you can watch Aziraphale and Crowley be fucked (and become smug in the way it’s never quite as good as when you do it) but for now the idea of your demon being in bed with anyone but the people in this room shreds your heart. “I mean, look. You don’t need to do that. I’ll help.”
“We’ll help,” Aziraphale says softly. You know this must be quite a gap for him to bridge, having known Crowley when he’s been going through these heats before, but now knowing him as a lover. Crowley looks between the two of you, strangely touched.
“Are you certain? I don’t look… I’m a bit more demonic when I need to mate.”
The idea sends a chill down your spine to straight between your legs.
“That’s fine,” you say, a little too quickly. Despite it all, Crowley grins.
“Alright. Get to the bedroom. I’ll be right with you.”
🐍
You strip down, quickly, excitedly. Secretly you’ve wondered about what Crowley looks like when he’s a proper demon for a while. Hellfire caressing your skin? Horns to grab onto? Your mind is going a mile a minute.
You turn to Aziraphale. He’s removed his cravat and overcoat, and is currently turning up his sleeves to the elbow. You look at him, confused.
“Are you not going to…?” you gesture to your bare body. Aziraphale smiles.
“I think this might be something you want to experience by yourself first, love.”
You open your mouth to ask him what that means, but you’re distracted by the sound of a door creaking.
Crowley slithers in.
No, literally.
Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this. The top half of him is the Crowley you know. Bronzed skin, copper hair down his back, yellow eyes with blown-wide snake pupils.
But that isn’t the only part of him that’s serpentine.
From his hips onwards, he is entirely tail. Black scales rippling as he moves towards you, osteoderms moving with his breath. He looks both entirely like and unlike himself, a strange creation of familiar and not.
He is beautiful.
“Oh,” is all you can manage from where the rest of your body has frozen. You know it was the wrong move, because Crowley looks deflated.
“You don’t like it,” he says with a sigh, and you immediately feel terrible. What he means is ‘you don’t like me.’ You can hear the sadness tinging his voice. So you step forward, hand out, careful.
“No, love, it’s not that at all. Just give me a moment to… adjust.”
You move forward, unsure how to touch him. Aziraphale’s voice whispers from behind you:
“Go on, nightingale. He won’t hurt you.” And then, after a beat, when the angel realises what you’re really worried about, “you won’t hurt him.”
You run your palm along the soft heat of his scales and Crowley sighs, both in relief and in excitement. You take your time, exploring the pattern of him, the curve of his tail. You don’t realise but soon he’s begun to curl around you, wrapping you up gorgeously tight in his coils. Soon your legs are totally engulfed by him.
“Isss thisss alright, nightingale?” he asks, voice low. You try to move and find that you can’t, really, but at the same time you’re fine with it - you know the one holding you is someone you trust with your life.
“Very,” you laugh. You feel someone embrace you from behind and realise Aziraphale has crossed over to you, his chest against your back, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You give yourself over to the strange new feeling of being held like this.
“So now what?” you ask, looking at Crowley’s tail, trying to work out how he mates. It doesn’t take you long to find it: a slit towards where his groin would be, beginning to leak slick down his scales. You run your fingers over it and Crowley gasps, shuddering. “Do you need me to touch you here?”
Crowley shakes his head, breathless with delighted chuckles.
“No. Well, I want you to, but that doesssn’t have to be part of it.”
You decide that you want to as well. You press into him there, his cloaca, and giggle when he leans forward to rest his forehead on your free shoulder.
“Fuck…” he groans.
“If you’re offering,” you say, cheekily. Both your partners huff a laugh, and as you explore deeper into him, you feel something beginning to emerge. You remove your hand to make way, expecting some sort of appendage… and to be fair, it is, but not one you’ve ever seen before.
“What’s that?” you ask, breathless and both bewildered and gleeful.
“That’sss… what I use to lay my eggs.”
A beat passes.
“Hmm.”
“Sssstill game?”
“Crowley, am I going to get pregnant from this?” you ask with very real concern. A hand comes up to caress your face, a thumb swipes across the plush of your lips.
“No, love. I’d need to fertilissse them too, and I won’t do that. I jusssst need sssomewhere to, erm. Push them.”
Well, you’ve come this far. Over the last fifty years the three of you have introduced many things into the bedroom: lace, leather, toys. But as your demonic lover says he wants to lay eggs inside you while your angelic one helps you brace for it, it’s nice to know that there’s still some surprises you can give each other.
You nod, and lay back. Crowley’s eyes go wide.
“You’re sssure?”
“Yes, love. Of course.”
What leaves his cloaca is a tube, for want of a better term. It’s just over a foot long and dripping with slickness. It seems to give him pleasure as it releases, you know what he looks like when he’s about to orgasm, and when it twists its way towards you all you can do is relax into his tail, into Aziraphale’s arms.
The angel threads his fingers through yours and holds you tightly.
“You’ll be fine, darling.”
“You don’t seem very surprised about any of this,” you say, breathlessly. A thought occurs to you. “Hang on, have you done this before?”
Aziraphale goes bright pink.
“Erm…”
“Once,” Crowley hisses, grinning - have his teeth gotten sharper? No, he’s just grown fangs - “yearsssss ago. Before either of ussss met you.”
“I was a friend helping another friend,” Aziraphale says quickly, a line he’s clearly been using to justify his lust for years. You can’t help but laugh at your utterly daft and obtuse lovers, and that’s good – it loosens you up and allows Crowley to slip inside your cunt.
You’re already quite wet from the new, explorative play that’s come so far, but the tube is slick and searching. It surges up inside you, far inside you, further than either of their cocks have ever hit, but it doesn’t hurt. Something about what it’s secreting is relaxing your inner muscles and allowing it access into your core. You gasp as you feel Crowley root himself there, and the demon moans.
“Fuck. You’re…”
You’re too overstimulated to reply, so just nod. Yes. He is, too. Across the width of your shoulders you see Aziraphale kiss Crowley, soft and long.
“You are so lovely like this, Crowley.”
“Gorgeous,” you manage, honestly, and Crowley looks like the praise might make him burst. Settling back into the moment he locks his eyes on yours, serious, sincere.
“”I’m going to ssstart now. It might feel a bit sssstrange, but I promisssse it will be good.”
“It is,” Aziraphale agrees, shyly. You smile, and nod. You trust them.
Crowley closes his eyes and you see him squeeze. Something travels through his tube, passing through him and up inside you. The strange spherical nature of the object has you gasping, firstly in surprise and then in pleasure. The press of it is strange and illicit and when it pops inside of you, you try to roil; you can’t though. Crowley has you too tightly.
“That’sss the firsssst one.”
“Oh my god,” you moan.
“Are you alright?”
“Keep going,” you command, your voice no-nonsense. And Crowley does. Another egg passes from inside him to inside you, pressing through your cervix with no issue to deposit safely. After four of them you’re beginning to feel a bit full. By seven, you can feel the eggs jostling around inside of you, an unusual and filthy intimate slide. Your silky insides are making them the perfect home.
“How… how many are there?” you breathe. Crowley’s face is drenched with sweat, his eyes rolling back in his head. From his cloaca a fresh stream of cum drips onto the tops of your thighs.
“Usually ten or twelve.”
“Twelve?!” you gasp, not sure how you’ll fit those, but willing to try. On cue, another egg presses your vulva apart and nestles in deep.
You’re showing them now, stomach starting to stretch. It doesn’t hurt though. It feels wonderful. You’ve never been so full before, your body warm and deliciously thrumming. You look over your shoulder to where Aziraphale is holding you, in some strange approximation of a husband helping a wife give birth. His eyes are firmly fixed on your abdomen, lips slightly apart, cheeks bright red.
“Aziraphale?”
“Sorry, darling. You just look…” he trails off, instead choosing to rest his hand on your stomach. You moan as he bumps the eggs inside you, and for a moment you’re swept up in it, and think it wouldn’t be so bad to have Crowley make them viable, maybe you’d quite like carrying his clutch, so long as the two of them looked after you like this.
The last two eggs come at once, one right after the other, filling you to the brim. You can feel them taking up the tunnel to your core, hardly fitting in properly. You whine and try to find a way to feel comfortable, but you’re so full, so needy, and they’re pushing against that sweet spot inside you, and –
You come unexpectedly, an orgasm wracking your body wildly. It takes over your every sense with a crashing wave, your cunt tightening and spasming as Crowley finally withdraws. You’ve never been so stuffed in your life and it’s wonderful.
“How long… How long do they stay?” you manage when your heart is finally at a normal pace again.
“A couple of hoursss, until they realissse they’re not going to grow. Then they’ll disssssolve.”
“Dissolve?!”
“It won’t hurt, my love,” Aziraphale assures you, hand still protectively on your bump. “In fact it’s somewhat of an aphrodisiac.”
You moan and collapse into them. You’re not sure how you’re going to survive this.
@bootlmoth @elleofdragons @angelic-anarchy27 @yeethaw13 @candlewitch-cryptic @kwyn-q @rat-that-writes @buryustogether @letthenightingalessingagain @ltlthetrifecta @angiestopit @purplefrog1sblog @wereallbrokenangels @angelspathway @clarina04 @belilwen @chaospossum @eightsdoctor @oo-delallymrcrow @silcosmoke @climbingivy97 @live-logs-and-proper @project-sad @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @imagination-phantom @anonymously35 @corgis04 @peytonpenguin37 @catlynharper @unabashedgentlemenpirate @wolfe-houler @darktealrat @mxxny-lupin @willbedecided @detectiveapparatiagreen @shadowluna25 @kaylinelizabeth4004 @xquinn-bartonx @blue-bell22 @foolishprincipalitee @fandomawesomeness @eweweweewewe @latersgaters-steven @llamaproblem @night-affiliate @randompost18 @hunterispunk @jessica-laufeysdottir @uxcaran @bunnymallowo @jae-michael
#aziraphale x reader x crowley#crowley x reader x aziraphale#Fic: the light the dark and the spaces inbetween#avo's kt 23
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First Times Ch 3: Show Me, Teach Me ~Larissa Weems xFem Student!Sorceress!Reader
Part 3!!! And Larissa is teaching Reader how to pleasure along with some aftercare.
Link to Ch 1 , Ch 2, Ch 4
Mommy…Master List
Requests & Prompt-List
Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, age gap (all legal), smut, kissing, hickeys, bruises, teasing, fingering, thigh riding, praise kink, mommy possibly turned mistress kink…?, fluffy aftercare, implied future smut, etc.
Enjoy (;
“Good Morning, my Dear.” Larissa spoke as you entered her office the next Saturday morning.
“Morning…” you sleepily stated.
“Come have a seat, love. I’ll be finished with my work in a minute.”
You silently nodded and went to take the seat across from Larissa. It didn’t take long for Larissa to pack her paper away, leaving her attention to you. But when her eyes met yours, you sheepishly looked away.
“What is is, my Darling?” Larissa asked with a light chuckle and small smile.
“I…” you stuttered, embarrassed by your thoughts.
At your loss for words, Larissa got up from her seat and came over to you. She knelt down in front of you and embraced your hands.
“Talk to me? Please, love.” She urged you with concern and care.
“Can you teach me how to pleasure you?” You said in a dead whisper.
You expected Larissa to find it funny and unacceptable that you didn’t know how to please another woman. But quite the contrary… Larissa brought on hand up to your cheek, while the other still held yours,
“Of course, darling. I would love to show you.” She cooed in response.
You smiled and went red at her words, immediately looking down again.
“Hey, hey, look at me.” Larissa gently urged you, moving your chin up to meet her eyes, “Is this what you would like to do today…?”
You nodded vigorously and eagerly. Larissa chuckled at your reaction.
“Darling, if you keep not answering, I may have to teach you about punishment…” she teased.
Your stomache dropped and your heart quickened at the thought of punishment.
“Sorry…! Yes, I’d like that very much, Larissa…” you rushedly admitted.
Larissa hummed in delight at your response.
“Do you remember the safe words?”
“Yes, ‘red’ is stop.” You replied.
“Correct. ‘red’ is stop, ‘yellow’ is pause, and ‘green’ is good, do you understand?” She reassuringly asked.
“Yes, Larissa.”
“Good girl. Now, I have an attached private quarters next to this office. Would you be comfortable with moving in there, today?” Larissa gently asked you.
“Yes please…” you eagerly whimpered.
Larissa lightly chuckled at your response as she raised herself again, extending a hand to help you up as well. You graciously accepted her hand, which you noted were quite beautiful and breath taking, and Larissa led you to a side cabinet door in the corner of the office. She opened the door with a click and you followed her through. The door was closed and locked with another click.
“Sit on the edge of the bed, love.” Larissa instructed you.
You did as you were told. Larissa smirked at your quick obedience and turned around so that she was now facing away from you.
“Help me with my zipper, love?” she asked.
You instinctually found the zipper on Larissa’s stunning dress and began to unzip her dress for her, as she took out the many pins in her hair. With the zipper undone, Larissa thanked you and stood up, letting her hair cascade down over her shoulders and her dress pool on the ground, which she easily slipped out of. You stared at her with your mouth practically agape.
Larissa was wearing a wine red lingerie set that matched her lips perfectly…
“Like what you see…?” she teased you.
Blush crept up your cheeks at the idea of being caught staring. Larissa then came around the bed and placed herself against the headboard, patting the opening between her legs for you to fill. You immediately complied, scooting over to plant yourself in between her thighs.
Then you felt Larissa’s lips on yours. At first, the kiss was calm and caring… But it quickly delved into rushed heat and passion. You both pulled off your shirt in desperation. Larissa pulled away from the kiss first, eliciting a small whine from your lips.
“I want you to explore and mark up my body, love. Start with my lips and move down south…” she instructed you.
Your eyes lit up at her words.
“Yes, Larissa...” You immediately obliged, exited to please her for the first time.
You began peppering kisses all over Larissa’s face, coming back to her lips every once and a while. Then, you moved down to her neck and collar bone. You hit Larissa’s pressure point and she lightly gasped. You immediately looked up in concern, but your concerns were put to bed by the lustful and needy eyes that met yours.
“Don’t stop, darling…” Larissa panted, “bite down on that mark, love…”
You did as your lover told you with a light hint of confusion. As you sucked on her pressure point, Larissa let out a strangled moan in pleasure, causing you to double down on your efforts, leaving a trail of hickeys and marks wherever your mouth went. You continued to explore her body and wander down her curves. You reached her bra, and Larissa gladly arched her back for you to unclip it. You couldn’t help but lick your lips at the sight of Larissa’s more exposed body.
“Go ahead, love… Swirl your tongue around each bud, you can use your fingers too…” she reassured you.
Breaking from your trance, you hesitantly took a nipple into your mouth and swirled your tongue around it. At this, Larissa gasped, arched her back to you even more, and bucked her hips forward, grabbing onto your arm.
“That’s it, love, don’t stop…!” Larissa encouraged you breathlessly.
You continued to lap away at her left erect bud, and then proceeded to go over her right bud with the pad of your thumb. Larissa visibly and audibly shuddered, and her nipples hardened even more at your actions. After spending ample time caressing and tasting Larissa’s breasts, you moved down to her stomache. Larissa was letting out breathy moans and whimpers at this point.
“Baby, be a good girl and take off mommy’s knickers for her…” Larissa moaned out in need, stopping you in the middle of you teasing her thighs.
Your breath hitched. Larissa’s eyes widened at her slip of the tongue.
“Yes… mommy…” you whispered, hooking your knickers with your teeth and taking them off.
God was she a heavenly sight…
Larissa moaned out in delight. You looked back up at Larissa for direction.
“Come straddle my lap, baby…” Larissa purred.
You came right up to Larissa, trapping her against the bed board.
“Would you prefer to use your fingers or your tongue, darling?” she asked you, caressing your cheek lightly.
You blushed at Larissa’s words and actions, “Ummm… What would you like…?”
“Let’s start with your fingers, dear…” she spoke gently, guiding one of your hands down to her throbbing heat.
You dragged a finger through her soaked folds, making Larissa’s head fall back in a silent scream of pleasure.
“That’s it, love… You can slide a finger inside me once your ready…!” Larissa breathlessly and needily moaned out.
You immediately did as she said and slid one of your fingers into her soaking cunt, slowly thrusting in and out of her.
“Fuck— you’re a natural love!!” Larissa cried out, jerking her hips to meet the thrusts of your finger.
You blushed at her comment, as your own inside started to tighten with need and lust. Fucking Larissa was turning you on… Insanely so…
“You can add another finger if you want…!” Larissa whimpered, practically begging you to add another finger, so you slid another finge inside her throbbing heat.
“Good. Now as you thrust in… OhhHh Fuck!… As you thrust in, curl your… curl your fingers inside me…” Larissa breathless stuttered through strangled cries.
Larissa’s hand went straight to your hair and her toes curled when you started curling your fingers inside Larissa’s fluttering pussy.
“FUCK—! just like that!!” Larissa cried out, tightening her grip on your hair, making you whimper in both pain and pleasure.
You decided to pick up the pace a little, which Larissa immediately showed you was worth it, as she began crying out and moaning even more and even louder.
“So good fuck mommy’s so close…!” Larissa sinfully moaned, “Place your thumb on my clit and… and roll it in circles please fuck please…!!”
You did so, bringing the pad of your thumb to her clit and rubbing it in circles. This is what broke Larissa. You could feel her walls clenching around your digits as she came, crying out like a broken record.
It was fucking heavenly…
Eventually, you slowly pulled your fingers out of her dripping cunt, once she had come down from her high, and you instinctually stuck them in your mouth. You both moaned at the sight. Larissa then pulled you forward and smashed her lips onto yours, moaning at the taste of herself. You both pulled away, panting breathlessly.
“So… how’d I do…?” you insecurely asked, a furious blush washing over your cheeks yet again.
“Oh my love, you did marvelous. You did so good for mommy, such a good girl…” Larissa showered you with praise, taking you into her embrace, which you graciously accepted.
The two of you snuggled for a while, but you couldn’t shake the tension built up in your own core.
“Mommy…?” you whispered into Larissa’s chest.
“Yes, my darling?”
You sat up, still straddling Larissa’s lap, and you instinctually began rolling your hips lightly into Larissa’s lap.
“I need… can you…?” you brokenly panted to Larissa, your mind still in a sex fog.
Larissa immediately understood your need, smiling lightly at your pure nature and manners, “Of course darling, come straddle my thigh…”
You looked at Larissa with concussion for a second, but quickly understood when she guided your hips to roll against her tensed thigh, making your keel over in overwhelming pleasure. You quickly took over and began grinding down on the blonde’s creamy thigh.
“Just like that, love… Ride mommy’s thigh…” Larissa purred into your ear, her pupils dialating at the sight of your lustful actions.
And boy did you ride her thigh…
With your shirt and knickers still on, you rutted against Larissa’s thigh in desperate need for some friction and release.
“Please mommy…wanna cum…!!” you mewled out, eyes glazing over and your hip jerkings getting sloppier by the second.
“Go ahead, love… let go and cum for mommy…” Larissa purred.
You came, squirting your wetness all over your knickers and Larissa’s thigh with a breathy scream. Then in exhaustion, you collapsed in Larissa’s lap. Larissa helped you get your bearings back, while mindlessly tracing your bra line through your shirt.
“How about a bath, my darling…?” Larissa gently suggested.
You nodded and with a spent throat replied, “Yes please…”
“Alright, you stay right here, and I will grab some things to clean us up and go start that bath.” Larissa spoke, moving out from behind you, but not leaving the bed before giving you a peck on the lips.
You heard the bath start to run as Larissa was out of the room. She came back with a warm washcloth and a water.
“Take the rest of your clothes off for me…?” Larissa asked with nothing but gentleness and caring in her tone.
You got up, your legs still a little wobbly, and stripped off your shirt, bra, and knickers. Larissa patted you back into the bed, where she cleaned up the mess the both of you had made on your legs and her thighs.
Then, Larissa scooped you up, eliciting a yelp and giggle from you. She brought you to her private bathroom and placed you in the warm water of the bathtub. Larissa then promptly joined you, sliding in behind you. You immediately snuggled in between her legs again.
Larissa caringly watched as you innocently dozed off in her embrace, smiling to herself at your pure, sleeping form.
She was eternally grateful that you had entrusted your innocence to her… It was past lust, she truly cared…
~~~
Chapter 4 linked… 😉
Larissa Weems Masterlist
Tag list @snakeskins-world @friskyfisher @just-your-casual-nerd @scream-queenlover @bobia13 @justcallmelittleone @dopenightmaretyphoon @killer-quill @im-a-carnivorous-plant @larissaoftarthweems @what-a-violet-world @a-queen-and-her-throne @liliweems @ant0weems @principal-weems09 @larissaweemsgf @shyladyfan @leonorasbabygirl @simpsforwomen @psychopathicnightmare17 @walkethisway @wifeymaterialsstuff @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @kimiinou @enchantressb @sicklygrlsicklygrl @larissa-weems-chokehold @teenybean @lucky1fancy4wolf @sapphicsbeloved
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Katniss admitting that she was/had been suppressing or denying her feelings for Peeta:
"[...]And then he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me.
A warning bell goes off in my head. Don't be so stupid. Peeta is planning how to kill you. I remind myself. He is luring you in to make you easy prey. The more likable he is, the more deadly he is." (The Hunger Games)
"I wish that Peeta were here to hold me, until I remember I'm not supposed to wish that anymore." (Catching Fire)
"He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there. A side effect of the sleep syrup is that it makes people less inhibited, like white liquor, and I know I have to control my tongue. But I don't want him to go. In fact, I want him to climb in with me, to be there when the nightmares hit tonight. For some reason that I can't quite form, I know I'm not allowed to ask that." (Catching Fire)
"[...]Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips just touch my neck, slowly spreading through the rest of me. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I will not be the first to let go. And why should I? I have said goodbye to Gale. I’ll never see him again, that’s for certain. Nothing I do now can hurt him. He won’t see it or he’ll think I am acting for the cameras. That, at least, is one weight off my shoulders." (Catching Fire)
"Because for a moment, even I am working through what Peeta has said. Isn’t it the thing I dreaded most about the wedding, about the future - the loss of my children to the Games? And it could be true now, couldn’t it? If I hadn’t spent my life building up layers of defenses until I recoil at even the suggestion of marriage or a family?" (Catching Fire)
"I move through the downstairs on hunter’s feet, reluctant to make any sound. I pick up a few remembrances: a photo of my parents on their wedding day, a blue hair ribbon for Prim, the family book of medicinal and edible plants. The book falls open to a page with yellow flowers and I shut it quickly because it was Peeta’s brush that painted them." (Mockingjay)
"September. That means Snow has had Peeta in his clutches for five, maybe six weeks. I examine a leaf on my palm and see I’m shaking. I can’t will myself to stop. I blame the coffee and try to focus on slowing my breathing, which is far too rapid for my pace." (Mockingjay)
"I’m light-headed with giddiness. What will I say? Oh, who cares what I say? Peeta will be ecstatic no matter what I do. He’ll probably be kissing me anyway. I wonder if it will feel like those last kisses on the beach in the arena, the ones I haven’t dared let myself consider until this moment." (Mockingjay)
"I don’t want to talk about Peeta. One of the best things about training is, it keeps me from thinking of him." (Mockingjay)
#just some textual evidences that Katniss was fighting her feelings for Peeta#and knew that deep down#🤭#katniss everdeen#peeta mellark#everlark#thg
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broken promise
pairing: seo changbin x fem!reader, seo changbin x jo serim
summary: what happens when you see your childhood best friend after 10 years, knowing there was a promise of love between you two?
genre: angst, fluff, childhood best friends to friends!au, non idol!au, established relationship!au, happy ending!!
wc: 2,9k
tw: reader's boss sucks, playful threats
notes: 🐭 anon this is for you! i hope i did your idea justice. italic is reader's thoughts! is that an open ending? yes, yes it is. feedback is always appreciated!
networks: @kflixnet @k-labels @straykidsland @kwritersworld
permanent tag list: @soobin-chois @exfolitae @linos-catnip @prettymiye0n
stray kids tag list: @raethethey
You've been typing on that computer for the last three hours, yet the current task was not quite completed. Between the short deadlines and electricity mishaps, today hasn’t been good to you. Not that it was any of your boss’ business, as he put it a couple hours prior, and I quote: “I do not care if it doesn’t work, you better work this out quickly if you want to keep this job!”
You did try, for the customers, but at the end of the day, you were feeling exhausted and helpless. Useless.
It hadn’t always been like that. When you were a kid, you’d always help your classmates and younger kids. If you witnessed, even one of your classmates, bully anyone, in recess or anywhere else for that matter, you’d jump into the fight to protect the weak without a second thought. You’d feel powerful and useful. Changbin admired you for that.
Changbin.
Your childhood best friend.
He was part of the weak, but you made sure he was untouchable. Let’s just say you scared your fair share of bullies. A few years passed and you were inseparable; your parents were close friends so you’d spend the weekends and holidays together besides school.
Two weeks after Changbin turned fourteen, you were both seated on a rug on the beach, enjoying the summer holidays together at his parents’ beach house. The sun was setting, people were leaving to go dine somewhere else. You turned to stare at his side profile. He had a soft smile on, the sunset reflecting on his dark orbs, the light making his skin golden.
“Binnie.”
“Yeah?” he replied, facing the baby pink and light yellow clouds above the ocean.
“If we don’t find love in like 10 years, will we get married?”
He laughed for a good minute. “What are you on about?”
“I don’t know,” you admitted, “I guess the atmosphere has something to do with it.” He hummed. “But do you agree?”
“Ask me again.”
You nudged him. “You’re not gonna laugh at me this time?”
He looked over his shoulder in your direction, lips pressed as to suppress a giggle. “I’ll try.”
“If we don’t find love by the age 25 or so, will we get married?”
He faked thinking, a hand on his chin. “Sure, we can. I’m certain you’ll find someone by then, though.”
“Me? Why?” you asked, curious. “I thought you were the one that was gonna find someone first.”
He shrugged. “You’re an amazing girl. If you think I will, why propose this?”
“Just felt like it. Thanks for the compliment Binnie, you’re the best best friend I could ask for.”
“I know,” he smirked while you pulled your tongue out.
A week after that, your parents left the city, taking you with them. For years, you couldn’t see your best friend, who eventually became a childhood best friend as you grew up apart and stopped talking.
The drive home from work was spent singing your heart out to your karaoke playlist to evacuate the stress. You were seriously contemplating quitting your job when you opened the door to your parents’ house.
You let out a long sigh and the voices quieted down in the kitchen. “I’m home!”
Thank your lucky stars it was the weekend. A good shower and—
“Honey, come in the kitchen please!” You didn’t like the tone your mom used, it reminded you of the day she told you you’d have to pack your bags and leave your whole childhood behind.
What you discovered upon entering the room was far from everything you could expect.
A young man was standing there, strangely looking like…
Wait.
What?
Seo Changbin, in the flesh, was sitting on a chair next to your mom. Your dad was propped up against the counter.
“Look who’s here! Surprise!” Your mom’s excited voice, your dad’s big smile with a thumbs up and Changbin’s awkward stance… that was too much.
You mumbled about needing a shower and did just that. After about 30 minutes of washing yourself and overthinking, you came back to the kitchen where they were still talking, except it was almost time for dinner.
“Hi,” you greeted everyone. “Sorry about earlier, it was a shitty day.”
Your mom got up and hugged you. Her hugs always comforted you.
“I’m sorry bun, do you want to talk about it?”
“Not right now. I see that an old soul has joined us.”
Changbin got up. “Hey Y/N, how have you been?”
He wasn’t like you remembered. He looked like he spent the last decade at the gym. It was a nice view. Although you hoped he didn’t do it because you weren’t there anymore to protect him.
He seemed to hear your thoughts. “Ah, yeah, I work out a bit. I’ve become what you could call a gym rat.”
Shaking your head—were you staring???—, you cleared your throat. “I’m alright. How are you?”
“I’m good, thanks. I asked if I could stay for a few days, and your parents said yes. I hope you don’t mind?”
“It’s nothing Changbin-ah, you’re family!” your mom chimed in.
If I don’t mind? We haven’t seen each other in ten years and you’re appearing in the kitchen out of nowhere after I thought about you on my way back from work. But do I mind?
“I don’t. It’s nice to see you again.”
“Likewise.”
“I’m starving,” your dad said as he clapped his hands. “Who wants salad?”
“Dad, seriously?” You needed something more than a salad right now.
“Just kidding, your mom made Changbin’s favorite!”
Typical. You turned to your childhood best friend. “So, how are you here?”
“Turns out our parents still talk to each other, so when I said I wanted to come to this city, they arranged something for me.”
“When your mom told me I was so happy! We haven’t seen you in so long. I knew Y/N would be delighted to see you too. You’re welcomed in our home any time, always.”
He bowed to your mom. “Thanks, ms.”
“It's nothing! As I said before, we only have two rooms, so we put a mattress in Y/N’s bedroom. Are you both ok with that?”
Oh, I haven’t thought of that.
“Sure.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, love,” your mom told her husband, “it reminds me of old times, when they were inseparable.” She turned to you and Changbin. “We always thought you’d end up together, especially with your silly—sorry, endearing—promise of marriage at 25, was it? That will be next year.”
Changbin looked lost while you were uncomfortable with the memory, putting your head in your hands. As classic parents, they enjoyed reminding you of your awkward past.
Changbin laid down on the thick mattress while you did the same on your comfortable bed. You stared at the ceiling, your hands crossed over your stomach.
“I see you’ve kept your promise.”
What? How could he even—
“You said you’ll always hang that OneRepublic poster. It hasn’t aged.”
Ah.
“But we did.”
He chuckled. “We did indeed. I came here for an appointment with a client tomorrow morning. And to surprise my girlfriend. What are the odds of her being in the same town as you?”
You felt your heart shatter at his words. Girlfriend.
“Why not go to her directly?”
There was a lump forming in your throat.
“And missing the chance to see you again? No, thank you. I didn’t forget about you Y/Nie, I’m sorry. I’m really glad I get to see you again and I genuinely would like for us to be friends again. It might not be like before, but we can work something out, what do you think?”
The silence was loud as he waited for an answer. He could’ve come to his girlfriend without seeing you and you would’ve never known he was here. But he chose to be here in your house. It had to mean something, right?
Finally, after gathering enough courage, you replied. “Yeah. We can be friends. Are you meeting her soon?”
“Cool,” he smiled. “Yeah, I’ll wait for her outside her house tomorrow, after work.”
“Uh, this is your plan? Waiting for her at her house is a bit creepy. Why don’t you ask her to go somewhere?”
“Ah, you’re right. I can send her a message to meet at a café or something.”
You nodded, even if he couldn’t see you clearly from the floor. “Tell her you have a surprise prepared for her.”
“Where should we go? Do you know any cute and romantic places?” he asked as he typed on his phone.
“Sure. There’s a super cute café a few blocks away, its name is Lovestay. I’m sure she’ll love it.”
What am I doing?
“Thanks Y/Nie, you’re the best.”
“Of course Binnie, I’m here for you. Always.”
“You know, about the promise of marriage… I honestly forgot about it. And since I have a girlfriend, the promise doesn’t stand anymore… right?”
You don’t know how you’re keeping your composure, because you have a strong desire to cry.
“No, it doesn’t. It was only if we were both single, and even so, that would be too weird with the circumstances.”
“I agree. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“Me too, Binnie.”
You spent most of the night catching up, recounting each other's anecdotes of your school years, explaining your respective jobs, spilling the latest tea. The more you talked, the less the situation overwhelmed you and the more you felt at ease.
Changbin became a music producer, with a flourishing soundcloud account. He was now a pillar at the gym, even giving tips to newbies. He loved his job. He loved his girlfriend. He was happy.
In contrast to you, he had his life together.
You hated your boss. You were single. You were still hung up on your childhood best friend. You were unhappy.
Seeing him had filled you with joy until you learned about his girl, and you were even helping him surprise her. What a loser.
The next day, he went to his appointment according to plan, then he came back for lunch happily. After that, he changed for his date and insisted on showing you his outfit. It was simple, yet complimenting him nicely.
“Do I look good enough?”
You look perfect.
“Yes, you look fine. Now go, it’s better if you’re there before her.”
“You’re right.” He was fidgeting nervously. “Can you come with me?”
You shook your head in disbelief, clearly judging him. “Are you out of your mind?”
“What?” he asked, surprised by your reaction.
“Who goes to see their girlfriend and brings another girl with them? Now, go.”
“Ah, you’re right.”
“You said that already,” you sighed, pushing him out of the house.
“Ok, I’m going. Wish me luck!”
“Good luck kid!” your dad shouted from the stairs.
He came back late that night. He told you all about it in detail. Details you did not wish to know about. But he seemed genuinely happy, which warmed your heart, instead of breaking it this time.
Your mom had asked you about your job, and you went on an angry rant about your boss, then Changbin and your feelings for him. First, she apologized for bringing him here without asking you first and, therefore, without knowing how you felt about him. Second, she cursed your boss out and told you to do whatever you felt comfortable doing. She would support you either way.
You thanked her and told her you would think about it, and that it was ok for Changbin to be here even if it felt weird.
You had spent the remainder of the day overthinking about your old friend and what he meant to you. After a thorough analysis, it struck you that the fact you kept the promise unconsciously made you turn down every possibility of a romance. You blamed the timing every time.
You also came to the conclusion it was perhaps more of a nostalgic, longing feeling than love. It wasn’t like you spent the last decade heartbreakingly waiting for him to return to you. You realized you had been missing your best friend, not your crush.
It was sunday morning, and you were slowly waking up.
The second you opened your eyes, you were met with Changbin’s wide opened ones looking at you. “You’re finally awake!”
“It’s an illusion,” you groaned, closing them again.
“I was thinking and I’d love for you to meet her! Please?”
“Who?”
Friendly reminder: you just woke up and were far from your daily eight hours of sleep.
“My girlfriend, you know, the love of my life.”
“Right. Sure. Is she ok with it though?”
“Of course, she actually asked for it.” You opened your eyes again, staring straight at him.
“She did?” He nodded. “Don’t tell me you talked about me yesterday?!”
He blatantly ignored your question. “She invited us to her place. Let’s get dressed and go!”
“Wait, right now?”
“Yeah, why?”
“It’s ten in the morning on a sunday, give me time to adjust.”
“You haven’t changed. Come on,” he got to his feet, “get up!”
You whined, holding your blanket tightly. “Give me five minutes.”
“Don’t make me put you out of your own bed.”
“Don’t you dare.” You put a finger up and frowned.
“I really want to, though,” he pouted.
“Do it and I’ll make sure you never see the light of day ever again,” you threatened.
“You can’t hurt me, I’m all buff now.”
He contracted his muscles and you laughed loudly. “I could still take you.”
“Try me.”
You smiled. “In five minutes.”
“Your five minutes were up two minutes ago.”
“You were counting?!”
“Well, yeah.”
You crossed your arms, pouting. “Fraud.”
“You’re a fraud,” he countered as he rolled his eyes playfully.
“Let me sleep!!”
“No.”
Twenty minutes later, you were out of the comfort of your house and walking alongside Changbin to see his girlfriend.
You were walking like a condemned woman while he was making little happy noises and jumping around.
It was definitely too early for you.
You took the bus for about fifteen minutes, then walked five more minutes. She lived in an apartment on the third floor, at least that was where Changbin was knocking.
A beautiful woman answered the door soon after. Long black hair, soft skin and features, a little bit shorter than your friend, cute smile.
For a moment, you stared at her without saying a word. You were in awe at how pretty she looked.
“Y/N,” Changbin called, clearing his throat, “I present you Serim, my girlfriend. Serim,” he turned to her, “this is Y/N, my childhood best friend.”
Snapping out of it, you raised your hand for her to shake but she hugged you instead. It took you and Changbin by surprise, the look you two shared confirmed it.
“Binnie talked about you so much, I was impatient to meet you!” She let go of you. “Sorry, I should've asked first,” she whispered, smiling sweetly at you. “Please, come in!”
She moved away for you to enter, which you did, Changbin following suit, an amused smile on.
“Do you want something to drink?” Serim asked after closing the door.
“Water would be nice, please.”
“Me too love,” Changbin said before getting closer to her and kissing her temple.
“Be right back, make yourself at home!” Serim grinned before disappearing into the kitchen.
You entered the living room and sat on the dark green couch, admiring the room. There were plants on either side of the soft and comfortable couch, a long and packed library on the side, a big tv screen in front with leds behind it and a collage of posters on the other side and all around the large door leading to the kitchen and entrance.
She came back soon after with the drinks, put them on the table then sat next to you. Changbin sat on the armchair next to her.
“Y/N, I’ve heard so much about you! I found out we were in the same town when I moved in three months ago. Binnie spent all this time organizing his trip.”
“Yeah, I had the chance to get the rendezvous yesterday,” he added.
“You were lucky," you nodded. "Serim, you have a lot of style by the way, I adore your living room.”
“Thank you! Changbin is actually no stranger to the decor, he helped with the posters.”
“Good job guys, it's so cool! So, how long have you been together?”
“Yesterday marked our first year together,” Changbin said, looking at his girl lovingly. She took his hand in hers and turned back to you.
“Of course, he didn't say a word. Thanks for contributing to the surprise, Y/N.”
“I'm glad I can be of any help.”
“You're an angel,” she said in all honesty.
Serim was an awesome girl, you were glad they found each other.
On monday morning, you quit your job and definitely left the building under the yelling of your boss—well, former boss.
Changbin was moving in with Serim soon after finishing preparing everything in his city. As a music producer, he could live basically anywhere but he had to move a lot.
You two were talking almost daily, and you were seeing Serim often as well. She gave you the idea of downloading a dating app, to ‘see how it goes’.
On thursday, you were going to a job interview at 3pm and to a date at 5pm.
Who knows what will happen next?
thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, let me know! here's stray kids' masterlist
#kflixnet#k-labels#straykidsland#kwritersworldnet#🐭 anon#stray kids imagines#stray kids scenarios#skz x reader#skz imagines#skz scenarios#stray kids fluff#skz fluff#skz angst#seo changbin x reader#skz changbin#stray kids changbin#everglow onda#skz#changbin x reader#changbin x you
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hiiiii
finished that solidarian one shot
@fagdykegtws thank you for inspiration silly :3
It was dark, cold, and quite frankly, terrifying out on Bread Bridge all alone. Grian would never admit that though. At least not to Jimmy and Joel. He didn’t particularly like the idea of sharing his fears, he didn’t want them exploited, even if he knew his fellow Bad Boys wouldn’t do that to him.
At least he thinks so.
Hopefully.
They would, wouldn’t they? At some point, if they remembered Limited Life next time.
”Jimmy couldn't though, could he?” Grian laughed, remembering the canary person’s pathetic attempt at… well everything, honestly.
As if he summoned him, Jimmy came wandering over to Grian, surprising him and causing him to almost fall off the bridge entirely.
”TIM! YOU ALMOST KILLED ME!”
“OH JEEZ-“ Jimmy yelped as he jumped back, “I didn’t know you were out here! Wait, why are you out here? It’s so cold and windy-“
”I like that.” Grian interrupted him, giving Jimmy an incredibly annoyed glare. Jimmy did not pay attention to this, of course. “Well, you’re gonna catch a cold! I’ll fetch some blankets.”
”WH-? NO! I’m FINE!” Grian sighed as he realized Jimmy was out of hearing range.
After a little waiting, and staring down at the ground so far away from him, Grian finally heard Jimmy scrambling back towards him. Jimmy proceeded to wordlessly create a makeshift nest out of blankets. Jimmy happily flared his yellow wings. Grian just looked in confusion; what was he planning?
“Come here,” he said, gesturing Grian over.
“Why would I-“ Jimmy wasn’t taking no, he swiftly pulled him in with his wings. Grian, processing what was happening, tried to jump up, and ultimately failed, and just gave up. All he could see was wings, it was dark, but warm. He couldn’t tell if he liked this. The last time anything like this happened, Grian ended up killing them in a cactus ring. He couldn’t remember who it was though. He was lost in thought for some time, mostly shocked, but he’d started to calm down, and even get comfortable. Jimmy was still awake, keeping watch over the bridge. After about an hour, Grian fell asleep, the first peaceful sleep he’d had for as long as he could remember, and even longer.
SAD END BECAUSE I LIKED IT vv
This happened just about everyday, until one.
He should know this by now,
The canary falls first.
Every. time.
#grian#trafficblr#life series#traffic smp#solidaritygaming#trafficshipping#traffic series#limited life#writing#life series fanfic#solidarian#jimmy solidarity#grianmc#FIRST FINISHED FIC??????? LETS GO
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I tried to send this snippet via messages but it wouldn’t let me for some reason so have this snippet of the faerie!Lando fic. I gave oscar a pen collection because why not.
“And this one is a P14.” Oscar absentmindedly passed the shiny metal pen into Lando’s outstretched hand, already pulling another one out of his organizer. “It’s 100% iron, which is pretty cool.”
His head whipped back towards the Brit when he heard a sharp yelp and the clang of the pen hitting the ground. He smelled something burning. For a morbid second, the scent reminded Oscar of a barbecue gone terribly wrong.
“Lando, oh my god, are you okay?” An angry slash of red was stamped on Lando’s palm in the unmistakable shape of a P14 metallic carbide. A similar shade was printed on the inside of his fingers, where he had curled them over the pen.
“I may have forgotten to mention my very severe iron allergy. All of the apartment hardware is silver and the appliances are aluminium. My skin’s just hypersensitive when it comes to iron, I guess,” Lando admitted sheepishly. Oscar thought he wasn’t nearly as disturbed by his blistering skin as he should be. “Quite frankly, it’s a bit embarrassing. What sort of grown man can’t handle touching the second most common mineral on Earth?”
Oscar was horrified. “I am so, so, so sorry! I swear I had absolutely no idea.” He started frantically sprinting towards the bathroom, where they kept all their first-aid. “Do you have burn ointment anywhere?”
Lando shook his head. “It’s all right, not your fault. I should’ve said something.” He watched, bemused, as Oscar scoured their bathroom cabinet for a tube of Neosporin. Warmth bloomed in his chest, a fond smile on his face despite the fast-fading pain in his right hand. Lando thought it was sort of nice seeing his normally unflappable roommate so worked up, especially over him. “Oscar!” he called. No response from the Aussie, still engrossed in his search for burn ointment. “Oscar!” he tried again, louder this time. Lando was relieved when Oscar turned to look at him, a strand of soft brown hair falling over his dark eyes. “While I appreciate how committed you are to my wellbeing, there’s really no point in patching me up. My immune system and I have a love-hate relationship, so the burn will be gone by tomorrow morning at the latest. Maybe in the next few hours if I’m lucky. Healing freakishly fast was probably the universe’s way of apologizing for giving me this stupid allergy. Besides, we need to conserve the bandages so that we’ll have enough for when you inevitably break your leg against that footstool you keep tripping over.”
“Lando. You do realize you’re some sort of crazy medical anomaly, right? I’m roommates with the cure for cancer or something. You definitely escaped from a lab,” he teased as he walked over to the couch, a roll of bandages in one hand, yellow tube of burn ointment in the other. “It would explain a lot of things about you.”
“Mmm yes, Oscar,” Lando moaned exaggeratedly, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes like a really bad pornstar. Oscar tried to ignore how good his name sounded on Lando’s tongue. “Talk dirty to me, baby. I just love being called a freak of nature.”
“Shut up. You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Oscar shot back, laughing. “Even big, tough medical anomalies need to apply Neosporin to their second degree burns, no matter how fast they heal.” He patted the orange couch cushion next to him. “Sit down. I’ll bandage you up.”
“Didn’t take you as the nurse roleplay type, Oscar. Kinky.” Lando winked. “Don’t worry though, I’m down for anything as long as it's with you.” Oscar went from faintly pink to bright red. He would never understand how the Brit could say things like that so casually. Just once, he wanted to see Lando flustered.
“If you don’t sit down right now and let me treat your hand, I swear I’ll get a live fish from the grocery store and let it flop around on your pillow before cooking it for dinner tomorrow.” Lando paled at the threat.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he professed, hastily plopping down on the couch and extending his hand to Oscar. The Aussie smiled to himself. Lando’s hatred of seafood always made for easy negotiations. He gingerly took the proffered hand and almost dropped it because of how cold it was, despite the angry burn cutting through it.
“Are you okay? Your hands are frigid.”
“Well no, I’m not okay. I have a burned hand and a very persistent roommate who insists on bandaging it even though I’ve told him I’ll be fine,” Lando snarked. He softened once he registered the genuine concern on the other man’s face. “It’s no big deal, I just tend to run cold. I’ve been like this for as long as I can remember.”
Oscar hummed in acceptance, turning his attention back to Lando’s hand. Oscar could feel his roommate’s eyes on the side of his face, unwavering. When he glanced over, his heart caught in his throat. Lando was looking at him with something in his gaze. His dark pupils blown wide, gold light flickering between threads of vivid blue-green, a secret nestled in a sea of jade. Oscar couldn’t name what he saw, but he knew he was desperate to see it again in Lando’s eyes. For a second, with the fading sunset backlighting his face, Lando looked hauntingly ethereal, almost inhuman in his beauty.
He reluctantly looked away to rip off a strip of bandage. Having forgotten to grab scissors, Oscar settled for tearing it with his teeth. Bandage still in his mouth, he heard Lando’s breath hitch. Oscar looked up at him expectantly. Knowing him, Lando was probably gearing up to make a comment about Oscar’s “unhygienic practices.”
“What?” A beat passed.
“Nothing,” Lando answered, sounding oddly strained, as if something had lodged itself in his throat.
“If you’re going to complain about me using my teeth to tear the bandage, you can go grab a pair of scissors and I’ll cut you a new one,” Oscar told him. “I won’t be offended.” He dolloped a circle roughly the size of a pence coin on his finger and started gently rubbing it over the raw skin of Lando’s hand. Oscar felt Lando shiver at his touch and cursed himself for not warming it up a little bit.
“I don’t mind teeth,” Lando mumbled, a smile in his voice. Oscar rolled his eyes at the sheer Lando-ness of his response, settling back into the familiar rhythm he knew so well. Whatever was in the air between them dissipated into the comfortable lull of their friendship.
y'all it's an update to the fae!Lando fic!! and oh my god we get Oscar now too <3<3
"For a second, with the fading sunset backlighting his face, Lando looked hauntingly ethereal, almost inhuman in his beauty."
oh I literally have an image to go with that perfectly from @lewdo
(and Oscar with a pen collection ?? god how incredibly cute and in character)
#inchreplies#landoscar fic#landoscar#lemonadedino#you including oscar's teeth and lando's reaction is just#god this is everything I wanted
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al amanecer
🕸️
Pairing: Miles Morales/Gwen Stacy
Rating: General Audiences
Description: Gwen really doesn’t like the fact that Rio doesn’t like her. Why not try learning Spanish?
Warnings: None, pure fluff
Word Count: 1,587
A/N: Miles speaking Spanish but written by an actual Spanish speaker so it doesn’t sound stupid 🫶🏽 Comments and reblogs are the loves of my life.
Masterlist & Read on Ao3!
🕸️
The sky was shaded in different shades of pink, yellow and orange as the sun set over New York City on Earth 1610. Gwen Stacy and Miles Morales sat on the side of his apartment building, mostly in silence, simply admiring. It had taken quite a while and a lot of work for them to get to the place they are right now, with Miles trusting Gwen again enough to stay over in his dimension. Speaking of…
“In the spirit of honesty,” Miles spoke, interrupting their comfortable silence as they looked over the setting sun, “my mom really does not like you.”
Gwen’s head popped up from where it was resting on his shoulder, her expression shocked as she turned to face Miles. “What? Why not?”
“Well, for one, when you met her, you called her by her first name-”
“I helped save your dad’s life!” Gwen interjected, the pout on her face making Miles want to lean in and kiss her, but of all the things they had shared with each other in trying to mend their relationship, their feelings for each other remained unspoken.
“Yeah and you called him Jeff in the process!” Miles chuckled, wrapping his arm around Gwen’s shoulders as Gwen rested her head on his shoulder once again, still pouting, and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Okay, what else?” Gwen questioned, dreading the response. She hoped there wouldn’t be anything else, but Miles’ response was almost immediate.
“She says you look old enough to vote,” said Miles. Gwen didn’t miss the way he pressed his lips together to keep himself from laughing, but she decided not to comment on it for the simple reason that she did not want to know what he found so funny about the situation.
Though she was slightly offended, Gwen’s reply came easily. “You should tell her time is relative.”
Miles barked out a laugh, not expecting that response. “Okay I’ll tell her,” he said, dropping his head on top of hers and allowing himself to bask in their closeness for a moment. Then, he added, “She doesn’t like that you can’t speak Spanish.”
Again, Gwen’s head shot up, but this time the look in her eyes was determined. “So teach me!” she instructed. She looked like it was the best idea she had ever had (which Miles seriously doubted). Her eyes gleamed with enthusiasm and her smile was unbearably wide. Distantly, Miles thought about how glad he was that the two of them could smile that way with each other again.
“No,” he responded, shaking his head but smiling privately at her sudden excitement.
“Come on, Miles, I really want your mom to like me. Pleeease,” Gwen begged, eyes wide and pleading and donning an over-exaggerated pout.
“You know I got a ‘B’ in Spanish, right?” Miles questioned, remaining wholly unconvinced. He watched as Gwen clasped her hands together pleadingly and jutted her bottom lip out even more and gave her a playful shove.
“Are you fluent?” Gwen asked, eyebrow arching as she saw him open his mouth to respond.
“... Yes,” Miles admitted begrudgingly, unable to keep his smile to himself. Gwen’s radiant smile was payment enough for how much work he’d inevitably have to put into teaching her an entirely new language.
“Then I don’t care what you got in a high school class. Those classes teach the colonizer’s Spanish-”
“How much time have you been spending with Hobie recently?” Miles snickered at her argument. Gwen waved a hand in front of her face as if motioning the question away.
“- and I wanna learn your Spanish,” Gwen continued as though she hadn’t been interrupted. “Please, please, please, please - I’m not gonna stop until you say yes - please, please, please pl-”
“Fine! Fine! Just stop it!” he laughed, tensing for a moment as Gwen threw herself into his embrace. Her soft blonde hair tickled the side of his face as she buried into the crook between his neck and his shoulder.
“Yes! Thank you!” she yelled excitedly, unaffected by Miles’ sudden stiffness, though she smiled to herself as he relaxed and allowed himself to wrap his arms around her.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he whispered to her, burrowing his nose into her hair, “This is gonna get really annoying really fast. How much do you know?”
“I take Spanish in school,” Gwen started to explain, but she was cut off by Miles holding up a hand.
“That means nothing to me. How much do you know?” He had seen plenty of people cheat their way through a Spanish class. It was as easy as hiding their phone under their thigh and going on Google translate while the teacher had their back turned.
“I know some! …On paper,” Miles gave her an unimpressed look which clearly told her to tell him the whole truth. “I know how to introduce myself,” she admitted begrudgingly.
“Okay, do it,” Miles ordered, waiting patiently and mentally preparing himself not to laugh at what was sure to be the worst Spanish had ever heard.
“Hola, me llamo Gwen,” she mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes. Miles had not prepared himself enough. Still buried in Miles’ arms, Gwen could feel his chest shaking with contained laughter and swatted his back.
“It’s not funny, asshole! I’m trying!” she insisted, trying and failing to contain her own laugh as Miles’ burst from his lips. “You try learning a whole new language, see how smart you sound!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Miles responded, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. His words could hardly be understood through his boisterous laughter, and one of his hands unraveled itself from around Gwen and instead clutched his own side where he was getting a stitch from laughing so hard. “I hope you’re not tired because we have to start from scratch.”
🕸️
Gwen was tired. Reluctant as he was, Miles was a very dedicated teacher. It was still the same night, or rather, morning as it was now sometime around five a.m. She was now lying on his bed, her head hanging off the side with the pink tips of her ponytail tickling the ground.
“Give me a break, Mi! I didn’t ask to learn the whole language in one night,” she groaned as Miles took both of her hands in his and pulled her into an upright sitting position once again. “I wanna go to sleep!”
“Come on! Do you want my mom to like you or not?” he urged, sparing Gwen a grin when she glared at him.
“‘Course I do! It’s really important to me! But it’s so late.” As she ended her complaint, she slumped forward, her head resting in Miles’ lap. Her next statement was muffled by the material of his pants. “This is pointless, she's never gonna like me! She’s too overprotective of you!”
“She might like you!” Miles pressed, pushing her back up. At this point it was a bit like fighting to keep one of those inflatable tube men from the car dealerships to remain upright, as she flopped backward into her original position.
“Oh yeah, how’s that?” Gwen questioned, her hands covering her face, palms rubbing tiredly at her eyes. Behind her, through the window, thin beams of sunlight began shining through the window and basked Gwen in warm yellow light.
She looked so beautiful, he spit it out before he could even think about it. “Because I like you.”
This time, Gwen did not pop up. Instead, she rose slowly, her eyes searching for any sign that he might have been joking. “I like you too, Miles.”
She felt as though they were moving in slow motion as their faces moved closer together. Just as they were about to kiss, Miles pulled away. “How do you say it in Spanish?”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Gwen deadpanned, sending him an icy glare directly in contrast to the pleasantly happy look in her eyes.
“How do you say it?” he repeated incessantly.
“Me gustas,” Gwen relented, her smile brilliant as she began leaning in again.
“How do you say I love you?” Miles murmured against her lips the moment before they touched.
“Te amo,” Gwen whispered, nuzzling her nose into his.
“Te amo, mi tesoro,” Miles whispered in return, placing a hand on her face and finally pulling her into a kiss. The kiss was far from perfect, neither of them had ever kissed anyone before, they were both abundantly nervous, and Miles was pretty sure that at some point he bit her, but it was perfect to both of them.
Miles broke that kiss for one second and breathed, “Hermosa.” Kiss. “Linda.” Kiss. “Reina de mi corazón.” Kiss, kiss, kiss.
They stayed that way until they fell asleep, Gwen’s head cushioned on Miles’ chest, their breaths rising and falling peacefully.
This was how Rio found them when she checked on them after getting for work. Despite her initial dislike for the girl, she couldn’t help but smile at the small smile gracing her son’s face even in his sleep. Feeling an intrusion, Gwen stirred, barely lifting her head from Miles’ chest and squinting blearily at the door, relieved to find only his mother standing there.
“Buenos días, Señora Morales,” she muttered tiredly, eyes fluttering back closed as she rested once again.
“Buenos días, Gwen,” Río replied quietly, smiling down at the couple. Later in the morning, Gwen swore the kiss she felt on her forehead was in her dream, and decided not to mention it.
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the way i would killl for a cute little scene between amended jk and lily when she was 4/5 doing something sweet like him teaching her something, or helping her in any way🥺🥺 I always imagined jk with a lil soft spot for her mini princess and i hope he does have it because lily is just the cutesttt!
I hope you enjoy this! <3
Story: Amended
Characters: Jungkook and Lily
Length: 2406
CW: Some soft cursing, mentions of blood, that's it
“Elbow pads,” Jungkook said and Lily held her arms out for him to check the straps, even though he’d only fastened them a minute ago.
“Check!” she said.
“Wrist guards,” he said and held his hands out for her to slap with the guards in place.
“Check!” she said.
“Knee pads.”
“Check!”
“Helmet.”
“Check!” Lily laughed and swatted at him as he drummed lightly on the hot pink shell protecting her blonde head from the sort of thing he would not want to have to explain to Isabella later. Isabella and Ezra were at a birthday party, one Lily was too young to participate in, which had led to many tears from the six year old who considered all of Ezra’s friends her friends too.
There were few things Jungkook disliked more than Lily’s tears of disappointment, so he’d decided to make good on a promise he’d been given more than a year ago.
“Lesson one, how to carry the board,” he said, pulling the shortboard off the wall in the garage where he’d fitted hangings for his skateboards. Eomma had been about to throw them out when she and Appa were cleaning out their garage, and then Isabella had been skeptical why he’d want them seeing as he wasn’t seventeen anymore, but one smooth (ok, a little wobbly) ride home on the longboard had reminded him how much he enjoyed it. And he’d ridden since high school! Not in a few years, but now he’d do a few runs of the driveway on them, if Ezra and Lily had them out to play. They thought he looked cool. Isabella said he looked like a hospital visit but then she’d kiss his cheek affectionately so he thought she just didn’t want to admit that her little high school heart still thumped for him riding. He was sure of it.
“I want to ride the big one,” Lily frowned and pointed.
“No let’s start with this one. That one will be harder for you to steer.”
She made a face but it quickly dissolved into a smile as he handed her the shortboard with its bright blue and yellow geometric design on the bottom. When she balanced it on her head, he showed her how to carry it under her arm instead.
“It’s scratchy,” she giggled. “I always scratch my butt on it.”
“That scratchy is really important, it’s going to help your shoes stay in place.”
“Like glue?!”
“Not quite but sort of.”
They walked together to the end of the long driveway, where many times before she would perch her butt or tummy on the skateboard and scoot down the slight incline. Jungkook had a terror of her rolling over her fingers so at least she knew to keep her hands up, but she’d definitely fallen off a few times even so. Usually when she veered into the grass and rolled off.
“Ok for starters, you’re going to just stand and I’ll help you go. I want you to get a feel for how moving your body changes where you go. Are you left footed or right footed.”
“I have both feet,” she assured him, looking up with wide-eyed innocence.
“Yes but which is your– nevermind. Start walking towards me?”
“Why?” she asked, taking several steps in his direction, left foot first.
“Ah! You’re goofy!”
“You’re goofy,” she glared and giggled and stuck her tongue out.
“No, we call it goofy-footed, I think your left foot is your dominant foot.”
“What does dah-mint mean?”
“Never mind. Here, you’re going to stand like this on the board,” Jungkook said, taking up a demonstrative stance beside her. He waited for her to mimic his foot position, then took a moment to adjust her weight and shoulders, told her to bend her knees, hands out for now. She bounced up and down to make a game of it, giggling. Little girl energy was very different from teenage boy energy, when he’d learned to board from YouTube videos and hid in the garage until he wouldn’t embarrass himself.
“Great. Now let’s give it a go on the board. Up you go,” he said. She stepped up only to immediately yelp as it slid out from under her. Fortunately he caught her but they had to chase the board down.
“Easy does it, try again.”
“It’s like getting on a nervous horse,” she giggled.
“Have… you ever ridden a horse?”
“No like in Barbie, duh.”
“Duh,” he repeated, eyes wide, shaking his head at her sass. “Ok, easy like you’re getting on a nervous horse.”
He let her try again and then the third time decided to more actively help her find her balance. She had her legs straight which would have sent her sailing onto her bum when the board when flying if Jungkook hadn’t been right there to catch her under the armpits. So he held her tight as she stepped onto the board the third time, and made her bend her knees, and then maneuvered her to help her find the right balance.
“Steady, steadyyyy,” he teased, slowly letting go of her.
Lily made a horse whinnying noise and promptly fell off. He didn’t manage to catch her this time. For a brief moment he watched her waver between whether she thought this was funny or not, but she decided it was ok and popped back up.
They tried it again and this time Lily could hold steady enough that he gave her a little nudge to get her rolling.
“Knees bent! Knees bent!” he encouraged, hands hovering around her as she wobbled. He hadn’t pushed the skateboard hard though and when it abruptly lost steam against a crack in the sidewalk, Lily pitched forward and he barely managed to catch her.
“Again!” Lily cheered as she spun her around and toed the skateboard back into place. Of course she thought flying was fun! Jungkook smiled and ignored the burning starting in his muscles at being so consistently tensed so as to keep her from eating shit.
They tried the routine several more times, each time Jungkook pushing her a little further and faster as she did her best to maintain balance. Gradually he moved his hands away from her, trusting her to hold steady.
“Shit,” he choked as that came back to bite him in the ass: Lily took a forward tumble, shooting the board back into his shins, which hurt like shit and also kept him from catching her in time. Knee pads and wrist guards clattered against the driveway as Lily let out an anguished cry. He scooped her up, checking for any major injuries as big tears rolled down her face, blue eyes the size of dinner plates.
“Anything hurt? Anything broken?” he demanded, looking her over. She sniffled and shook her head. “You didn’t bite your tongue or break a tooth or anything?”
“It was scary!” she sobbed and threw her arms around his neck.
“Ok. I know. Ok we don’t have to keep going, you did really well today. You were doing it!”
But Lily sobbed, “I want to do it all the way.”
“All the way what?”
“I want to do tricks!” she cried. “I want to go up the house.”
“Up the house?”
“Up the house and I do a flip.”
“No no,” he laughed. “Today we just go down the driveway. You have to skate a while before you can do tricks and not up the side of the house! We’d need to go to a skate park.”
“When?”
“Not today, Lilybear. We can be done now. Let’s go inside and–”
“But I only went this far!” she sobbed and held up her fingers an inch apart.
“You… want to keep going?” It seemed untrue considering she was still crying, but she nodded and held her hand high to be lifted. So he picked her up to her feet. “Ok, well, high five! Let’s try again then!”
She was very brave with her little sniffles, wiping her face off and then complaining about the velcro that scratched her cheek. Jungkook got the skateboard set up again, helped her on, and then did it all again. Now that she’d had one fall, she was tense at first, but after a few minutes began to relax again and she started riding further. And further. And further until she reached more of the incline of their long driveway and gained speed. Jungkook had to jog to keep up and she shrieked with laughter, knees bent, hands out to catch herself.
“Go!” he shouted as he realized she was stable and might be able to ride the whole length. “Go go! You got this! Go!” He cheered in the distance as she rolled onwards, gaining speed but not wavering.
Only to scream, “HOW DO I STOP?!”
“Shit–”
He set off at a sprint and just barely managed to catch her off the board around the waist before she slammed into the garage door like a bird at the window.
“I did it!!” Lily shrieked as Jungkook spun her around, his own cheers bubbling around hers, “You did it! You did it!” He was proud of her, yes, especially for getting back onto the skateboard after falling so many times, but also he was relieved as all fuck that she had suffered no major injuries.
“Ah, watching you is really inspiring,” he told her through a double high-five. “You want to go again?”
“Nope! I’m all done,” she beamed at him.
“For today? Or forever?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ok,” he laughed, and scratched the back of his neck. “Well… I’m going to do one lap up and back, watching you board was so inspiring.”
“I know,” she grinned, though he suspected she didn’t know what that meant. But helping her for so long left him desperate for a cool, smooth ride. And maybe to show off a little too, convince her that it was cool and she should practice it more. He thought having a skateboarder daughter would be pretty cool.
He got a running start and tossed the board down, stepping onto it with ease, a muscle memory still in his balance and legs. The breeze through his hair was nice as he stretched his arms and rode up the long driveway, occasionally pushing off to get more speed through the slight incline. At the top he tried to do a little jump to spin around but he was rusty and just stepped heavily off the board but Lily couldn’t see him fuck it up from the far end of the driveway so that was ok.
He set off again, a little faster this time, gliding smoothly side to side, arms raised in a victorious pose as she cheered for him from the front door where she’d already stripped her guards off.
Unfortunately, she opened the door. And Gidget, who had been kept inside so as not to “helpfully” knock Lily over during her lesson came sprinting directly towards Jungkook. He zipped to the side to avoid running over her, but he had miscalculated how close to the edge of the driveway he was.
The right wheels sank into the narrow space between concrete and grass and Jungkook pitched forward, frantically lowering his arms to catch himself. He landed hard on his left side, barely biting back a curse as Gidget leapt over him as if trying to smother him and finish the job.
He rolled onto his back and hissed at the burning sensation on his leg and arm, scowling and ordering, “Get off, Gidget. Down girl, stop!”
“Daddy!” Lily’s scream hadn’t registered with Jungkook as he ate shit but now her voice cut through as she sprinted over to him. He held Gidget’s collar with one hand and gingerly inspected his arm and knee with the other.
“Oh no you scraped your knee!” Lily gasped. His elbow too, both scratched raw like he hadn’t done in probably a decade, not since he played soccer. Honestly, maybe not this bad since he was a kid. He felt exactly like a six-year-old as Lily, now the adult, crouched over him and grimaced in sympathy.
“Dad.”
“Yeah, Lil?”
“You’re supposed to wear a helmet! What if you hit your head? You got hurt so bad! Where are your knee pads?!”
Jungkook made a face and sighed, “I don’t even own kneepads… I thought I’d be ok…”
“Safety first! Are you even wearing sunscreen?!”
Jungkook’s scowl grew all the way into a pout as he looked to the side and let Gidget go and sighed, “... No.”
“I know just what to do. We need our first aid kit. I’m not allowed to touch it but it’s under the sink so you can get it and um… I’ll hold your hand while you put a bandaid on it because I don’t think I’m allowed to touch blood and I don’t want to look at it anymore,” she said, full transparency, her gaze repeatedly jerking away from the bloody scrapes. “Maybe we should call Mom. I don’t ever want to look at your owie again.”
“We don’t need to call Mom.”
“It’s a lot of blood.”
It hurt, but her concern made him chuckle as he assured her, “It’s not as bad as it looks. Come on, help me walk into the house.”
“Did you break your bones?! Maybe you’re too old to skateboard!”
“Lily! I’m not that old!”
“No more skateboarding unless you have all the pads.”
“But–”
“It’s the rule,” she reminded him, exactly what he had said to her that morning when she had first complained that the elbow and wrist pads were uncomfortable. Damnit.
“Ok ok. I won’t argue with you right now. Let’s get me cleaned up… but I looked pretty cool before I crashed, right? You saw?”
“I saw you rolling.”
“It’s called boarding.”
“Did you do a trick? I was taking my pads off.”
“No, I didn’t do a trick, I just… boarded good…”
Lily just blinked at him. Jungkook let out a noisy sigh and lay back in the grass, surrendering to Gidget’s licks around his neck and chin.
“You boarded good! Now you need a bandaid and I need a snack,” Lily assured him. Jungkook heaved himself to his feet, wincing at the sting of the scrapes, and the two skaters called it a day and went for juice and cookies and a whole lotta Frozen bandaids.
#dad jungkook#stepdad jungkook#amended#jungkook fic#jungkook fanfic#jeon jungkook fluff#jungkook fanart#jeon jungkook x oc#jeon jungkook fanfic#bts fluff#jungkook fluff#jungkook fiction#bts fanfiction
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August 1
I believe I am recovered from my experience enough now to record what happened to me after I entered the cave of Pikaman.
Entering the gloom with my lantern held aloft, I immediately felt a sort of all-over shiver, an electric force running up and down my body as if I’d just stepped through an invisible curtain.
I passed by hoards of fascinating artifacts and growths lining the cave walls that I longed to stop and examine: glowing crystals, humming moss, twisting golden filaments that squirmed along the stone, moving and alive. But I made myself move quickly along, until I reached a larger room, where stalactites and stalagmites met in tall columns.
And in the center: Pikaman.
His large ears swiveled forwards. He rose from his nest of colored string.
“I’m the Naturalist,” I called out, “I’ve come to meet you—to ask you some questions—?”
No reply.
I was, I’ll admit, wholly terrified. He was close now, towering over me. The prehensile feet which had made the prints which led me here—the shiny yellow fur—and those inhuman eyes, black voids, boring into me.
And then I realized: he did not understand me. I cursed myself—what prejudice I brought with me! To simply assume that any creature would be able to converse with me, even if he were willing! I suppose knowing of his impressiveness and intelligence I had thought—oh, but it hardly mattered now what I had thought. It had all been for naught, that much was apparent. I could not make my peaceful intentions known to him, so he would fall upon me in fury for entering his den, and nobody would ever hear of me again. My poor Intern, stranded, alone in a strange land…! I felt ashamed of my idiocy. I wanted to cry…
And then, as Pikaman bore down on me, looming, his mouth curling in a grimace, I heard the voice of the meme peddler echo in my ears…
For when words fail.
“🌿💡💓!” I shouted. I raised up the rings on my fingers and pointed them at Pikaman.
He stopped in his tracks. The grimace turned to a smile.
“🌿💡💓? 👆⚡️🏆💖!”
Suffice to say, we were then able to converse in a language we both spoke. Alas, he did not wish to have his origin known. I could not get him to tell me from whence he had come, or what his purpose was in coming, or if there were more of him—a whole distant land of Pikamen, as I had idly imagined.
But he told me that he was proud of me for braving the wilds of Tumblr to visit him: something nobody had yet done, and he had been quite lonely. And as a reward for finding him, in lieu of knowledge of his own history, he would give me knowledge of something else.
“Give me knowledge?” I asked. “But how?”
He beckoned me close. His fingers were very very long, and tipped with fur. Electricity sparked between them as he reached out to place them on my forehead.
And for one blinding infinite moment I saw it all. Tumblr in its entirety — machinery, magic, love — my consciousness flung out to the very periphery of this land, understanding everything, brilliance and darkness and laughter and pain and comfort all at once, the way thousands of souls slotted and slid together simultaneously in that dance of delight —
Then it was over. He had taken his hand away: the connection was broken.
“👁?”
I stammered, “Yes—yes, I saw it—I saw it all—😵💫👆👁👌.”
“🏞2️⃣.” it all saw you too.
Which meant, I suppose, that my face or form has now been scattered temporarily across the land, just as Pikaman’s was. An unexpected honor, I think.
I don’t remember much after that, only I somehow made it back to my camp and slept for what seemed like at least a full day, exhausted by the experience.
Among everything else I must consider over the journey home, I find I’m most concerned about Pikaman’s loneliness. It is a trial of a journey, true, but perhaps now I must do my best to encourage others to pay him a visit. I was the first, but surely I shall not be the last.
And now I must make my way back to my base camp, where the second half of my Guidebook to Tumblr still remains to be written…
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You requested something to read, so I thought I’d share this little abomination that I wrote. I’ll be posting it on my page as well.
“I’ll stab you with my trouser sword and plunder your booty, yo-ho!” You sang loudly as you swabbed the deck of the Black Pearl.
“Yo-ho!” The crew hollered in response, as it was part of the song.
You were a new addition to the crew, and fine one at that! From your jokes to your colorful sea shanties, you brought such a lively and fun energy to the ship. Everyone there loved you.
All except one person, that is…
It’s not necessarily that he disliked you, but Barbossa didn’t seem to find you as entertaining as everyone else did. It was a shame, really.
“Quit yer caterwaulin’ ya blunderin’ mongrels!” He hollered as he exited the captain’s quarters.
Everybody looked around at each other uncomfortably and got back to work, disappointment in their eyes.
“He can be a bit of a mood-killer, can’t he?” Jack said as he joined you to swab the deck.
“That’s for sure,” you replied, focusing on your work. Then you stopped for a moment, smiling an amused half-smile, “I must admit, though, the man certainly has a gift for colorful insults!”
“That he does,” Jack mused, “One of my favorites is probably ‘salty sea dogs.’ It has a nice ring to it.”
“Yeah,” you chuckled, “I personally found ‘slack-jawed buffoons’ to be a good one. It really packs a punch, you know? Like, it’s unnecessarily harsh.”
“That, and ‘wreckless pack of ingrates.’” Jack said, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
“We should start writing these down!” You laughed.
A while later, you and Jack had acquired a quill and some paper, and you began your list.
“He said ‘poxy mongrels’ once,” you said as you jotted it down.
“I remember him saying ‘nattering swine’ the other day,” Jack said. You added it to the list.
“Let’s add some of our own!” You said, looking excitedly at Jack.
“Ooh, we should, shouldn’t we,” he said, taking on your expression. Then he thought for a moment, “How about ‘lily-livered milksops?’”
“That’s a good one!” You wrote it down, “I’ve got one!” You said, “‘Toe-eyed cabbages!”
Jack looked at you with an expression of surprise and discomfort, “That one’s a bit out there.”
“I suppose so,” you said, pondering the strange words that came out of your mouth. Then your eyes lit up, “I’ve got a better one! Bald-headed yogurt slingers!”
“Now you’re just scaring me,” Jack said.
“Okay, fine,” you said, chuckling, “Let’s get back to his insults!”
“For the sake of my own sanity, we should,” Jack said. You continued writing.
“‘Scurvy bilge rats’ is a classic, so we can’t forget that one!” You said, smiling as you wrote.
“I think he also said ‘salty bilge rats’ once,” Jack said.
“Honestly, a lot of these sound like they could be interchangeable,” you mused.
Jack’s face took on a thoughtful expression. Then he brightened, “I have an idea!” He took the paper from you and started to write.
It took a while for him to finish, which made you worried that Barbossa would catch you and scold you for not working. Finally, Jack was done. He handed you the paper, “I put the first parts on the left, and the last parts on the right. That way we can mix and match!”
“That’s brilliant!” You grinned, “I like it!”
You scanned the two lists, which were somewhat long. Then inspiration struck you, and you added your idea to the list.
You handed it to Jack, the finished product looking something like this:
Front:
A: Wreckless
B: Blooming
C: Lazy
D: Mangy
E: Cackhanded
F: Knee-knocking
G: Bloated
H: Salty
I: Yellow-bellied
J: P****-licking
K: Feckless
L: Lilly-livered
M: Filthy
N: Blundering
O: Bilge-drinking
P: Bloody
Q: Slimy
R: Bleeding
S: Poxy
T: Slack jawed
U: Nattering
V: Wretched
W: Squiffy
X: Gutless
Y: Scurvy
Z: Blasted
Back:
A: Ingrates
B: Cockroaches
C: Bilge rats
D: Scoundrels
E: Deck apes
F: Halfwits
G: Sea cows
H: Sea dogs
I: Milksops
J: Codpieces
K: Mongrels
L: Sobs
M: Whelps
N: Swabbies
O: Buffoons
P: Codpieces
Q: Hornswagglers
R: Swine
S: P****-lickers
T: Maggots
U: Curs
V: Ninnies
W: Knaves
X: Blowfish
Y: Picaroons
Z: Scallywags
“I don’t understand,” Jack said, with his brow furrowed in confusion.
“You take the first letter of your first name from list one, and the first letter of your last name from the second list. For example, I would be (insert your name here).”
“I see,” Jack said, reading the list, “I would be…p****-licking p****-lickers…” he looked baffled, and maybe a little disappointed.
You laughed, “That’s actually kind of hilarious!”
“What are you two feckless mongrels up to?” Barbossa barked. Noticing the paper in your hands, he grabbed it.
You and Jack panicked as he read your creation. Then he looked up at the two of you, “Get back to work,” he ordered. The two of you scrambled off, eager to get away from the grumpy captain.
“Do you think we’ll be punished?” You asked Jack.
“I hope not,” Jack said, glancing over his shoulder at Barbossa. Frightened by the likelihood of that happening, you two picked up your mops and continued where you had left off a while back.
Barbossa continued reading their list. When he finished, he chuckled and put it in his pocket and headed back to his quarters.
Thank you so much for this! It gave me the smile I needed! ❤️
@savvythepirate
#jack sparrow imagines#jack sparrow imagine#jack sparrow x reader#jack sparrow#hector barbossa imagines#hector barbossa imagine#hector barbossa x reader#hector barbossa#davy jones imagines#davy jones imagine#davy jones x y/n#davy jones#pirates of the caribbean imagine davy jones#will turner x reader#will turner#i take requests#requests wanted#send in a request#requests are open#taking requests#requests#requested#request#send in an ask#ask box#ask box is open
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