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clockwayswrites · 24 days

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City Pigeons Bleed Green - Part 13

Cass looked up as Jason came out of Danny’s room. He looked better.

After Danny had been stabilized, Cass had taken Jason away from the safe house and to Jason’s place with the gym in the basement. She knew what it was like to have that need to act— to hurt to ruin to end— burning under her skin. She gave Jason the fight that he needed, letting him punch and kick until they were both covered in bruises and he was shaking apart in her arms.

Today he looked better.

“N is going to stay with Danny,” Jason said with a little nod backwards.

Dick, Jason, Tim, and herself had all been taking turns staying with their new brother. He was sleeping a lot right then; he was waking with nightmares a lot too. Waking up with one of them touching him seemed to help him calm the quickest so they took turns staying close.

“Red?” Cass asked with a little tilt of her head.

Jason glanced at the clock on the oven as he opened the fridge. He wasn’t really hungry, but eating out of habit. “He’ll be over here in two hours, I he doesn’t get distracted.”

“Be nice. Red cares. He’ll be here,” she said.

Jason seemed to settle on something and popped the top off before throwing it in the microwave. “Yeah… yeah. Danny’s pretty much wormed his way into all of our hearts, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. Will for rest too.”

Jason snorted. “As if he already hasn’t with B. They didn’t need to meet for that. You know how the old man is, a real bleeding heart of stone.”

Cass rolled her eyes and ordered again, “Be nice.”

Jason frowned at her but she just smiled serenely back until he rolled his eyes. It was a win enough for her.

The heated food was set on a trivet between them and Jason stuck two forks in it.

“I’m thinking we get O in here in a few days,” he said around his own large bite of lasagna. “Danny is healing better this time, but we don’t know what sort of set back this will cause mentally and all. Having another set of hands would be good.”

“O will like him.”

“Course she will,” Jason said with almost a scoff.

“No O and Red,” Cass added thoughtfully after she had chewed her own bite. This was definitely Jason lasagna and not Alfred lasagna.

“Yeah… I don’t think I’m going to trust those three in a room together for a long time,” Jason said with a dawning sort of horror. “Danny took apart the remote here and now it has buttons for services I didn’t even know existed. I swear it will change shows on its own too if no one is paying attention to it. It’s useful, I guess, but a little creepy.”

“Ghost brother,” Cass said with a little shrug.

Jason’s eyes narrowed before he let out an exhausted sounding sigh. “I hate that you might be right. Our controller could be haunted now.”

“Alas poor Yorick?”

“Wrong character,” Jason said, pointing with his fork, “but that is a play with a ghost in it so good job.”

Cass smiled happily at the praise. “Once Red is here, you and me errands?”

“You just want to buy Danny another present,” Jason said, jabbing his fork in her direction.

“Yes,” she said with zero shame.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Fine, but we have to do groceries too.”

Babs had been warned that Danny was still very skittish, but he hadn’t actually expected him to freeze like a scared rabbit when she came into the apartment. She stopped rolling forward and moved her hands to where he could see them both clearly.

“Hi Danny,” she said with her kindest librarian voice that she had. “I’m Oracle. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Danny shook his head, the motion ran through him like a shudder and whatever had frozen him shook off him like water off a dog. His smile was still shaky though, so Babs didn’t think that whatever the reaction had been was completely done.

“Hi, Oracle.” His voice was soft, rough, a little broken.

She’d heard from a number of the bats about the latest development and the trauma that went with it, but it as still something to see someone that looked like a young Bruce covered in bandages and looking more than worse for the wear.

“Are you alright if I come in? If you aren’t, that’s alright. I’ll just talk with Nightwing in the hall for a little.”

“No, you can come in,” Danny said, sitting up a little straighter. His eyes flicked over her again. “It’s just… your hair reminded me of someone is all. No one… no one bad.”

Babs offered him a smile and came the rest of the way into the apartment. “If that changes, just let me know.”

“It’s fine, really,” Danny said, though the words were still a little bit of a whisper.

“Well then,” Dick said, interrupting the end of the oddly tense moment, “Babs, do you want any hot chocolate?”

“Thank you, but without the mountain of whip cream I know you liked to put on it,” she said, giving Dick a playful glare.

He shrugged unrepentantly. “Danny?”

“Yes please,” he said. He was fussing with the blanket he had been sitting under, folding it up just so.

Babs moved towards the kitchen to give him a little bit of space and the illusion of some privacy.

‘What was that about?’ Babs asked Dick silently through raised eye brows, a slightly twisted frown, and a subtle nod towards the living room.

‘Not a damn clue,’ is what Dick’s shrug said back.

It almost made Babs sigh.

Danny was still a complete mystery to her. While they were being good and had avoided taking blood or fingerprints from Danny, Barbara had at least been trying to find Danny’s path through the city. She’d been saying for days now that the boy was like a ghost.

She just didn’t expect that to be as literal as it was.

The nickname had lost any of its fun.

“Danny, whipped cream for you?” Dick asked.

Danny’s eyes darted from Dick to Babs.

“Oh, feel free to have it like N,” Babs said with a smile. “I just don’t have the sweet tooth that he does.”

“She never has, it’s tragic,” Dick said with a sigh as he started to warm a pot of milk. “So, whipped cream.”

“Um, yes,” Danny said.

“I will take sprinkles though,” Babs said. “Do you have the little—”

“Bats?” Dick scoffed. “Of course I have the little bats. You can’t have proper hot chocolate without the little bat sprinkles.”

“Of course not,” words serious but unable to help the little smile that she sported.

“You all really like the theme, don’t you?” Danny asked, though he was smiling too now.

“The boy in the hoddie with the Bat logo on it does not get to talk,” Dick said and tossed a large marshmallow at Danny with pin point accuracy.

Danny caught it effortlessly and started to pull it apart with a little shrug. “Hood got if for me as a present.”

“Of course he did,” Tim said as he finally emerged from wherever he had been tucked away. He handed the tablet he was carrying over to Danny before he sat down in the neighboring armchair. “He’s just trying to claim you first, as if him and I didn’t find you together.”

“Hot chocolate, Red?” Dick asked while Danny was busy looking bewildered at that.

“Sure, but add some coffee to it?” Tim asked.

“No,” Dick replied far too cheerfully. “But seriously Dandelion, a Bat logo from a Bat means something.”

Danny’s face scrunched up at that and he looked down at himself. “I don’t think… he was trying to claim me?”

Babs snorted. “Oh, trust us, he was absolutely claiming you. He probably felt that he had to do something material to even start to compete with B.B., as if he wasn’t cooking for you all the time.”

Danny stared back at her with wide blue eyes. The open surprise and desperate want was odd to see on someone that looked so much like Bruce. Damian certainly never let himself appear that way.

“And Red is already souping up your tablet, I’m assuming— though if you really want an improvement let me see it,” she continued, talking over Tim’s little snort, “and N is making you the special hot chocolate. Even Signal is thinking what he can get you and Spoiler is whining that she hasn’t met you yet.”

“She is getting so annoying,” Tim whined while Danny stuffed the shredded marshmallow in his mouth, likely to get out of saying anything. He looked more than a little teary eyed. Tim gave him the out by continuing, “We’ll have her over one morning when she’ll be tired and easily distracted by waffles. You’re not up for the full Spoiler experience yet.”

“Trust Red on that,” Dick interjected as he stirred the coco, “he dated her.”

“I don’t know what either of us were thinking,” Tim said with a sigh. “We are both way too high maintenance in different ways for it to have worked.”

“You were still waiting for you bi awakening, baby bird, you were missing out on half the options,” Dick said. He dropped one of the oversized marshmallows in each of the four mugs before pouring the scalding hot chocolate over it.

Babs left him to his sorcery and wheeled over to the couch before working her way onto it. Danny helpfully moved the blanket out of the way and then offered it back after. She draped it carefully over her legs.

“So what did Red do to your tablet?”

“I actually didn’t do anything,” Tim said, and then had to pause. “Well, not after I gave it to Danny at least. I was just making sure everything was still good. Danny’s been tinkering with it.”

Danny gave a little shrug and picked at the edge of his hoodie.

“Do you like engineering then? Or inventing?” Babs asked, trying to encourage Danny to open up a little.

“Yeah, my— I—, I mean…” Danny stumbled over his words. He lost some of his color with each false start until he was worryingly grey. He swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I used to at least.”

“Danny, hot chocolate,” Dick said with impeccable timing as always.

Danny whispered a thanks and took the almost overflowing mug. He could basically hide behind the mound of whipped cream and he definitely tried to. Babs took the offered mug with a much more modest dollop but an absurd amount of bat sprinkles. Her lips twitched up in a smile as she took a sip.

Tim’s portion was somewhere in between Bab’s and Danny and of course Dick’s was practically laughable. It’s a wonder he didn’t make an absolute mess of himself drinking it as they argued over a movie to watch. It was clever of the Bats, really, they had started to narrow down how long Danny had been a test subject by what movies he had seen or not.

It was somewhere between seventeen and twenty-three months.

Nearly two years.

They were all lucky that Danny had made it out at all. They all knew the statistics of something like that.

Hot chocolate turned into dinner turned into Danny cuddling Dick on the couch and eventually resting against Bab’s legs. A good sign about her acceptance, according to the birds.

“Oracle?”

Babs had thought that Danny was asleep. She reached out to run the tips of her fingers through his hair. The lights from the movie that was still playing glinted off her pink nails. “Yes, Danny?”

“If I asked… would you be able to find someone for me?”

She tilted her head. “The person that I remind you of?”

“Yes. Just… just so that I know she’s okay.”

“Is she in danger?”

“No, she’s not like me. She’s…” Danny cut himself off, swallowing back the words.

“But you’d still like to know.”

“Yes.”

Babs hummed. It was technically an abuse of her powers, but they were something she abused all the time. “Yes, if you ask me to, I can find out if she’s okay.”

“Okay. I’ll… maybe I’ll ask. Thank you.”

“Of course, Danny.”

---

AN: I struggled with this chapter at first, but it was because I was jumping right to Barbara meeting Danny and not giving the others some more time to deal with the change in Danny. They still haven't really dealt with it, right now they're focused on healing and getting more help through Babs being around.

All our poor Bat's. So attached already and so traumatized.

But not as traumatized as Danny...

Stay delightful, darlings!

#dp x dc #batpham #city pigeons

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blushweddinggowns · 2 months

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“Your boyfriend,” Chirssy sighed as she picked through Nancy’s clothes, “Y’know, Steve?”

Robin blinked at her, “You think I’m dating Steve?”

That was a silly question, “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I? You guys are all over each other.”

They were. Piggy back rides, cuddling on the couch together, constantly invading each other’s personal space. The only person worse with Steve was Eddie, but Chrissy figured that just came with being best friends for over a decade. She didn’t exactly have a frame of reference for that, considering her first real friends were barely six months old.

Chrissy just hadn’t expected Robin to burst out laughing. Hard enough to double over.

Robin wiped at her eyes, barely managing to speak through her own cackles, “That’s-oh my god. How have we fucked up this badly?”

Chrissy could feel a flush creep up her neck, embarrassment kicking in. She hated when she wasn’t in on the joke. It usually meant that it was actually on her, “Don't be mean.”

“No!” Robin rushed out to say, effortlessly catching on to the look on Chrissy’s face, “No! I-I don’t mean- you’re not stupid! I am. We are. For… reasons. But we aren’t dating.”

That didn’t make any sense. Unless… was Steve leading her on? Was he the type of guy to do that?

Chrissy raised a brow at her, “So what are you doing? The two of you are attached at the hip. Unless he just drives you around everywhere for fun?”

Chrissy could tell Robin was still trying not to laugh. She was failing at it too, obvious as she hid it behind her hand.

“Stop laughing at me,” Chrissy grumbled.

“I’m not! I’m just laughing near you,” Robin said quickly. She turned to Steve, “Hey babe, can you come over here for a second?”

He came trotting right over, leaving Eddie to argue with Nancy in his place. He kind of reminded her of a dog, but in a cute way. Like a golden retriever boyfriend.

Robin wrapped an arm around his shoulder the second he was within reach. She grinned at him, shaking him the slightest bit, “How would you feel about us going out some time?”

Steve stared at her, obviously confused, “Huh?”

“You, me,” Robin went on, “The whole boyfriend girlfriend shtick. What do you say?”

Chrissy didn’t expect to Steve physically cringe, like the idea completely disgusted him, “Ew, no.”

Robin scoffed but she didn’t look very surprised, “Fucking rude.”

“No!” Steve said, raising his hands to placate, “I don’t mean you’re gross! I mean it would be like banging my sister!”

It was Robin’s turn to cringe, “Dude, ew.”

“See!”

Chrissy didn’t understand what was happening. She stared at them, blurting the question out, “You guys aren’t together?”

Robin did a set of jazz hands, “Nope. Absolutely zero attraction between us. See?”

“But why?” Chrissy asked, looking between the two of them, “You both seem so perfect for each other.”

“Hey Eddie,” Steve called, a weird smile on his face, “What do you think? Are Robin and I perfect for each other?”

Suddenly Robin had that same look, “Yeah. He knows Steve better than anybody. Let's have him weigh in.”

Eddie groaned as he came over, clearly eavesdropping the entire time. He left Nancy to dig around her closet, walking up next to Steve with a sigh, “Are we really doing this? Really?”

Robin gasped, faking a faint, “Are you implying that I’m not good enough for Steve?”

Steve gasped right along with her, joining in with the dramatics while Chrissy was still lost, “I think he might be.”

“As fun as this little game is,” Eddie sighed, “I think we should just tell her. I’m tired of keeping my hands to myself anyway.”

Steve looked at him, head cocked, “You think so?”

“Why not?”

Steve shrugged, his eyes landing back onto Chrissy. His voice dipped down, more serious then before. He was talking like he was speaking to Eddie, but Eddie wasn’t the one he was staring down as he spoke, “It makes sense. I think the chances of it going badly are pretty low. The alternative wouldn’t be very wise.”

Chrissy was reminded, not for the first time, why she thought Steve was the scarier one of the best friend duo.

But then Eddie was clamping a hand onto Steve’s shoulder, pulling him closer as he mumbled in his ear, “Put the claws away angel. I highly doubt she's like that. Plus she's been through enough for one day. Don't you think?”

It was actually pretty impressive, how easily a few words had Steve’s face transforming from scarily defensive to pleasantly neutral. It nearly looked like the words made him shiver, “I-you're right. Sorry Chris. I'm just… sensitive about it “

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Chrissy said, completely unable to accept an apology that she didn’t understand, “What is happening?”

And what did Eddie just call him?

Eddie went on, “Well… we kind of have this thing when we’re in a near death experience. Or at least adjacent to it. Where we, well, kind of let loose? So we might as well warn you about what you’re going to see beforehand.”

Chrissy stared as Steve leaned further into him, nearly too close. No, definitely too close. He was basically nuzzling the side of Eddie’s face as he spoke, “You’re making it sound like we’re going to commit public indecency in front of her. And I’m the one who needs to calm down?”

Chrissy still didn’t get it. But her brain was still trying to work it out, fitting the weird pieces together. The way they were leaning into each other. The fact that Steve, for some bizarre reason didn’t want the best girl in the country, despite the fact that Robin was right there. How Eddie was instantly able to calm him down.

Angel.

Oh.

OH.

“Uh, you okay there Chris?” Eddie asked, watching right at the realization hit her.

She was not okay. Not because of Eddie and Steve, but because this meant Robin was single. And she had been the entire damn time.

Chrissy shook herself out of the stupid thought, just because she wasn’t taken didn’t mean she had a chance-

“Yeah, we’re kind of the queer trio over here,” Robin added, effortlessly grinding Chrissy’s train of thought back to a halt, “I um, probably should have told you sooner but piggybacking on their coming out seems appropriate.”

Nancy snorted, her outfit choices formalized as she walked over, “If you’re the queer trio what does that make me? The straight fourth wheel?”

They were all talking about it so casually. Like the thing that has plagued Chrissy’s mind for years, filling her with guilt and doubt, didn’t matter. It was normal, it was fine, and Robin liked girls.

She was pretty sure she was going to faint. But before she could her mouth was opening, “That’s- I - Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”

Her voice came out more forceful than she expected. Though in her defense, she just found out that she had a real shot with her best friend the same day her life was in danger. She was feeling frazzled, but she corrected herself when she was met with silence, “I-I’m fine with it! Really! I j-just wish I had known.”

Nancy looked at her sympathetically, “Did you have a crush on one of them too? I get it, Steve got me the first time we started getting close. But I promise it’s not that hard to get over it.”

“No!” Chrissy said quickly, again with too much force, “I’m just surprised. T-That’s it. Everything’s fine.”

“Think you got the wrong category there Nance,” Steve mumbled under his breathe, yelping when Robin pinched his arm with a sharp glare.

“Ignore him,” Robin said with a sad smile, “He doesn’t get everyone doesn’t have the gay gene.”

Chrissy nodded, her eyes trailing the flush that was going up Robin’s neck. Suddenly her mouth felt dry, the urge to correct her coming out full force. She shouldn’t tell them, right? It was wrong, it was bad, it didn't make sense. Because she knew they weren’t wrong. They weren’t bad. And Chrissy was so, so, tired of other people’s words invading her own thoughts.

Nancy was laying the clothes out, the only one capable of getting everyone back on task, “Since it looks like neither of you were actually looking. I picked these out for you-”

“I have it,” Chrissy blurted out, her eyes still on the clothes on the bed. She refused to look up for any of their reactions, “The um, what you guys were talking about earlier. Me too. And I like the blue skirt.”

Nancy was the only one who didn’t miss a beat, “Ah, so now there’s four. Good for you. And I agree with the skirt, it will make you look a little taller with the heels and the elongation. We can get you to pass for a college student for sure. Robin, what do you think about the pink?”

from the next chapter of this fic

#steddie #steddie fic #buckingham fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #steddie childhood friends au #the universe trapped in your skin #preview #im trying y'all #queued

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tadpolesonalgae · 8 months

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Azriel x Third-oldest-Archeron-sibling!reader: Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 4[*]

A/N: a truly beautiful friendship is always founded in chaos (it’s funny because of who Eris is in mythology)

Also, I would like to emphasise the bickering at the end is entirely whispered—enjoy

Warnings: Just general angst, sexual undertones, unjustly jealous!Azriel, swans (don’t even get me started on how scary they are, and don’t try to tell me otherwise if you haven’t been cornered by at least one)

Word Count: 6,618

-Part 3- -Part 5-

A voice is calling your name from somewhere: somewhere foggy, and distant.

A voice that really has no business interfering with the hot, male body that’s pressing you into the wall.

Large, playfully rough hands grip your hips, using his own to keep you pinned against the brickwork, groping your ass appreciatively.

You arch up into him, mouth opening over his own, tongue stroking and flicking. Fingers rake through his hair, turning it messy as you haul him closer. The lovely press of his cock against your abdomen, the ego-boosting sign of his appetite. He groans into your mouth, bucking his hips, and you drag the soft swell of your breasts over his chest. The cool night air scrambles beneath your skirts, making them flutter and billow, urging him closer.

The voice sounds again. Clearer; closer.

It’s strange how it sounds like—

The male body is forcibly torn off you, cold flushing your front, leaving the uncomfortable dig of brick into your backside. You blink away your haze, real world events crushing back down, slamming home when your eyes lock with sharp hazel. He’s clearly pissed. It’s probably the most emotion he’s ever shown to you.

How miserable.

“Did you forget we’re have dinner tonight?” He asks gruffly, hand still resting firmly over the male’s shoulder who’s looking warily between the two of you. It dawns on you what he’s just seen you doing, the position he’s caught you in; heat swallows your body whole. The shameful, humiliated type, and you force yourself to keep his gaze. Beg yourself not to hang your head.

“I’m not going,” you manage, eyes flicking away from his. “I already told Fey, and she said it was fine, so…” His brow narrows, attention piercing into you, judging. “They’re not compulsory, anyway,” you mumble, “so really I— there’s no reason for me to be at one.”

“It’s a family dinner. There’re plenty of reasons for you to be there.” His eyes flick to the male who just had you pressed between him and a wall, “unless something more important comes up.”

There’s no obvious sign, but he’s agitated. Irritated. Maybe a foul mood.

Azriel releases the male, eyes flicking over his shoulder—a sure dismissal. When the male refuses to leave, Azriel’s shadows thicken. Definitely a foul mood. “Is there something I can help you with?” He mutters sharply, piercing attention zeroing in on the male—Bas.

His golden eyes turn on you, peering warily, “who is this? You said you were on your own.” Heat washes down your spine, gaze flicking between them, wishing for the floor to open up under your feet. “He’s—nobody. Just a—…” You fumble, unsure what to say. “Acquaintance,” Azriel finishes for you, hairs rising at the back of your neck as he stares at you. “A friend of a friend.”

Bas’ lips lift into a smirk, and you pray he’s going to keep his mouth shut for once. But he turns to Azriel, standing less than an inch shorter than the shadowsinger, “I don’t see what business you have with a friend of a friend,” he drawls, making both of you stiffen.

The dim faelights gleam in his intelligent golden eyes, bringing out the rich darkness of his skin, the outcropping of his sharp jaw, the thickness of his hair that hangs in lovely, rough locks.

Azriel’s eyes narrow, shadows coiling at his back, peeking over menacingly large wings, “and what business do you have with her? She has plans for tonight.” One of Bas’ brows quirks in subtle challenge, and you brace yourself. “Considering she sought me out, I think her plans have changed,” he says, that provocative smirk still tipping his lips.

“Bas…” you murmur, stress tensing your muscles.

Both of their attention switches to you, and your mouth seals itself shut.

Azriel shakes his head, “she’s coming with me. Don’t bother her again, Bas.” The words are final, and you can tell the conversation is over. Bas doesn’t back down, though. Always ready for a bit of rough and tumble. Practically lives off the edge. “Now I didn’t realise she was your property, Az,” he drawls challengingly, his attention then settling over you. “And you should have told me who this other person was, sweetheart.”

They know one another?

“She’s not your anything,” Azriel says, a rough sharpness to his voice. “Back off, Bas.”

The male doesn’t budge. Instead his gleaming eyes fall on you.

Oh no…

“Sweetheart?”

Heat warms your skin, gaze darting anywhere but the two males before you. You really don’t want to go to the dinner. To see all of them so soon after the mess that happened precisely one week ago… And it would be weird to show up after having said you weren’t going. What if you went and there wasn’t enough food? She has enough on her plate, she doesn’t need to worry about extra dinner guests.

You’re staying with Bas.

Hazel meets your gaze, and words stumble. “I…” I’m not going to the dinner.

“You…?” Azriel repeats, jaw tightening.

You flush, eyes lowering, heat warming your cheeks against the cool night air.

You turn to Bas, and he frowns. “Sorry,” you say gently, “I should see my sister.”

The wings at Azriel’s back loose a slight bit of their tension—still pulled taut. “Right, let’s go,” he says, cutting off any communication, “we’re already late.” You shoot Bas an apologetic look as you move to follow behind Azriel—keeping his gaze ahead. He merely shakes his head, giving you an easy smile, “find me after, okay?” A wave of gratefulness washes over you, and you push every drop of it into the thankful look you send him. Then you turn, hurrying down the uneven cobbles after the Shadowsinger.

He’s silent when you catch up, walking at his side, a pace behind. He doesn’t look at you once, continuing down the road that will lead to the River House. Fighting down the humiliation, you clear your throat. “Can you—” You nearly trip, righting yourself a second before your tipping point. Stumbling, you scoop the fabric of your long dress into your hands, raising it out of the way of your feet.

He continues walking, though slows a little as you scramble after him.

“Azriel,” you say, a little breathless. “Azriel, wait.”

He halts suddenly, making you flinch with the abrupt stop. Sharp hazel eyes press down on you, and you falter. “Yes?” He asks. Fumbling for words, your eyes flick out from under his, skipping over the shops in the darkening streets. “I—…” you begin, unsure what to say. “Can you…can you not mention any of that?” You request softly, embarrassing heat warming your cheeks.

“Who would tell?” He replies coldly.

Humiliation settles in the pit of your stomach. You lower your head a little. Nod. “I didn’t want you to think…”

“I don’t make a habit of interfering with other people’s business,” he says pointedly, watching you. Why does it feel like he’s scolding you?

Your lips press together, shoulders curving inward almost imperceptibly.

His eyes flick to your hair, and his hand raises, as if to shift a strand—tuck it away. But he stops, noting your gaze. “You need to fix your hair,” he says, a touch softer than before. “It’s obvious what you were doing.” Shame is like a deadweight in your gut, hands feeling dumb as they attempt to neaten out a mess you can’t see. His eyes narrow when you lower them, and you both know it would be easier if he was the one to right whatever’s wrong with you. He doesn’t, though.

“I’m not like Nesta,” you say softly, a little shakily.

His brow narrows slightly, “nobody said you were. There’s nothing wrong about being similar to her.” Heat warms your skin, and you stumble under the look.

“I mean, that—what you…saw—that’s not normal. It’s not a… I’m doing doing any of that…”

“Drinking and fucking?” You flinch at the crude wording, and a gleam of apology flashes in his hazel irises. He watches you quietly for a moment, and you shift under his gaze, hands moving to rest on your elbows, dress swishing close to the ground.

“You know it’s fine if you are,” he says, gently. “As long as you’re being sensible about it,” he adds, “there’s nothing wrong with doing that if it works.” Your lower lip wobbles at the implication—that he knows you’re doing this to try and get over him. How desperate you’ve become.

“But find someone other than Bas,” he says, making you furrow your brow.

“What’s wrong with Bas?” You ask. He’s been great. Azriel watches you silently again, hazel eyes piercing into you blankly. Has your lip-tint smudged?

“He’s not…” Azriel begins, as if debating how to frame what he wants to say. Make sure you’ll understand. “You shouldn’t spend your time with someone like him,” he settles on.

“‘Someone like him’?” You echo, looking back up the street to where the two of you had been. Heat crawls up your spine, and you hastily look away.

“He’s different from you,” Azriel says, bluntly.

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” you argue softly, peering at the cobbles. You hear him sigh, as if he doesn’t know what to do with you. “He can’t give you what you’re looking for. He’s the type to string you along until he’s bored, then never visit again. Stay away from him.”

“He hasn’t done anything bad…” you say quietly, shifting lightly from foot to foot. “He’s been…he’s been very nice.”

Azriel sighs again, and that funny feeling settles in your stomach. Disappointment tickling your insides. “That’s to draw you in. As soon as you try to bring him to a dinner, or to meet one of your sisters, he’ll bolt.”

“Why would I bring him to meet any of you?” You ask bitterly at the lack of confidence. “Do you plan to keep your partner a secret?” He counters with, tersely. “Maybe.” You reply defensively, still looking at the ground.

He’s quiet again, and you can almost feel the air shift. “Need I remind you of last week’s events,” he asks, quietly. “You’re not known for keeping your mouth shut.” You bite your lip to keep it from trembling, nails digging into your elbows. “And I thought you didn’t make a habit of interfering with other people’s relationships,” you murmur.

“I know they’ll make good decisions,” he counters. “You don’t have enough experience. To know what you’re doing.”

“Stop treating me like a child,” you whisper, head dipping. “I know what I’m—” you cut yourself off as a sob tries to work its way from your throat. Take a deep breath. Swallow. “I know what I’m doing,” you manage quietly.

“You’re going to get yourself hurt,” he argues. “You don’t want to damage yourself like that.”

Your body stiffens at the words, then a breath eases from your chest. You nod. “Okay.” You begin walking again, one foot in front of the other. He sighs again. “I didn’t mean it like that.” You keep walking.

“I’m trying to help you,” he says flatly, falling into pace.

“Okay.”

“So you’ll stay away from him?” Azriel asks, eyes falling on your smaller frame.

“Okay.”

His brow narrows on you, watching intently. Then, “look at me.”

Look at me.

The feeling of his fingers inside of you, close enough to share breaths, yet you were the only vulnerable one. Not an ounce of intimacy to be exchanged. You keep walking toward the River House.

Azriel doesn’t say another word.

————

In the end, you’re somewhat glad you went to the dinner.

If you hadn’t, you would be back here, in the mortal lands.

Well, with no wall, you’re not sure what to call your previous homeland. But you’re here, nonetheless, and all thanks to Elain. She’d wished to see Lucien, who had near permanent residence in the mostly intact house, and had invited you along with her. Whether she knew you needed some time away, or simply offered, you don’t know.

You’d arrived most likely around an hour ago, Fey and Cassian departing soon after, leaving you and Elain to spend the day as you pleased. You’d opted to take a stroll around the gardens, walking alongside the river that was just beginning to refill after an apparently hot and dry summer.

That was your first encounter with Eris.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he winnows to the river bank mere feet to your left, stumbling backward a few steps in surprise. Cutting caramel eyes pierce into you with razor-sharp scrutiny, noting your pointed ears. His brow narrows as he takes you in; he doesn’t look pleased with what he finds.

Blinking, you mark the blazing colour of his hair, the beautifully tailored finery, the flicker of flame in his eyes—remarkably similar to Lucien. “What…who are you?” You manage, calming your heartbeat. It’s a nonsense question, you realise—it’s obvious who he is. Anyone could figure it out through simple deduction. So you shake your head, “why are you here?”

Eris’ eyes narrow on you, then he’s striding forward, moving up the river bank until he’s come to stop before you. You take a single step back—if you have to crane your neck to look at someone, you’re too close. He’s remarkably imposing with his height and muscle, despite the inherent beauty of the fae.

“Who are you?” The words are short and efficient in a sharp, brazen way, and you find yourself wondering if you should have just continued on your way. “I’m—” you open your mouth to give your name, then realise it would be rude to assume he knew who you were. There’s no reason for him to. “Feyre’s my younger sister,” you supply instead.

His brow narrows. “I didn’t know there were four of you.”

Heat flushes your skin, and you look away. It’s not an insult, yet you feel embarrassed.

“So, why are you here?” You repeat, a little quieter, trying to change the subject.

“I’m expected,” he replies shortly, turning to face the way you had come. “Why have you been kept a secret?” He asks. You mentally scramble for an excuse to continue on your walk. You don’t want to go back yet, and he’ll probably expect you to winnow, and you aren’t really in a talking mood at the moment. No excuse comes to mind.

“I haven’t been kept a secret,” you respond finally, falling into step a little behind him. “Not intentionally, anyway,” you add as an afterthought, frowning. He's walking fast, and you’d like more time to take in the scenery. At least he’s not winnowing.

“You haven’t been present at any meetings,” he counters, “I find it hard to believe that’s a coincidence.”

Your frown deepens, “why would I be at any of them? Elain hasn’t been to any, either. The only time you would have seen her is in the Hewn City.”

“Which you were kept away from, too.”

You come to a stop, watching him. His brow narrows as he’s forced to slow his pace, looking vaguely irritated. “I was there when you danced with Nesta,” you correct, “all of us were.”

Eris stares at you blankly and it’s an effort not to squirm. “I was there,” you insist, “behind Elain?”

He doesn’t remember you.

Well.

“So you’re good at remaining unseen,” he says, turning to set you into motion again. You hurry after him, a little taken aback at the compliment. It’s a nice way to think about it, a faint smile tipping your lips, “thank you.”

“It was a question.”

“Oh…” you say, smile vanishing. It hadn’t sounded like one. “I guess… I prefer it…”

“You and the Shadowsinger must get along swimmingly,” he mutters, continuing along the path, neatly avoiding muddied parts. Something you fail spectacularly at.

The comment registers in your mind and you stiffen, muscles contracting as you force yourself to continue moving. “Not particularly…” you hedge, uncertain what’s appropriate to tell him. You aren’t familiar with Court politics. “No more than anyone else, anyway,” you correct, soothing out the slight rumple.

“No? Not settling in well?” He asks. You could swear there’s some sort of mocking undertone to the question, but you can’t figure out what the taunt is for.

“I…I guess not?” You answer, slowly. “It’s not bad,” you add hastily, not wanting to talk negatively behind their backs. He might bring it up later. You repeat the thought in your head, then shake it, smiling faintly. He hadn’t even know you existed until a few minutes ago, yet you think he could be trying exploit you. How silly.

The result of an over-inflated ego. Maybe you really should stop fooling around with Bas—he’s giving you all sorts of ideas about the value of your person, and it probably isn’t healthy.

“I mean, it’s fine. Just…normal, I guess. Compared with the initial chaos,” you add, satisfied with the end result of your rambling. The house is in sight now. All you need to do is pass between the river and the pond, and—

You stumble.

Not literally—it’s more of a mental scramble. Because right there, where they weren’t mere minutes ago, are a pair of large, powerfully built swans.

Eris continues walking like the two beasts aren’t eyeing you up with those sharp, beady eyes. You can practically see the light catching on the small teeth hidden beneath the beak. Glittering with menace.

“Let’s go this way,” you say abruptly, pointing to the path that winds around the pond. He comes to stop, clearly irritated by the unnecessary hinderances you’re causing. “This way is perfectly usable. We go this way,” he turns, continuing forward, fear rising in y our throat.

You scramble forward, clutching the skirts of your dress, “Eris!”

His caramel eyes slice into you, piercing in their intensity, but you don’t buckle. “I understand that maybe they don’t seem as vicious as the creatures of Prythian,” you murmur, as if they can hear you, “but swans are still very dangerous. We should go around.” Again you point to the pathway, ears perked up for any signs the massive birds are approaching. “And I get that you have magic, but you can’t just go around butchering local animals if they get in your way. That’s not how things are done here.”

He stares at you, as if asking if you’re serious. You hold his gaze because yes, you’re completely serious.

“You know they won’t attack you,” he counters, “and you’re correct, they aren’t dangerous compared to the beasts in Prythian. So move aside.”

You shake your head, “they could break your arm,” you insist, refusing to budge. His brow narrows in a scathing scowl, “they could break a human’s arm. I am not human.” He walks around you.

“They’re still dangerous, Eris. We should really go around,” you urge, watching as he walks along the path, remaining rooted to the spot. “Just winnow,” he snaps, then looks over his shoulder. “Unless you aren’t strong enough.”

“I can winnow fine, but…” Even that’s too close to them. You firmly believe animals have a sixth sense humans do not—you wouldn’t put it past them to know they’ve been cheated. “Please, let’s just go around.”

He watches you with narrowed eyes, weighing; judging. You freeze beneath his gaze, refusing to even breathe in case it’s the wrong thing to do. He turns fully to you then, and you think he might listen to you. Relief washes over you, but—

“You’re scared of these creature?” He asks, amusement underlying his tone. You flush. “Like I said, they’re dangerous,” you defend, lowering your gaze a little.

“You know, you’re fae. They won’t attack you.”

Your eyes flick up, doubting. “Why would they act any differently?”

“We are creatures of magic. Greater than they are. They know it would be unwise to attempt anything.” You blink, having not thought of it like that. The fae had felt different when you were human, more intense, more concentrated in a way humans weren’t. You hadn’t considered maybe other animals would understand that primal difference, too.

Eris’ lips twitch, and he holds out his arm—you’re completely certain it’s a mocking gesture this time. But also a challenge.

It’s also a prompt to face your fears. It’s been long enough.

You can do this.

You can prove to yourself there’s no need to be afraid of them any longer.

You take some small steps forward. Then a few more. And a few more after that. And then your arm is overlapping with Eris’, feeling the hot strength of muscle cording his forearm. An odd feeling of security settles over you, as the two of you begin to move forward.

You’re unable to help tensing as you pass them, even if Eris is on the side closest to them. Then to your dismay, he stops. “You can pet them, if you want,” he says, lips still quirked in the corners. He’s enjoying watching you shake and tremble at something half your size. “Are you insane?” You mutter under your breath, staring at the white beasts that seem to be waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Eyes widen and you stare at him, “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean that.”

He watches you steadily, eyes gleaming as he turns toward the swans, forcibly dragging you with him, despite your protests. “Eris…” you mutter, digging your feet into the mud, but you nearly slip. “Eris, seriously, stop it.”

He stops; you sigh in relief, but the tension doesn’t leave your body—still much too close to the great birds.

“Go up to one,” he says, a smirk on his rosey lips. “Touch one, then you can go.” He’s enjoying this far too much for your liking.

“No way,” you hiss, trying to pull out of his hold. The swans shift at the jerky movement, and you still. You stare at him, but he doesn’t seem inclined to move. “They’ll definitely do something if I try to go up to one!” You argue, as softly as possible. He just hums, and you wish you had continued walking instead of addressing him. Then you could be looking for blackberries, enjoying the natural sounds of the outside.

But here you are.

“You’re fae,” he reminds, eyes gleaming as he watches you intently.

Muscles tremble, thoughts flash in and out of existence within your mind as you look at the swans, sat neatly on the river bank, just at the water’s edge. A few long steps there, then back, and it’ll be over.

He’s right—you’re fae. They won’t attack you.

Still.

His arm unlinks from your own, hand pressing gently against the base of your spine. Egging you on.

You exhale a heavy breath, then move forward. Silently cursing him—unkind as it is. One step at a time as you descend the bank. The wind seems to have picked up, and you’re grateful for your preternatural sense of balance as you move down the muddy slant, feet settling on the pebble-filled shore.

Just three more steps, and you can turn back.

Two more.

One more, and then you’ll be in reaching distance.

The beady eyes pierce into you, wings stiffening, and you force yourself to breathe deeply.

“Just tap one on the head, and it’ll be over,” he reminds from your back, a little too loudly for your liking. Like he’s trying to get them to startle.

You steady yourself, blocking him out.

Come on, you can do this. You’re twice it’s size, and have immortality on your side. You can do this.

Slowly, shakily, you take the last step forward, reaching out your hand.

Black eyes meet your own, and you falter.

The swan shrieks, the second one hissing viciously, wings flaring to strike. You jump away, feet landing on the slippery rocks of the river. The massive birds surge forward, beak opening to snap at you, and you stumble, yelping as you fall backward. Icy water soaks up to your waist, and the breath whooshes out of you, your arms covering your face as wings flap.

When you open your eyes, the swans have taken off, and you’re up to your ribs in freezing river water. Trembling and shaking, you ease yourself out, soaked from the waist down, clothes wet and icy against your skin as you shiver.

Up on the bank, Eris is grinning, eyes gleaming with mirth as he watches your soaked state shuffle from the river, barely keeping his laughter to himself.

“You said—” Your heart is still pounding, vision blurring a little as you fumble for words. “You said they— That they wouldn’t…” Your teeth are already chattering, and you have to get warm quickly. You know how deadly the cold can be. Even with a reinforced body, the cold is as vicious as you remember, softly sinking into your arms, numbing your lips.

“Every animal has a fight or flight response,” he replies, voice lilting with amusement at your terror. “It was foolish of you to think you were above that.”

“But you said—”

“If I told you to dip beneath the river for five minutes without coming up for air because fae lungs are larger, would you do it?” He counters.

“…I wouldn’t disbelieve you,” you stammer, lips numb from the cold, lumbering back toward the bank.

The water in your shoes makes it hard to climb the muddy slope, and you end up having to use your hands to keep yourself steady, gritty dirt sliding beneath your nails. “Why did you lie?” You manage, heart pounding from fear, blinking away tears. His lips are still quirked into a rueful smile, enjoying your terror.

Hateful, hateful, hateful male.

“Don’t blame your idiocy on me,” he says smoothly, offering you a viper’s smile as he turns to continue along the path, leaving you freezing and shivering, soaked in river water. “Anyone with half a brain would have been able to see through that,” he calls over his shoulder. Tears spill down your cheeks, and for once, you don’t think, or fret over the consequences.

You winnow, and land a smack square across his cheek. As hard as you can.

He blinks, startled.

Then flame ignites in his eyes, glittering ire blazing hot as a forge.

“Don’t you ever,” you snarl, “do something like that again.” Fury heats your body, and you feel like a physical warmth is wrapping around you, fingertips tingling as if glowing, skin itching just below the surface. “Do you hear me, Eris?” You repeat, rage sharpening your words as your lip pulls back from your teeth.

The flame banks in his caramel eyes, and he yields a step. It’s satisfying, until you realise why.

You are glowing. But it’s not the bright, warm golden of Feyre’s happiness.

It’s green, and vivid.

Hands the colour of radiant starfall.

————

The Mother seems to enjoy putting you through various trials.

You come to this conclusion as you resist the urge to press deeper into the firm heat of Azriel’s chest as he carries you through the air.

For reasons you can only guess at, Cassian was otherwise preoccupied, leaving the Shadowsinger to fill in. Now Elain understands your relationship with the male, Feyre can guess at the complexities, and Azriel is part of the mess, so it should be obvious you’ll fly with your younger sister, right?

Unfortunately, Lucien had to be accounted for.

He’s well aware of the history between the Spymaster and his mate, and while he would never ask Elain to avoid him, she can guess well enough it would make him unhappy. That’s how you end up in his arms, split between wishing to be anywhere else, and wishing to be able to bask in his touch without anyone questioning how close you would lean. As it is, you’re stuck between keeping your distance, and not leaning so far it looks like you’re attempting to plummet to the ground far below.

The group is moving in silence, passing over the final stretch, and you can make out the twinkle of lights in the distance—Velaris. They’d gotten caught up in—what sounded like—a rather heated conversation with the Autumn Court heir, while you had opted to wait outside. The hallway had seemed too cramped, and you weren’t sure if you could manage being pressed so close to him without making your discomfort obvious.

Azriel breaks the silence. “Was everything okay with Eris suddenly turning up?”

The question startles you from your inner thoughts, and you replay it to catch the beginning. “Yeah,” you reply, trying to keep your eyes off him. “He’s just a bit…” You fumble for words, but he’s already nodding, knowing what you’re getting at. “He’s a little intense,” you settle on, “but everything was fine. For the most part, anyway.” You’re rambling.

“For the most part,” he echoes, a soft question in his voice.

“Well, I ended up falling into the river, but you know how it is…” you mumble, suddenly finding the sky very interesting. More interesting than Azriel.

(Liar.)

“I don’t think I do,” he replies. “What does soaking yourself to the bone have to do with him?” He asks, grip tightening ever so slightly as you begin the descent. You really don’t want to tell him—it’s not going to win you any adult points. At best it’ll just show how emotional your are, and that means baggage.

“It’s a long story,” you hedge, trying not to cling too tight to him as your stomach lifts in your belly. “We’ve got a while left,” he replies, gazing ahead. He could definitely be going at a steeper angle.

You sigh softly, trying to figure out how to make it as quick and concise as possible. “Well…he kind of…appeared out of nowhere, and we ended walking back together.” Azriel’s fingers press into your skin lightly, slowly spiralling in wide circles, “and there was a river involved.”

You nod gently, “yeah.”

“How?”

Teeth worry your lower lip, mouth pursing.

He exhales quietly. “We’re in an alliance, but that doesn’t mean you should trust him. I need to know everything that happened so precautions can be made,” he explains firmly.

“Okay…”

“So tell me what happened when you were walking alone with him,” he prompts.

“There’s not much to say…” you try, but he gives you a look that tells you to quit lying. “I don’t know…we were walking past the river, and there were some swans, and he convinced me to touch one, and…well, I slipped and fell in.” You leave out the glowing hands part. If you mention it, you know they’ll pounce. You don’t want to go through what Nesta did. The things she had to endure just to activate her powers…

Granted, there’s no looming threat of the queen anymore, but still. You’d rather not.

“He convinced you,” Azriel mutters under his breath, “and how did he do that?” You flush with heat, and pray he can’t tell. “I didn’t want to walk past them, and he…encouraged me to tackle my fear.”

“Stop forcing a good narrative on that prick,” he says sharply. “He didn’t encourage you, he manipulated you.”

“Maybe,” you murmur, “but I’m a little less afraid of swans now.”

Azriel sucks in a steadying breath. “And what did you talk about?”

You cast your mind back to the conversation. “He said he hadn’t known there were four sisters,” you admit, quietly, “he thought there were only three, and that Rhys was hiding me, for some reason.” He hums, and your hairs stand on end, able to feel the resonance thrumming through you. You hurriedly shift your mind elsewhere before your scent changes. “What else?”

You put your teeth into the inside of your lower lip, “I…” said we weren’t on the best of terms. “He asked…how…I was settling in,” you manage to string the words together, selecting each one with great care. “And?” He prompts. Oh dear.

“I said it was fine,” you reply, purposely vaguely. His eyes flick to you, and your own snap away in response. “Just fine?” He questions, softly. You make to nod, but he mutters your name under his breath, a quiet reprimand on his tongue. Heat coils in the pit of your belly, making you shift uncomfortably in his arms, leaning away.

A muscle feathers in his jaw, and he tightens his grip on you. “Stop doing that. You’ll fall.” You’re squeezed closer to him, and you squirm, the heat doubling. He mutters your name again, rougher.

“Stop doing that,” you hiss, sharply. You don’t have time to feel bad—it’s better to be rude than for him to realise the immense effect he has on you. “Stop leaning away from me,” he counters, “you’re being difficult.”

“I’m sorry my responses are an inconvenience for you,” you snap, quietly. No louder than a whisper.

“Don’t weaponise your emotions like that,” he murmurs back.

“I don’t see how I’d be able to when I don’t even know what that means,” you return, quietly. You feel his eyes press into you, and you look further away, inspecting the ground. “Don’t feign ignorance either,” he says sharply, “it’s immature.”

“Immature is making a problem out of something I can’t help,” you whisper back, snappily. His eyes narrow on you, and you shift again.

His hold tightens abruptly, fingers digging into you as he roughly readjusts his grip on your thighs and around your back. You squeak at the harsh treatment, heat bursting in your lower belly, and you squeeze your lips together, praying no sounds slip out. “It’s like you’re trying to get me to drop you,” he mutters beside your ear, “just keep still. We’re almost there.”

“Keep still?” You repeat incredulously, staring at him. “I don’t know if you’ve somehow forgotten, Azriel,” you hiss, emphasising his name. Hazel eyes flick down to you, and you gently push away the heat for a moment. “But I struggle to even think straight when you’re around. I can barely keep my head as it is, so forgive me if I’m a little shifty in a position like this,” you snap quietly. Probably the most aggressive you’ve ever been for a consistent time period.

“And I don’t know if you’ve forgotten,” he snipes back, eyes piercing into you, “but you managed to pull away on the brink of an orgasm.” Wild heat swallows you whole, and there’s no way your scent is remaining undetected now. “So you’re clearly more in control than you say you are.”

You stare at him, lips parted, skin flushed with heat.

“We are done with this conversation,” you hiss, breaking your gaze away. He doesn’t appreciate the verbal dismissal. “We’re done when I say we’re done,” he hisses in return. “Now what did you mean when you told Eris you were fine?”

You purse your lips, pointedly averting your eyes.

He mutters your name, grip tightening on you. You ignore him.

He repeats it, rougher this time, shadows twining around you.

“Cut it out,” you whisper, sharply.

“Expand on the fine comment,” he pushes, and you can physically feel the weight of his gaze upon your cheek. “Why are you so hung up on that one, tiny part?” You return, a sliver of irritation peeking through. “Because you’ve been acting strangely for a while now,” he hisses, “and if you’re starting to spiral like Nesta—”

“Do not threaten me, Azriel,” you snarl softly, skin heating—tingling. His eyes flicker, and his hold lessens on you a little, “it’s not a threat,” he soothes, “just an observation.” You narrow your brow as you watch him warily. “Like I said: you’ve been acting strange recently, and if you even gave the slightest hint that something’s off, Eris will exploit it.”

Your eyes flick away, slightly embarrassed by your tiny outburst. That wasn’t appropriate.

“So tell me, what happened when you said you were fine?” He repeats, gritting out the question.

“I…” You bite your lip, then give up. “He asked if I was settling in well, and I said I wasn’t.”

“Why did you tell him that?” He asks, gaze returning to pick out Velaris, much closer now. “Because it’s the truth,” you reply, a little weakly.

“I don’t care if it’s the truth, you shouldn’t have told him,” Azriel hisses. “He’ll give you the comfort you want, offer the reassurance, until you’re wrapped so tightly you choke on it.”

Hurt flickers in your eyes, vision blurring. “Maybe if I was better than fine I wouldn’t need the comforting,” you snap, turning your head and blinking away tears. His jaw tightens, “that’s not the point.” You stare at him. He stares back, features set in a stony line. “What is the point, then?” You ask weakly, the small spark of fight banking, beginning to flicker out beneath his oppressive gaze. “The point is,” he says, dragging out the words like he’s talking to a child. “You’re too naive.”

It’s like a smack to the face, your head reeling.

“You don’t know the dynamics between the courts. You don’t know about the feuds, or the history of Prythian. You don’t know enough to be trusted to act on your own,” he continues, oblivious to the number of scars he’s striking. “You’re a loose cannon, that I now have to compensate for.”

You stare up at him, hazel eyes glittering beneath the starlight.

“What’s worse—”

You put your hands over your ears. You can’t take anymore. If it was coming from someone else—fine. From anyone else it would be fine; understandable.

But not Azriel. That’s too much.

His brow furrows, lips moving, and you can guess he’s telling you to remove your hands.

You shake your head softly, unable to stand another word.

But his shadows contract around your wrists, tugging them away, and you hate the heat the bubbles in your lower belly at the roughness.

“You need to grow up,” he mutters, lowly. “You can’t just run away from something if you don’t want to hear it. You’re going to have to face it.”

A sob breaks from your chest, and your hands cover your face as the tears finally break, spilling down your cheeks. “Just leave me alone,” you cry, shoulders shaking as the tears continue streaming. “You find me irritating? fine. You find me annoying? Fine. You think I’m the worst, ugliest, most useless female in the world, fine,” you sob, unable to look at him. “But keep it to yourself, because every single word from your mouth holds more weight that you can probably even understand. And it is crushing me.”

You tremble in his arms, wishing they were there to offer comfort instead of being purely obligatory.

“You think Eris is the viper? You think he’s the one who’s bad for me? The one who’s trying to choke me?” You ask through your tears. “But you’re the one succeeding.”

Azriel’s eyes harden, and you feel the fractures growing larger. “I’m trying to keep you in line,” he replies, coldly. “For the sake of my Court, my High Lord and Lady, I am doing my best to keep people safe,” he emphasises. “And you are a proving to be a burden.”

You don’t know if he intentionally selected that word, burden.

You don’t know if he even realises which wound he’s targeted—so many have been picked open.

But you go quiet in his arms.

Docile.

The fight finally winking out.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

CBMTHY Taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke @esposadomd

#Azriel #Azriel x reader #Azriel x Archeron sibling #Azriel angst #angst #CBMTHY #Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You #Part 4 #CBMTHY Part 4 #Eris

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peachesyeo · 13 days

Text

8/9... 8/8 - ATEEZ OT8 part one

THIS IMAGINE IS MATURE! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

⊹ 2k words ⊹ friends!ateez x fem!reader (ft. straykids) ᭡ angst, mature.

✧ a/n: hi. erm. yeah. i guess. in a rainy and depressive mood these days, but i'll be fine. might take a while to update, please be understanding. thank you.

thank you @sousydive for beta reading.

⊂ content: shitty ateez (esp jongho & wooyoung) warning. name-calling, slapping, crying, stray kids being absolute angels. friendship problems, both sides are in the wrong. strong language. please don't hate jongho i love my baby bear pls, a little self-harming.

✦ network: @newworldnet

:̗̀➛ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭? :̗̀➛ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞? :̗̀➛ 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭? (for all works)

You sat on your bed, staring at your phone.

Zero notifications.

No calls, no texts. No one asked for you.

Your fingers swiped open the group chat. The last message was sent by you, asking if anyone wanted to grab lunch together.

Nine members, eight reads, zero replies.

You put your phone down, thinking about your recent behaviour. Have you done anything wrong? Did you accidentally offend them? Or perhaps, say the wrong thing?

You sighed, throwing your phone to the side and looking at the frame photo by your bed. You and the boys were huddled together, laughing at the camera. It was San’s birthday, and all of you had come up with a surprise party. The nine of you, all together, celebrating, smiling.

When was the last time you hung out with them?

Was it… three months ago? Four?

“They’re probably busy, Y/n…” You muttered to yourself, blinking rapidly so the sudden tears that gathered in your eyes wouldn’t fall. You sniffed, shaking your head. “Stop over thinking, Y/n.” You looked at your reflection in the mirror, your fingers curling into a fist. “You’re fine. Stop behaving so childishly.”

You let yourself fall onto the pillows, staring up at the ceiling above you. Every single time you send a message to them, they would reply dryly.

Maybe they’re sick of you, Y/n.

You closed your eyes, wrapping yourself up in a foetal position.

Everything will be fine.

You know something is wrong, Y/n.

No, everything is fine. Nothing is wrong.

Stop lying to yourself.

I’m not lying to myself.

Are you?

“I’m not.” You whispered, your voice shaky and unconfident. Tears gathered up at your eyes as you tried to get yourself to sleep.

You woke up with a gasp, breathing heavily as you bent over to the side of the bed, retching dryly. You were covered in cold sweat, shaking as you recovered your breathing.

The annoyed expression on your friends faces seemed so real, to the point that you cannot differentiate between your dream and reality. You raised your knees to your chest, hugging them as you tried to calm yourself down.

It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real

“A nightmare. It’s a nightmare.” You told yourself, covering your face with your hands. “Y/n, stop it. Stop overthinking, you idiot.”

You reached for your phone, tapping on Seonghwa’s chat.

You stared at the screen, your fingers pausing in mid air.

You: Oppa| You: Op| You: |

You scrolled upwards, reading your previous chats. It was mostly you talking about your problems, and Seonghwa advising you on what to do. You swallowed your saliva, reading his replies, which were getting drier and drier as you scrolled down.

Hwa Oppa: Y/n-ah, sorry, I’m busy. Hwa Oppa: Ok. Hwa Oppa: Ttyl. Hwa Oppa: Mhm. Hwa Oppa: K. Hwa Oppa: Can you text me later? Hwa Oppa: Kinda busy now.

You tapped on his profile. Online 3 hours ago. The time now is 2am.

A sense of helplessness swallowed you as you let the phone drop onto your bed. You looked outside of the window, letting out another sigh.

You can't sleep anymore.

Maybe you should try one more time?

Y/n: Oppa, can we talk?

Seonghwa frowned at the notification. In front of him, Mingi was hollering with the mic, along with San, who was shrieking at the top of his voice, abusing poor Yunho's ears, who was sitting nearest to the speaker.

"Who is that?" Jongho asked, peering at the screen over his shoulder. "Oh." He looked away uninterestedly, taking a mouthful of his alcohol.

"Y/n?" Wooyoung grabbed Seonghwa's phone, scowling. "Does she want to complain about her boring work problems again? I have enough of listening to her shit-"

"Wooyoung. Stop it." Hongjoong warned. The latter rolled his eyes, giving Seonghwa his phone back before going over to San to snatch his microphone. As they scuffle over it, Yeosang sighed, frowning.

"I still don't think it's a good idea leaving her out and ignoring her like that, hyung." He watched the two fight while Mingi continued to sing his heart out. "We should sit down at talk it out-"

"Listen, I've tried. But every single time she would talk about her stupid work problems, I just needed a break from her, okay?" Seonghwa shot back, irritated. Yeosang put his hands up in defeat, shutting up. Seonghwa turned his phone off, shaking his head. “I’ll just… text her later.”

Jongho snorted, turning his attention back to the singing trio. Yeosang bit his lip nervously, but Hongjoong clapped his back. “Hey, just chill. Y/n would be fine without us anyway, she has so many friends.” He stuffed a glass of beer into Yeosang’s empty hands. “Here, take a drink and just forget about her, okay? It's been some time since all eight of us can come out together.”

Yeosang’s fingers grip the glass nervously. Yunho, who had crawled over to their seat to get away from the speaker, saw his hesitancy and rolled his eyes. “Hyung is right, Yeosang-ah. Y/n wouldn’t die without us. We should have our Boys Night anyways. Just drink.” He pushed the glass to Yeosang’s lips, the younger finally taking a sip reluctantly.

“Yeah.” He watched Jongho, who had joined in with the three at the front. “You’re right.”

It's not much of a problem.

Right?

Your phone buzzed. Your eyes lit up, grabbing it and scanning at it.

Felix (Baking Class): Hey, this is Y/n right?

You slumped in disappointment, but soon it turned to confusion. What's Felix texting you at 2am for?

Felix Lee, a sweet Australian you've met through your baking class. You have enjoyed talking to him, the both of you exchanging tales of your baking mishaps. None of the boys, not even Wooyoung, likes to bake. So only Felix understood your problems with baking.

You: Hey Felix. You: What can I do for you?

Felix (Baking Class): I don't think I'm supposed to tell you this but Felix (Baking Class): You're friends with Hongjoong hyung right?

You: Yeah Felix (Baking Class): Erm, so my friends and I were at the nuraebang Felix (Baking Class): Changbin hyung was recording er, Jeonginnie just now

Felix (Baking Class): It's not like we're eavesdropping or anything, but erm I think you should, listen to this

Felix (Baking Class): *video.mp4*

Something is wrong.

Yeosang forced a laugh as he sipped on his coffee. They were in San's house, eating breakfast. Wooyoung busied himself over the stove, while Hongjoong was muttering to himself, his hands furiously typing away on his laptop. Mingi continued to talk after getting a reaction from Yeosang, but the man's attention had drifted elsewhere.

"...and then that's it. My manager just let me off." Mingi smirked proudly, earning a thumbsup from Yunho and San. Seonghwa rolled his eyes. "You were lucky this time, Mingi-ah. Yeosang, eggs?"

Yeosang gave him a small shake of his head. "No thank you. Hyung, did you text Y/n?"

The kitchen went silent at the name. Even Hongjoong looked up from his screen. "Y/n?"

"Yeah. She erm, hasn't contacted us in a week?" Yeosang reminded, shaking his phone in their face. "She usually texts us in the morning in the groupchat-"

"C'mon Yeo, that's a good thing." Wooyoung came out of the kitchen, untying his apron and frowning at Yeosang. "Don't spoil the mood early in the morning."

"Maybe she's busy, Yeo." Yunho suggested, wolfing down his pancake. "She did say that her boss sent her for some field checks. And don't be so mean, Woo."

Wooyoung pouted. "I'm just annoyed at her. And why isn't Jongho back?"

Jongho felt guilty.

He sipped on his cup of americano nervously, glancing at you. You sat with your gaze lowered, fixated on your own cup, your eyes cast downward.

He had bumped into you at the supermarket while getting syrup for Wooyoung. He didn't know why, but when he saw you, he had this sudden desire to run away.

Like a little boy after making a mistake.

"Erm, Y/n, how are you?" He decided, speaking carefully. You looked up from your cup at him, before tugging the corner of your lips upwards.

"Jongho-ah. Please, be honest with me." You pressed the nail of your thumb into your skin, the piercing pain kept your tears in. “Do I… really annoy you guys? When I’m telling… No, when I'm complaining about…” You bit your lower lip, suddenly feeling pathetic. Then you breathed in, before speaking again. “You know what, nevermind. I heard that you guys needed a break from me- Don’t need to explain, I heard it for myself.” You stopped Jongho as he opened his mouth to explain. “I totally understand that. But I’m just here to tell you that leaving me out is not cool. We’re adults, Jongho-ah. You and the boys should have just told me.”

“W-we’re just afraid that you’ll be upset-” “So you guys started leaving me out? Ignoring my texts? Talking behind my back?” You pressed your thumb harder into your skin, angry tears welling up in your eyes. “Like a teenager in highschool? Choi Jongho, you know that’s not… that’s not…” You glared at him, your brain searching for the right word.

“Not how you should behave as a friend.” Someone placed their hand behind your back, patting them. The both of you looked up to see Felix, who was holding up a cup of coffee. Behind him, Bang Chan and Jisung waved at you. You blinked quickly, forcing the tears to go back in and waved back at them, before turning your attention to him. “Lixie? What are you doing here?”

“Breakfast with my hyung and Han Jisung.” He jabbed his thumb back at the two of them. Felix then turned to Jongho, offering him a simple smile that did not reach his eyes. “Hi, I’m Felix. I heard a lot from Y/nnie about you.” He introduced himself, his hand never leaving your back. Jongho frowned, glancing from his hand and back to his face.

“I’m Jongho.” His voice was unwelcoming. Your brows furrowed. “Jongho, that was ru-” “It’s okay. Sorry if I interrupted you guys, but hyung’s asking whether you wanna join us later for lunch. Minho hyung cooked the dish you said you’d like to try.”

Your eyes lit up at his words. “Really?” You exclaimed. Jongho observed your exchange with a stoic expression on his face. Felix nodded. “Yeah, I’ll call you later?”

You nodded. Felix patted your hair, gave a friendly nod to Jongho and returned back to his hyungs. As soon as he left, Jongho sneered. “So, you’ve been hanging out with those kind of people?”

Your smile froze. “What did you say?”

Jongho shook his head mockingly. “Them, Y/n L/n. Hanging out with Felix Lee and his stupid little gang?” He hissed. “What did they offer you? Money? Are you fucking with them?”

You stared at him in disbelievement. “What? Did I say something wrong?” Jongho scoffed, sending a glare over to Felix. “You know they are rivals with Seonghwa hyung, right? They play around, Y/n. Are you being a whore for them-”

A loud, resounding slap echoed through the cafe, capturing the attention of everyone dining inside. Jongho touched his burning left cheek, slowly turning to face you. You were standing up, your chest heaving in anger and humiliation at Jongho’s words. Regret instantly flooded his eyes, as Jongho realized what he had said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Say that I’m a slut? For hanging out with a group of men?” You finished the sentence for him, your voice filled with anger and sadness. “Choi Jongho, you’re an asshole. Fuck you. You all are assholes!” You cursed as you grabbed your bag and headed out towards the exit.

As you ran out, Jongho saw Felix and his friends hurried to follow you too. When his eyes met Felix’s, the latter smirked at him, and Jongho gritted his teeth.

He fucked up.

➳ permanent taglist: @sousydive @oddracha @yeodeulz @jaerisdiction

#ateez x reader #ateez ot8 #ateez angst #ateez #☁️by k #ateez oneshot #newworldnet #stray kids #stray kids x reader

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lovelytsunoda · 1 year

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the day you kissed a writer in the dark // han lue (tokyo drift)

summary: she's stood by his side for years. his loyal mechanic, the brains behind his brawn. but she'd be lying if she said that it didn't hurt to watch him flirt with those other women in his club, when he came home to her every night in secret.

bet you rue the day you kissed a writer in the dark, now she's gonna play and sing and lock you in her heart. i am my mother's child, i'll love you 'till my breathing stops.

pairing: han lue x mechanic! reader

warnings: smut, inappropriate use of a drifting car, insecurity and self-doubt, secret relationships, unplanned pregnancy.

author's note: here's something a little different today, lovelies! it's a departure from the usual realm of f1 content i usually bless you all with, but i felt like i needed to do something different to avoid burning myself out, and rewatching tokyo drift gave me the inspiration that i needed :)

she hated the club.

in the back end of her mind, she always resented the mere existence of that secret room leading to han's garage. the fact that he chose to surround himself with women in tight dresses with long legs and perky boobs like he was some kind of yakuza punk.

well, this wasn't crows fucking zero. this was real life.

she couldn't help but draw comparisons between these beautiful girls and herself. as she curled in on herself to duck through the crowd, she frowned at her reflection in the window: her torn up jeans, the grease stain on the cuff of her army-green sweater, the zip barely done up enough to cover up her double-d's, a small nut from her very first car hanging limply from a chain around her neck.

some days, she wondered why han had chosen her of all people.

"sean?" she asked quietly, poking the young american boy in the arm, practically shouting to be heard. "have you seen han?"

sean shook his head. "no, sorry. have you checked the garage?"

"i'm heading back there now. thanks, sean." she sighed, backing out the way that she came, trying not to think about all of the places that her boyfriend could be right now.

the anxiety ate away at her. was he with one of the other girls? one of the prettier, taller, thinner ones? was that why he wanted to keep the relationship under wraps?

was han ashamed of her?

she hurried down the rickety metal staircase, dropping her purse on the workbench as she went, subconsciously placing a hand over her stomach as she thought about the white plastic stick inside the fake leather bag.

they'd been sneaking around for a year, but they'd known each other far longer. she had come to tokyo when she was twenty-one, with a pocketful of cash and a monkey wrench. she had a high school diploma, but that didn't mean much to the rally teams she had applied to work on the pit crews for.

and that's when han swooped her up. when she became the bonnie to his clyde, the mechanic for his little street racing gambit.

that was three years ago. now she was almost twenty-five, he was twenty-seven, and he was in far too deep for them to keep going like this.

she knew why he had to keep it a secret. telling the world that she was his lover would put a target on her back. because that's what happens when you get in deep with someone like dk.

she pulled her hair back with the green rubber band on her wrist, pushing up her sleeves as she reached for a ratchet and approached han's car, the hood already open and ready for her.

working on the cars had always been her safe haven. her distraction from the outside world. fixing something that was broken gave her a satisfaction like no other.

"babe?" han's voice echoed through the garage, and she hated herself for the way that she froze up, fingers tightening around the ratchet. "sean said you were asking around for me? is everything okay?"

she withdrew from the car, slamming the hood down. "you're pushing the car too far. the engine is wearing down, you have to get something stronger. the serpentine belt is at it's brink."

"and that's why you're the brains of this operation and i'm just the pretty boy who drifts." han said playfully, wrapping his arms around her midsection as resting his chin on her shoulder.

"be more careful out there, seoul-oh." she said softly, placing a cold hand on top of his warm one before turning her head and kissing him softly. "i don't know what i'd do if anything ever happened to you."

han spun her body around gently, his hands on her waist as she jumped to perch her body on the edge of the hood, her fingers tangling in his dark, silky hair.

"you don't need to worry about me, sweetheart. i'm going to be okay."

she sighed, lacing her fingers together behind his neck. "where were you, han? wandering around your club with a girl on each arm? a girl that's three times prettier than i am, maybe one who's clothes are a little more revealing-"

"y/n, stop." han said firmly. "baby, you're the only one. my only one." he kissed her on the forehead softly. "i love you. i love you so much that it hurts. i wish i could shout it from the rooftops, but i can't put you in danger like that. i don't want dk to know, because that's a target on your back that i don't want there."

he pulled her as close as he could, arms wrapped securely around her as he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. "i couldn't live with myself if anything ever happened to you."

the sincerity in the older man's voice was reassuring. but some days, it wasn't enough. she loved him more than words could say, but she was getting tired of being his little secret.

but at the end of the day, it was her bed that he always came home to. his arms she woke up in. his terrible singing in the kitchen while he made coffee with breakfast.

han lue was hers.

she kissed him again, still sitting on the edge of the toyota's hood. this kiss was stronger, harder. with more feeling as she bunched han's sweater up in her fingers, trying to wrestle it off his broad shoulders, his hands gripping her thighs tight enough to make her moan against his lips.

"seoul-oh." she mumbled as han broke away from her, pulling his sweater off the rest of the way before tugging his everlast t-shirt over his head.

they fit together like well-worn puzzle pieces, his lips finding that place on her neck that made her crumble, turned her legs to jelly as he slipped a hand up the front of her sweater, thumb tracing comforting shapes against her stomach as he nipped at her neck, biting down gently. there would be a hickey there in a mere matter of hours.

trailing kisses back up her neck, he gently bit her earlobe before placing one hand on the side of her face to guide her lips back to his, the other hand braced against the hood of the car to hold himself up. she bit down on his bottom lip, wrenching a growl from the back of han's throat.

he pulled away, dropping to his knees in front of the car as his large hands dipped under the waistband of her jeans. after reaching down to untie and kick off her beat up vans, she reached above her to grab the exposed beam in the garage ceiling, pulling her body up and allowing han to pull her jeans and panties down her legs in one fell swoop.

"oh, not on the car, baby. you'll stain the bodywork."

"don't care." han hummed, kissing the soft skin of her thigh. "i can't think of anything prettier than you. on the hood of my car, legs spread wide for me." he mumbled in between kisses, inching ever closer to where y/n needed him most, her arousal dripping onto the cool metal hood of the drift car.

and when his lips touched her throbbing clit, she could have sworn she turned electric, using one hand to brace herself against the car and burying the other in han's hair as she threw her head back in a throaty moan.

"han." she panted, grinding against his face as his tongue licked and sucked at her core. "oh, baby, yes."

han smiled to himself, kissing her clit gently as he held her thighs open with his hands. "still think that i don't find you attractive any more?"

"shut up, please. i need you so bad." she'd barely finished speaking when another low, seductive moan left her mouth. the arm that was holding her body up threatened to buckle underneath her as she tugged on han's hair, urging him to keep going.

han chuckled, the vibrations sending shockwaves through her body as her arm buckled, and she found herself lying against the hood, her head on the windscreen as she bucked her hips, searching for more as her lover tongue-fucked her, her legs thrown over his shoulders with reckless abandon.

"seoul-oh." she whined, clenching her thighs around han's head

"i know, baby." he mumbled softly, kissing her thigh. "you're doing so well darling. come for me."

and that's exactly what she did. with a moan so loud that she was shocked that the patrons of the club couldn't hear it echoing through the garage, she let go, her juices coating the lower half of han's face as he licked her clean before wiping off the bottom half of his face with the back of his hand.

"fuck." he mumbled, standing between her legs and leaning over the car to kiss her. "i can't get enough of you, baby. i think i'm gonna need more."

"oh yeah?" she smiled sitting up slightly, resting her weight on her elbows and raising an eyebrow when she saw the obvious hard-on struggling to break free from the confines of han lue's jeans. "and what do you think we should do about it?"

"back. room. now." he said, softly but firmly, kissing her in between each word as she wrapped her bare legs around his body, allowing han to pick her up and carry her over to the back room, where a double bed was piled high with blankets for the nights where they worked late, or drift races lasted until the mere hours of the morning.

or, nights where neither of them wanted to go home. han was sure that they had fucked on almost every available surface of the garage.

she undid her sweater slowly, revealing the lacy white bra underneath, the makeshift pendant on her necklace hanging delicately just above the hollow of her breasts as she cast the fabric aside, reaching up to snap the elastic band in her hair, letting it cascade in waves down her shoulders.

"you're beautiful, you know that?" he said softly, kneeling on the mattress as he rested one hand gently against her cheek.

she leaned into his touch, reaching up to wrap her slender fingers around his wrist, pressing a soft kiss to the heel of his hand.

she knew she should tell him. han needed to know.

but now was definitely not the time.

not that she could find the words while he kissed her neck, her chest, her stomach, his fingers dancing across her back as he fumbled with the clasp of her bra, erection straining against his jeans.

"han, babe." she mumbled, reaching behind her. "it's been a year now, you should know how to undo a bra, mr. womanizer." she joked, pushing his hands away as she pulled the bra off by herself.

"why would i need to know how to do it when you just take it off by yourself most of the time?" he grinned, standing up to unbuckle his belt.

he started to undo his jeans, pausing halfway as if he had forgotten something before he darted over to the rolling toolbox in the back of the room, pulling a small foil packet out of the top drawer.

fat lot of good a condom would do them now.

not when she was already carrying his baby inside of her.

her body trembled with anticipation as she watched han rid himself of his jeans, the echo of his belt buckle hitting the floor echoing around the room before he rolled the latex sheath onto his thick, hard cock.

god, she was a fool in love. han seoul-oh made her feel every range of emotions all at once.

"seoul-oh." she mumbled, lips against his as he clambered onto the bed, covering her body with his broad one.

"hm?" han mumbled, pressing kisses all over her face.

"i love you, han lue." she said firmly, gently pushing his face away so she could look him in the eyes. "i mean it, babe. you've ruined me for anybody else. you're it for me."

"good, because i don't think i could love anybody else if i tried." han breathed out, kissing her again, the tip of his cock teasing her entrance.

she squirmed under him, a small gasp escaping her lips before she bit down on her bottom lip.

she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her beg. that wasn't what tonight was for.

han knew this as well, gently pushing himself inside her. tonight was about more than just chasing a high. for both of them. it was about love, and reassurance, and intimacy.

she threaded her fingers through his hair, whining as han moved ever so slightly, the sensations they both felt sending shockwaves through their bodies.

"seoul-oh." she moaned softly. "please. god, you feel incredible."

"yeah?" han crooned, thrusting softly and barely holding back a moan of his own. "you look so pretty with my cock inside you, my sweet sweet girl."

"just like that." she whined as he thrusted again, bucking her hips into him, trying to take his length deeper. "keep doing that, fuck."

when han's nimble fingers came up grip and massage her right breast, she knew she was a goner, arching her back to drive her body into him with a moan as he kissed her chest.

"you like that, baby? yeah, you love having my hands all over you. and i love touching your beautiful body." han murmured, sucking a hickey onto her collarbone. he could feel himself unravelling, knew that the end was nigh as he moaned against her skin, blindly reaching for her hand.

there were no more slow thrusts as the driver began to pick up the pace, his lover's legs wrapped tightly around him as she moaned his name.

"oh god, han, baby. fuck, keep going." she panted, one hand trailing down her body to play with her clit. anything to get her closer to that release she craved as she whined and squirmed under han's touch.

she'd seen this film before, and she already knew the ending. and the start if the sequel.

"come for me, baby. i know you can take it, just give me one more, okay?"

"han, han, holy shit." she moaned, feeling the coil in her stomach finally snap, her high crashing over her like a wave.

her lover groaned above her, a guttural sound ripped straight from his throat before han gently pulled out of her sensitive body, the evidence of his own peak contained within the clear latex that he slid off his member, tying the condom off in a knot before punting it into the trash can next to his desk.

she pulled the blankets up as han settled in the bed next to her, his warm fingers dancing in gentle circles against her sweaty skin as they laid together in the afterglow, a content look on his face as he kissed her on the forehead.

"seoul-oh." she said quietly, twirling his long, dark locks of hair around her fingertip. "i have to tell you something."

"what's on your mind, pretty girl?" worry creased han seoul-oh's face, a pit forming in his stomach.

he hated seeing her like this.

"i'm pregnant."

han's eyes widened. "what? babe, why didn't you tell me?"

"i've been trying all day. but you've had your hands full with dk and sean and drifting." she said sadly. "but i can't raise this baby with dk breathing down our necks. you need to get out of this life, seoul-oh."

han frowned thoughtfully, one hand resting against the side of her face. "i'm going to be a father. fucking hell, babe this is incredible. i promise you, i'm going to make a plan, and i'm going to get us out of tokyo."

"you know we can't keep this a secret any longer, right? i'm already eight weeks along, once the first trimester ends, i won't be able to hide it."

"you're right, you're right. we'll test the waters. i'll tell sean and twinkie in the morning, see how the news of our relationship goes over with them. i want to keep it from dk until i can find a way to get us out of here."

y/n nodded, lacing her fingers with han's and placing his hand on her stomach. "okay. let's do this thing." she broke out into a smile. "we're going to be parents, han. can't you picture it? sitting behind the wheel of your toyota, with our little gremlin on your lap, teaching them how to drive before they can even walk."

han laughed. "they'll be born with a monkey wrench in one hand and a bag of lays in the other."

"i love you, seoul-oh." she said softly, kissing him gently. "i'm so glad i found you three years ago.

"i love you more, y/n. and i can't wait to raise this kid with you."

Tags (though im not sure if any of you are interested loll):

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @sidcrosbyspuck @scuderiamh

#han lue x reader #fast and the furious #tokyo drift #fast and the furious x reader #han lue #han lue smut #fast and the furious smut #tokyo drift imagine

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takerfoxx · 5 months

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Personally, I feel that the reason Suletta and Miorine work so well as a couple is the same reason why they didn't work for me at first: they're just such fundamentally different people, with total opposite personalities, upbringings, values, desires, needs, strengths, weaknesses, traumas, the list goes on. If it weren't for the very strange set of circumstances that forced them to form a connection, I honestly doubt that they would even be friends, so much so that for the first few episodes, I found myself feeling weirdly disconnected from their relationship, and even found myself wondering if they even liked each other.

I mean, take a look at Suletta. She's a country girl from Mercury's mining colonies who never had any friends of her own growing up. She's a clone created in part to replace her older sister, in part to usher in her mother's plan to free her sister, and in part to be a weapon of revenge, leading to an extremely bizarre relationship with her mother that is equal parts affectionate and neglectful. She loves being around people, but is so socially anxious that any sort of interactions sends her into a stuttering fit. She's terrified of confrontation, and yet is larger and stronger than most, and put her behind the controls of a mech, and she will turn you into mincemeat. She's a total klutz when it comes to dealing with other people, and yet stays cool in a crisis and isn't phased by dead bodies. She trusts with her whole heart, measures her relationships by the value she gives to other people, blames herself whenever others let her down, can and will take a life without flinching to protect those close to her, and is delighted by something so simple as having others laugh at a joke that she made.

Now, take Miorine. A rich girl from an extremely powerful family, she lost her mother, quite possibly the only person to ever show her genuine kindness when she was a child, was "raised" by her contemptuous and neglectful excuse for a father, and grew to resent everyone and everything around her. She hates being around people, but has the confidence and social knowledge to play the game. She's tiny and physically weak, but also angry and assertive. She openly loathes her father and will insult him to his face, but also desperately craves his approval. She's been used as a commodity her entire life by people who see her as a stepping stone into power, and is bound and determined to make everyone who tries damned to a living hell. She was raised in luxury in space, but dreams of running away to what is essentially a refugee camp of a planet. She wants so badly to be allowed to stand on her own two feet and be respected for her own accomplishments, but has no real idea how to do it. She views relationships as transactions, has exactly zero patience for other people's nonsense, can and will sacrifice her own happiness for the sake of the select few that she cares about, will run headlong into the most harrowing of political battles, but also fall apart completely when confronted with the reality of death.

And, like I said, for whatever reason I just didn't feel the sparks between them at first. Their whole relationship just felt like a mutually beneficial arrangement, like it was said to be.

But then we got to that magical episode, where they had that amazingly written misunderstanding in the greenhouse, followed by that incredible argument on the space station, and I realized that this was the plan all along, and Suletta and Miorine are actually perfect as a couple...once they've managed to bridge the gap between their extremely different life experiences and massive communication issues.

See, what's so great about them is that while they are extremely different, those difference are also perfectly compatible. One's strength is the other's weakness, and together they make each other better. In a way, they're less opposites and more of two halves of one complete whole. It was Miorine's confidence that allowed Suletta to start standing up for herself, to learn confidence and make real friends, to figure out what love is. And it was Suletta's bravery that inspired Miorine to find a way to make something of her own, to seek out ways to use their families' legacies to help people instead of hurt them, to bridge gaps long carved out by blood. And in the end, they were two desperately lonely girls who just wanted someone to truly, honestly, and unconditionally love them, and they found it in each other.

Granted, it was rough going for a bit. Like I said, they had such different ways of seeing the world, they didn't communicate in the same way, they didn't see relationships in the same way, and they ended up hurting each other just trying to do what they thought was best. But they also forgave one another. They strove to better understand one another. And they came to realize just how much they needed each other. And though it took even greater loss and pain in order to achieve it, they finally found their happy ending. They found each other.

#gundam witch from mercury #wfm #suletta mercury #miorine rembran #suletta x miorine #sulemio #wfm spoilers

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theragethatisdesire · 11 months

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dall'inizio - eren x reader, 18+!!!!

welcome back to the ti penso universe everyone!!!! this is a continuation/prequel of the little series we've followed from my first eren x reader fic. i was really interested to see how they met and ....unsurprisingly, it's a one night stand that doesn't turn out as planned. this one is also super fun because we get to hear from both eren AND reader alternatively, plus reader is a confident, bad bitch and we love that for her. this one goes out to @philliam-writes bc ik you love this eren as much as i do!!!!!! here's ur part 3 bestie >:)

if you'd like to catch up and meet our eren x reader, find them here:

(1) ti penso ogni giorno

(2) nel bene e nel male

pairing: eren x afab reader

wc: 6.7k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut (duh), consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol/drug use (just weed nothing crazy), cussing, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a lovestruck idiot (and so are you if you're being honest)

title (as always) means "from the beginning" in italian i'm obsessed with them <3

“You look like a whore,” Ymir says bluntly, dragging her eyes over your outfit– or, lack thereof.

“It’s not that bad,” you wave her off, turning back to the mirror to tug at the hem of your little black slip. You do look like a whore, but it’s intentional. You haven’t gotten laid in three months– your friends have been calling you dramatic, but that’s a lot, okay? You’re in college, you’re supposed to sleep around, right?

On top of that, your last few situationships just haven’t quite…well, they weren’t bad, but they didn’t scratch the itch. You desperately need a fuck– not just a fuck, a good fuck, and you have a feeling tonight’s going to be the night. It’s Halloween, the international holiday for running around in basically zero clothes, and you’ve taken great care to adhere to that tradition.

“Are you a mouse?” Historia wrinkles her nose at you from her spot at the vanity in the corner. She’s in a dalmatian costume; cute, spotted ears sticking up from her blonde hair, blue collar tinkling when she cocks her head at you.

“I’m a fucking cat,” you mutter, drawing a black triangle of eyeliner on the tip of your nose, “I didn’t have time for a real costume.”

“She just wants to get laid,” Mikasa announces, pushing through the studio apartment door with a huff, arms laden with plastic bags that are making a tell-tale clinking sound, “it’s been like, two whole weeks.”

“Three months!” You correct her, defensive.

“I understand,” Ymir, appropriately dressed as Cruella de Vil, grins, “it’s been…what, Stor? Two hours?”

“Ymir!” Historia, scandalized, flushes a furious red. Both you and Mikasa are unphased; in the last four months they’ve been together, the three feet they’re sitting from one another now is the farthest apart you’ve seen them.

“I’m not a whore,” you turn around, hands on hips, “I just…it’s been awhile since I had good sex. Floch was–”

“The worst?” Mikasa finishes for you. You hate how well she knows you; even after less than two years of knowing each other, she can practically read your mind.

“Yeah, you may have mentioned that once or twice,” Historia turns back to the mirror, immediately disinterested. “Or a thousand times.”

You throw your hands up, turning back to the mirror to finish your whiskers. “So none of you can blame me.”

“While you two,” Mikasa points between Ymir and Historia accusingly, “have been screwing like rabbits, and you,” her black-painted fingernail finds its way to you, “have been trying to figure out how to sleep with half of Manhattan, I took the liberty of actually making plans for us.”

“Jean’s?” You raise a knowing eyebrow at her, grateful to put someone else in the hot seat for the night. Mikasa’s cheeks tinge pink. Busted.

“He’s throwing a party, yeah,” she answers slowly, trying to talk her way around her obvious attraction to him, “but it’s not those douchebags he usually hangs out with. My best friend from home, Eren, just got into town, and,” she looks at you pointedly, “some of his friends are actually cute.”

You’re unconvinced. “Pictures?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Mikasa bites her lip mischievously, “but if you take a few tequila shots with me, I might be persuaded to show you one or two.”

You’re dubious. Mikasa’s definitely shown you a photo of these guys before, and you don’t remember a standout in the lineup. This Eren character, however…Mikasa has a framed picture on her bedside nightstand of them in high school, and you remember him being sort of cute. Dark, short-cropped hair, big green eyes so wide and earnest that he almost reminded you of a movie character. That picture was three or four years old now so…who knows? Maybe he’d grown into his features.

“Eren’s a no-go, though,” Mikasa continues, knowing your exact train of thought of course, pouring out shots of lukewarm, cheap tequila. Your stomach gurgles in protest at the smell as you accept yours. “He’s a nightmare to women, trust me.”

“Who knows,” Ymir pipes up, nodding her head towards you, “she’s a nightmare to men, so.”

“I am not a nightmare,” you narrow your eyes, “I just don’t like to be tied down, that’s all.”

“You’ll have to be at some point,” Historia argues, smiling when Ymir slips a hand into hers. You wrinkle your nose, uninterested.

“It’s 2018, Stor, not very feminist of you,” you tut, throwing back your shot and practically choking it down. Ick.

“I’m a lesbian, how much more feminist can I get?”

“Touché.”

“Just promise me you won’t get wrapped up with him?” Mikasa eyes you, still not trusting the glint of curiosity in your eye.

Ymir crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you positive you like Jean and not this Eren dude?”

Mikasa makes a fake retching sound. “Eren’s practically my brother. I’ve seen his bare ass more times than I can count. Way past the attraction threshold, trust me. I just…I know him. And I know you,” she glares at you, “it’s a toss-up as to who would do more damage to the other.”

“I’ll behave,” you placate her, throwing your arms around her shoulders, “…maybe.”

Eren might puke. No, wait, he’s going to puke– oh, no, just an unbelievably loud burp. Eren smiles contentedly, feeling much better even as it stinks up the entire taxi. Connie leans over Armin, scrunches his nose and squints his eyes.

“That fucking reeks, dude!”

“Sorry,” Eren shrugs, turning his head back to the window and ignoring Armin and Connie’s complaints. They were all a few beers deep- what did they expect?

Eren’s lived a few hours outside of New York City all his life, but he’s never been, except maybe once or twice for field trips as a kid. He never remembered it looking like this, though: each little apartment twinkled like a star, giving the wall of skyscrapers the appearance of the night sky. Even as the cab screeches and jerks in the Lower West Side traffic, Eren feels like he’s in a spaceship, free and flying amongst the stars.

Maybe he could talk to Zeke, convince him to move their little operation out of their garage and into the city. There was money here, right? And plenty of musicians who weren’t quite good enough to get signed by any major labels…

“Mikasa says she and her friends will be over in five,” Armin squints at his phone screen, holding it far away from him like an old man to type a response. Eren nearly rolls his eyes.

“Would you just get some fucking glasses already?”

“Annie said they made me look nerdy,” Armin shrugs. Connie groans.

“You two broke up like, a year ago–”

“Six months,” Armin corrects him, eyes growing sadder by the second.

“Okay, six months, whatever, we’ve got to get you laid tonight, dude.”

Eren lets the two slip into an argument about the “appropriate amount of time” to wait to sleep with someone after a breakup, much preferring his unusually contemplative mood to Connie and Armin’s bickering after their four-hour train ride together. He smiled to himself; God, it would be good to see Mikasa again. He wouldn’t have admitted it at gunpoint, but she was practically his mom growing up, and she’d been gone for over a year, only visiting for Christmas. Rumor had it that she’d been spending a lot of time with Jean as of late, so he needed to see what that was all about, too.

And who had Eren been spending a lot of time with lately? No one but bar rats and slim pickings from the frat parties at Trost University near his hometown. When was the last time he’d even gotten laid? A month? Two? Her name had been Jenna…no, Jenny? Josephina? Fuck, he should remember that. Eren needs to get laid, regardless, but if he dares to step near any of Mikasa’s friends, she’ll kill him, he knows that from experience. Then again, maybe this weird-ass Jean situation would come in handy. If Mikasa ends up distracted…

“Excuse me!” Armin disturbs his thoughts once again; Eren scowls. “Excuse me, sir? I think we’re here.”

Eren pays for the cab. Armin had bought the train tickets and the chain-gang costumes they were all currently sporting, and Connie was always flat broke, insisting his music career would work out soon. That could be Eren’s fault, though: Connie was one of his and Zeke’s first “clients”. None of them even bothered keeping up with the money exchanged between each other anymore; Connie had been in their kindergarten class, Armin’s mom had changed all of their diapers, Mikasa’s parents were the “cool parents” that let them smoke weed in the backyard, Jean’s mom made the best potato salad. They were a little family, separated by life and college at the moment, but a family all the same. Eren felt a little tingle of appreciation in his stomach as they climbed the stairs to Jean’s walk-up.

“Jaeger!” Jean was dapping him up and smacking a fist against his back before Eren could even properly look around the dark apartment.

“Kirstein,” Eren returns his embrace and has to shout over the music, suddenly smacked with a wave of homesickness at the familiar smell of weed and Jean’s tacky Hugo Boss cologne.

“Make yourself at home, dude,” Jean’s nearly inaudible over the thumping house music. He’s got some stupid mummy costume on that exposes his lean stomach, basically just shirtless and wrapped in toilet paper. Eren stifles a laugh, looking around the apartment for any other familiar faces.

Reiner approaches him next, a goofy, drunken grin splitting his face wide open, tackling Eren in a bear hug. Most of the greetings go like that; I miss you! How are you? How’s the business? Are you still in Shiganshina? It makes Eren’s chest tight, makes him miss the closeness of the people he loves. He was just always fucking working, helping Zeke with paperwork, running around town talking to clients, pulling at his face late at night looking over the finances of everything. He feels wound up, ready to burst, but the blunt and beer Bertholdt just handed him should fix that, at least somewhat. He needs…fuck, he needs to get laid.

His eyes search the room, looking for the one person he’s looking most forward to seeing, but he doesn’t find Mikasa where he expects.

She’s perched on Jean’s lap, giggling over her drink as Jean waves his arms wildly, telling her a story. That bizarre sight only holds Eren’s gaze for a moment, though, because there you are beside her, grinning wickedly with one of those stupid vapes between your teeth.

Eren stops dead in his tracks, speechless. Where do they even make women like that? He goes bottom to top, letting himself be impressed with how well you’re balancing on those high heels, ravishing every naked inch of your exposed legs until he reaches the hem of– fuck, is that just lingerie? Whatever little black thing you’re wearing, it makes his heart race, makes his pants tight. It’s low-cut in the chest enough to tease, a little collar around your neck, and your face…even your face makes him hard, so beautiful in the low lighting, eyes glimmering. You look evil and fun and sexy all at once, and Eren’s sold within the first ten seconds of seeing you.

Before he can make a beeline in your direction, he realizes he’s taken his gaze off of Mikasa and Jean long enough for them to approach him, Mikasa throwing her arms around his neck.

“Eren!” She squeals in his ear, clearly already drunk. Eren chuckles, trying to rein himself in enough to hold a stable conversation. The little black dress flashes behind his eyes as he smiles down at Mikasa.

“Hey Mika,” he ruffles her hair, making Mikasa grumble and reach towards her head to right what he’s ruined. His eyes wander back to you; you’re watching him too, sizing him up. He wonders if you like what you see, pulls at the zipper of his orange jumpsuit to inch it down, reveal some of his stomach. Eren’s not conceited per se, but he spends an unhealthy amount of time in the gym, and he knows it shows. As your gaze travels down to where he holds his zipper, Eren can’t look away, knows it must be obvious that he’s distracted.

“Bro,” Jean snaps his fingers in front of Eren’s eyes, looking over his shoulder to see what Eren’s staring at. He turns back with a smirk. “Yeah?”

Fuck, now Mikasa’s looking off in the same direction, returning her eyes to him with a scowl. Drunk or not, she never fails to scare the shit out of him. “No. No fucking way, Eren.”

“What?” Eren sips his beer innocently, shrugging. He was only staring…for now.

“She’s my best friend, Eren, no,” Mikasa says, firmer this time.

“Thought I was your best friend?”

“Didn’t she just break things off with Floch like…” Jean trails off at the withering glare Mikasa shoots him, turning red.

“She’s off-limits.” Eren nods, her words going in one ear and out the other. Mikasa’s scolded him before, and she won’t stop anytime soon, so what’s one more? She can read his mind, evidently, because she reaches up and pinches his cheek, yanking him down to her level.

“Ow!”

“Off. Fucking. Limits.” Mikasa seethes. “Do you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah I- fuck, let go! I hear you Mika,” Eren rubs his sore cheek, frowning. He can see you laughing at him, eyes barely visible over the edge of your drink. Great, Eren thinks; getting a talking-to from Mikasa like a child was not the first impression he wanted to give you.

Mikasa’s grabbing Jean’s hand and pulling him back towards the crowd, presumably to play guard dog for you, but before she can get him too far, Jean leans back towards Eren, cups a hand around his mouth.

“She’s single, bro,” Jean manages to get out before Mikasa pulls harder, “go for it!”

Eren grins. If Mikasa wanted to bite his head off for this, now he could blame it on Jean. What the hell was he supposed to say to you, though? You’re leagues above the girls he’s been pursuing. If Eren’s honest with himself, he’s intimidated by you, but his only solution is to throw some more of his beer back for liquid courage. He’s always loved a challenge.

When he pulls the cup away from his face, you’ve appeared in front of him, smiling demurely and nearly making him jump out of his skin.

“Hi.”

The second you saw him, you were hooked. He was gorgeous, dark hair pulled into a little half-bun on the back of his head, pretty eyes, and tall and broad to boot. He was almost stern-looking, dark eyebrows shielding his eyes. Dark and mean, just the way you like them.

Mikasa had given him a massive hug, interrupting the clear eye-fucking you were engaged in across the room; so that was Eren? Her long-lost best friend that was always too busy to visit? The happy kid from the picture? You watched her scold him, giggling to yourself at how childlike he became, crumbling under Mikasa’s pinch and pouting when she let him go.

You had no choice, really. Your promise to Mikasa had flown out of your mind the moment you saw those full lips pursed around the blunt, blowing out a puff of smoke, stretching into a wide, dangerous smile. You’re an only child and admittedly, a bit spoiled, so when you want something, you get it.

“Hi,” you can’t manage anything more clever, not face to face with his bare chest. Jean’s apartment is stuffy, and you catch the gleam of sweat on his chest in the LED lighting. You lick your lips.

“Hi,” Eren responds stiffly, looking as surprised as if you’d just punched him in the gut.

“You’re Eren, right? Mikasa’s friend?”

Eren hits his blunt again, nods slowly. “I don’t think we’ve met though, you’re…?”

You give him your name. He smiles and repeats it, rolling it around on his tongue and getting a taste for it. You can already see little hearts in his eyes, it makes you grin to yourself. You had expected him to put up more of a fight; there’s a dozen girls in this room alone that would fall all over themselves to get him in bed, but he’s enraptured by you, eyes never leaving your face. You’ve got him.

“A cat, huh?” Eren addresses the costume, dipping his head in the direction of the little black ears on your head. You’re suddenly embarrassed, feeling a bit silly.

“I, uh, didn’t really have time to shop,” you shrug, pulling at the hem of your dress. Eren’s mouth quirks up. “A prisoner?”

“Yeah, I didn’t get to pick. I like yours, though, it fits you.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “A cat fits me?”

“Yeah,” Eren says, growing surer by the second, “I don’t know. Just fits. S’cute.”

You’re embarrassed by the giddy flutter in your stomach. God, he’s delicious. “You think I’m cute?”

“I think lots of things about you,” Eren replies, voice low and sultry and hardly audible over the music. His eyes widen like he hadn’t exactly meant to say that out loud, but it’s too late now. You grin, all teeth and bad intentions.

“We just met,” you point out. Eren’s confidence has returned, he boldly brings a hand to the spaghetti strap of your dress. His fingers are hot– why do men always run so hot? His touch almost burns.

“You wore this,” he rubs the fabric between his fingers, “and expect me not to have a few thoughts on it? Wasn’t that the point?”

The breath leaves your lungs. Your confidence fizzles at the same rate as your arousal grows. There are plenty of hot guys here, but you might have jumped into the deep end with this one. Something flickers in his eyes, something hungry.

“Why don’t you tell me about these thoughts of yours?”

“I will,” Eren nods, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, “later.”

“Later?”

“We’re at a party,” Eren takes the empty cup from you, replacing it with his own, much larger hand, “shouldn’t we at least dance a little?”

Before you can argue, he’s pulling you out into the center of Jean’s obnoxiously spacious living room, into a jungle of sweaty, gyrating bodies. You’re close enough to the speakers now that the bass pounds through your body to the same rhythm as your heart thudding in your chest. The crowded, makeshift dance floor pushes you into Eren, skin against skin. You have a fleeting moment to be grateful that you’re likely now obscured from Mikasa’s view before a pair of strong hands around your hips prevent any more conscious thoughts from taking shape in your brain.

“One of my thoughts,” Eren’s right beside your ear now, voice echoing in your brain, “is that I like you. Like this body.”

“T-thank you,” you stammer out, wanting to facepalm at not only your stupidly simple response, but the weakness in your voice.

“Move it for me.”

You obey him, letting your body move with the music, trying not to get too caught up in whether or not you look ridiculous with how you’re pressing your body into his, arms thrown around his neck. Eren seems to like the way you move on him, pushing and pulling your hips in the rhythm you’ve set, looking down his nose at you with bloodshot eyes.

Your panties are growing wetter by the second; he’s intoxicating, the feel of him against you, firm and tacky with sweat. His hands are tracing up your sides, dragging slowly as if he’s memorizing the curves of your body. You haven’t known him long enough to want him the way that you do, humiliated by the carnal desire simmering in the pit of your stomach, but you’ve had enough tequila not to care. The whole thing is too similar to what you really want, and you make it through a solid seven or eight songs before you can’t take the stifling tension between the two of you any longer, thick enough to cut with a knife.

You lean up on the tips of your toes, wobbling in your heels, and grab him tight around the neck, pulling him to you. Your lips finally meet; Eren’s slow to respond as you’ve caught him off guard, but he catches on quickly, lips falling open so you can kiss him deeper. His lips are softer than you expect, supple and giving as they move with yours. You trace your tongue through his teeth, hardly suppressing a whine. He tastes good, like cheap beer and weed and lust. You drink him in, a satisfied hum buzzing in your chest.

Without warning, Eren practically rips you off of him. “Not here.”

He’s dragging you through the people around you, knocking them out of the way and not stopping to apologize when he gets offended looks. He pulls you into what you know to be Jean’s room, wastes no time in shoving you up against the door and blocking you in with his wide shoulders.

You swallow hard; you’ve underestimated him.

“Another one of my thoughts,” Eren mouths at the area beneath your ear, makes you groan, “is that you’re pretty. Like, very fucking pretty. Bet you’re twice as pretty under this dress.”

“I think you’re pretty, too,” you manage to say, forcing the words from your mouth. Eren chuckles, smiling against the shell of your ear.

“C’mere,” he tilts your chin up, kissing you again. It’s troublingly gentle, long and languid as your mouths move against one another. He kisses you like he loves you; the thought makes alarm bells ring in your head, and you nip at his bottom lip to break up the emotional momentum, sink your teeth into it. Eren pulls back, chuckling down at you. “You’re mean.”

“Only a little.”

“Is that what you like?” Eren thumbs at your mouth, slipping his finger between your lips. You suck greedily, rubbing your tongue against the roughness of his fingertip. “Like it a little mean? Between you and me, I like ‘em a little mean, too.”

You nod, gently biting on his thumb. Eren groans, a low rumble deep in his chest. “Oh, I’m going to have fun with you.”

He’s pulling your dress over your head before you can stop him, sucking in a sharp breath when he gets an eyeful of your lace-clad breasts, the tiny thong you’ve slipped over your hips. Stronger than you’d expected, Eren pulls you up to wrap your legs around his waist, slamming your back against the door with a loud thud and knocking your stupid cat ears to the floor. You can hear a few sounds of surprise from outside; surely that got a few people’s attention, but you’re lost in him, whimpering at the feel of his jumpsuit costume rubbing against your clothed center.

Eren’s sloppy, placing open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pausing to suck a bruise underneath your ear. You gasp, canting your hips into his stomach, desperate for friction. You’re normally not so uninhibited, but Eren’s doing something to your head, has your mind spinning. He’s carrying you over to the bed, dropping you down onto Jean’s sheets. Eren leans down to pull your heels off, a sweet gesture if you could find the presence of mind to acknowledge it. You feel a flicker of guilt about doing this in Jean’s bed, but when Eren starts sliding a hand up your thigh, it flickers away into nothing, swallowed by your bottomless want.

“Look at that,” Eren smirks, rubbing his fingers over your panties, “soaked. This all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine, hips jerking up towards his touch. It is for him, it was from the moment you laid eyes on him, and you both know it. His hands are everywhere: unclasping your bra, pulling your panties down, palming at your tits. You arch your back up to him, offering him your chest; he responds by closing down on one of your nipples with his teeth.

“So pretty,” Eren’s murmuring around the mouthful of your flesh he’s got, twisting the neglected nipple of your right breast between his fingers, “so pretty.”

“Eren,” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair, pulling it out of its bun and wrapping the hair band around your wrist. His mouth is hot, scalding, even, but you pull him closer to you anyway, pressing his face into your tits. Eren doesn’t seem to mind, letting you move him this way and that, show him what you like and how to pull those pretty moans out of your mouth. Before long, he’s kissing his way down your stomach, hands gripping your hips like a lifeline.

“Want a taste,” Eren sounds more like he’s talking to himself than to you, “need to taste this pussy.”

“Eren,” you reach for his hair, trying to pull him back up to you. While you’d love to see what the mouth that had just kissed you breathless could do between your legs, the thumping music outside is an annoying but consistent reminder that there’s an entire party outside and you’re in Jean’s bedroom. The clock’s ticking. “Want to feel you, we don’t have time for–”

“Don’t have time?” Something wicked lights Eren’s face up as he shimmies your panties down your legs. “Believe me, it won’t take long.”

“Eren,” your protest is feeble but earnest, and you make another attempt to reach for him when a long, thick lick up your center renders you near-unconscious. You moan, a little louder than you would have liked to.

“See? Gonna make you feel so good, trust me,” Eren’s punctuating each word with a little kiss somewhere on your pussy: your clit, your lips, right over your fluttering entrance. You have no choice but to whimper and nod, canting your hips up towards him. You look down, immediately regretting it: Eren’s wiggled out of his costume, naked and beautiful and staring up at you from between your legs. You’re hardly able to swallow the inhuman sound that threatens to rip from your throat.

Where he’d been cool and calculated pulling you onto the dance floor, you quickly learn that Eren eats pussy like he can’t control himself, like his life depends on it. His massive hands wrap around the tops of your thighs, securing you against his face as you try to squirm away. He licks into you enthusiastically, moaning against you at the taste, sending a succession of vibrations through you that go straight to the fire in your stomach.

When his lips close around your clit and suck hard, you have to slap a hand over your mouth to stop a wail from reaching the ears right outside the door. Eren takes the opportunity to sneak a finger into you, curl it right against that gummy spot in your walls that has you seeing stars. As he works his finger in your cunt, he kisses his way back up to your mouth, greeting you with a sloppy kiss.

“Feels good, right?” Eren’s face is literally dripping with you, a sharp-toothed grin barely visible in the dim light.

“Feels good,” you whimper, daring to look down to where he’s grinding his palm against your clit. You can see the veins of his muscular arm straining as he pumps in and out of you; it’s a lewd sight, one that makes your head spin. “‘S so much Eren, I— fuck.”

“Yeah?” Eren’s smile grows darker, another finger slips into you easily. You’re practically dripping onto the sheets at this point, rolling your hips against his hand with your mouth hanging open. It’s humiliating but too gratifying to stop. “Gonna cum for me? You can do it, give it to me.”

“God– close, so c-close,” you can barely find the words to respond, the pressure in your belly swelling at an alarming speed. You’re going to squirt, you know you are, should move off of Jean’s bed or warn Eren or do something, but it’s too late.

You thrash in Eren’s grip, cumming so hard you think you can taste blood where you bite your lip. You can feel the wetness spraying from you, soaking Eren’s hand and the sheets and your inner thighs, can distantly hear your pitiful cries, but you’re powerless to do anything about it until the mind-numbing orgasm’s run its course. Eventually you do settle, babbling incoherently into Eren’s shoulder about Jean’s ruined sheets, about how you’re sorry for making a mess. Eren shuts you up with his mouth on yours; you can hear the distant rip of a condom wrapper.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he laughs, rolling on top of you and lining himself up, “gonna have to keep you.”

Before you can even think to offer to return the favor or make a sarcastic remark about how you’d never let anyone keep you, Eren’s pressing into you, and your mind short-circuits. Shit, maybe you’d let him keep you.

You hadn’t gotten a good look at him in the darkness, but he’s big, bigger than you’ve ever had before, and big enough that you realize this when he’s not even halfway in.

“Eren…it’s so– s’big,” you hiccup into his shoulder, fingernails clawing into his biceps.

“Is it too much, baby?” You hate pet names, hate them, but from the greek god splitting you open right now, you love it, want to lick the word right out of his mouth and taste it on your own tongue. The genuine concern glittering in his eyes, the little furrow between his brows as he pauses, frowns down at you, fuck, you might be in love.

“No, not too much– feels good.”

Eren’s grin is feral. “Yeah? Tell me.”

“Feels so fucking good,” a little giggle sneaks out from your clenched jaw, Eren smiles wider and cups your face to kiss you again, far too gently to match the way he’s stretching you, bullying your cunt into the shape of him.

“Feel full?”

“Mhm,” he’s bottomed out now, impossibly deep, and you give him a little roll of your hips to show him just how okay you are, that you’re ready to see what he can really do.

“You’ve got–” Eren rolls his hips experimentally, punches a moan from your chest– “the best fucking pussy. So tight for me.”

Ordinarily, dirty talk makes you cringe, but something about the way he words things, as raw as if his inner monologue is spilling out of him, turns you on, makes your cunt clench down around him. That makes him happy, he sucks in a breath of air and starts pounding into you hard enough to make tears well in your eyes, hard enough to make you squeal in a way no one else ever has.

“Taking me so fucking well, baby,” Eren’s hands are grabbing your face, his lips pressing into your forehead, “never gonna let this pussy go.”

You grant him a long moan of agreement, so cockdrunk that for now, you’re more than happy to sign your freedom away to stay in this bed, pinned underneath him for all of eternity. He’s fucking into you so deep he’s practically in your throat; your breath comes out in short little huffs, choking on the brutal pace of his fucking. And god, he’s so big, but you’re taking him somehow, like you were made for it.

Eren moves one of his hands away from his face to swat your fingers away from where you’re digging into his arms, surely close to drawing blood.

“Fucking hurts,” he hisses, “just as mean as you are pretty, y’know that?”

He easily manhandles your arms above your head, pinning them above you by your wrists. The way he stretches his body to do so changes the angle he’s fucking into you at; now he’s hammering into the spot inside of you he’d found far too quickly with his fingers. Your eyes shoot open at the change, and Eren doesn’t miss it. He smirks.

“Right there?”

“God, yes, please– right there,” you sound pathetic, the few surviving rational brain cells you possess are laughing at you, but there’s no help for it. He’s already got you spiraling towards cumming again, the wetness from your cunt creating a sucking sound where he’s moving in and out of you.

“Fuck, m’close. Think you can cum again for me?”

“Yes,” you breathe, tilting your head up to nip at his neck, a tear or two running down into your hairline. You can do anything he asks, you think, anything in the world just for him, for how he’s making you feel. Eren practically growls, pistoning his hips faster.

“Need you to cum for me, okay beautiful? Cum right now.”

“S-so close– I– Eren, oh my god,” you’re babbling, eyes rolling back into your head. Eren smashes his lips to yours, grinding his hips into your clit and shoving you over the edge for the second time that night. You sob and convulse around him, back arching desperately and pressing your chests together. You’re seeing stars as he fucks you through it, grunting in your ear and growing sloppy as you tighten around him.

“Fuck!” Eren bites into your shoulder, hard enough to bruise, stilling his hips as deep inside you as he can manage. Your fucked-out brain wants the condom off, wants to feel the full warmth of him as he cums inside of you, grinding his hips against yours. Before he’s finished, Eren moves back to your mouth, kissing you deep and slow, a kiss that means a whole lot more than what you’ve just done together as a party rages just past the door.

As you’re panting beneath him, trying to ground yourself and come back to reality, Eren rolls off of you, whips the condom off, and to your surprise, takes you into his arms, pulls your head to his chest.

“You okay?”

You’re so blissed out right now that it’s a laughable question, and you giggle, watery and light into his chest. “More than okay.”

Eren laughs at that, a real laugh from deep in his stomach. The sound of it makes something warm and happy spark in your chest. “That good, huh?”

“You’re alright.” You’re trying to keep your eyes open, more than aware that your teeny tiny thong is on the floor and you’re naked in the arms of a stranger in Jean’s fucking bed, but Eren’s so warm, so comfortable, your eyes are fluttering despite your protests.

“Oh?” Eren’s voice raises in pitch, gets breathy. “Yes, Eren! Right there, Eren! I’m cumming, Eren!”

“Oh my god, shut up!” You smack at his chest, cheeks burning, but you make no move to roll away from him, preferring your snug little hovel against him to the loud, smoky party that awaits you should you leave.

“S’okay,” Eren presses a kiss to your hairline, “I like that you’re loud.”

“Not loud,” you grouch, resolving to let yourself enjoy just a few minutes of keeping your eyes closed before you return to the party. The last thing you remember is Eren humming, tracing circles into your shoulders with his fingers. You think you recognize the tune; it’s a love song.

–

“Jaeger!”

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god, is that Jean? What time is it? Eren!”

Eren’s first peaceful sleep in months is disturbed rather rudely, in his opinion; he shields his eyes from the brightness of the overhead light, peering through his fingers to see you, hair a rat’s nest and smudged makeup in rings around your eyes. He scowls at the warm, empty spot next to him in the bed that you’ve already leapt out of, frantic with energy even through your hangover. You’re alternating between running around the room naked, trying to find your dress, and shaking him urgently. He bites back a grin; so you are real, and just as hot as he remembered.

“Chill the fuck out, Jean!” Eren shouts, using far more energy than he can afford to expend if he’s leaving the bed anytime soon. The alarm clock on the nightstand reads 7:01am. Shit. “We’ll be out in a second!”

“Get your ass out here, Eren!” Shit. Mikasa’s here too? Oh, he’s dead the second he leaves this room. All the better to stay put, then.

“Get up,” you hiss at him, looking every bit of a pissed-off racoon as you scrounge around on the floor.

“Need my hair tie back if you want me to get up.”

“Ugh, here,” you fling it at him, hitting him squarely in the forehead. Eren chuckles, pulling his hair off of his neck and into its usual bun. He feels empty, feels alone, realizes that he wants your touch, the same body-to-body contact that he’d enjoyed last night..

“They’re fine,” Eren grumbles, hoping you can’t see the amusement written on his face, “we’ve got a few more minutes.”

He reaches sleepily for you, pulling you back into the bed with him amidst your whispered protests, pulling your lips back to his where they belong. He kisses you slowly, indulgently, convincingly. Your skin against his does wonders for the soul-crushing anxiety he’s been putting up with over the last few months. You’re like a drug to him; just one hit and he feels worlds better, feels like he can actually get through everything weighing on him for now. Jesus, even your morning breath doesn’t turn him off; his cock twitches in interest beneath the covers. Cute when you’re angry, he thinks to himself. He has a feeling you’d smack him if he said it out loud.

“We can’t,” you breathe into his mouth, pushing weakly at his chest. Eren loves the feel of your palms on his chest, necessarily resistant in the name of a one–night stand, but lacking the force to prove your point. You want him too, he realizes. The thought goes straight to his dick, and he takes a deep breath to keep his composure, to stop himself from jumping all over you with Mikasa and Jean right outside. He’s rather impressed with his efforts, rubbing small circles on your lower back instead of grabbing a handful of your ass and pulling you into his lap like he wants to.

“We can,” Eren murmurs back, already ten times happier than he was a moment ago, “just want to kiss you, that’s all.”

That makes you pull back, fix him with a stern look. “I don’t want to come off as a bitch, but I don’t really do the morning-after thing. Don’t you live, like, five hours from the city anyway?”

Eren’s not the brightest when he’s tired, and he’s even stupider around beautiful women. He cocks his head at you, smiling. “Mikasa didn’t tell you? I’m moving to the city in a few weeks.”

You eye him suspiciously. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Eren’s bullshitting, bullshitting very badly and he knows it, “just have to get some things worked out with my brother and our business. Get the operation moved here, that’s all.”

He knows your type: flighty, heavily anti-commitment, and meaner than a snake when you’re cornered. But Eren hopes, he hopes stupidly and against all reason because even if it was just a night, he meant what he said in the throes of passion. You’re funny, you’re interesting, you’re sexy, and he doesn’t want to let you go. He wants to fuck you stupid, just like he did last night, for the rest of his life.

He can’t say any of this out loud, of course, but what if he’s not bullshitting? What if he can convince Zeke to move their amateur record label into the city, where they can pick up real artists, and he can fuck you stupid whenever he feels like it? Maybe he can even learn how you like your coffee, what your bra size is, where the junk drawer in your apartment lives. Eren doesn’t know you, he knows that, but he inexplicably wants those things, wants the mundane parts of you for himself.

“Get the fuck out here, Jaeger, that’s my fucking bed!” Fists pound against the door, threatening to barge into your little sanctuary. Mikasa’s calling your name from outside too, voice harsh and angry. Eren waits for you to scold him, waits for you to shove him off of you and tell him to fuck off.

To his surprise, you make no move to get up and offer him a sheepish grin, shrugging shyly as if you’re not fully naked in his arms. “I guess I’ll see you around, then.”

Eren’s heart swells. “I’m not chancing that. Give me your number.”“You can earn my number if you buy me breakfast,” you scoff, “and help me find my dress before Mikasa kills us both.”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren yeager x readaer #eren x you #eren jaeger x you #eren smut #eren jaeger smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut #aot x you #aot x reader #ti penso uni #ti penso universe #i love them this makes my heart warm!!!!!!!!!

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daughterofyore · 6 months

Text

Even Days.

wc;; 1.5k approx.

a/n:: I love dominant women

summary;; another even day and you are fuelled with anger, you take charge until hi

contents;; dom woman, very light bdsm, breeding kink, degradation, praising, switch man,

!!W!!;; MINORS DNI!! No real warnings, nothing too crazy

music inspo;;

You stripped off your gown, the maids rushing to try and prevent it from being wrinkled or breaking a jewel. You were in no mood for pleasantries. Today was an even day. A day in which you had zero time to be polite, you had a job to do. A job which was demanding, time consuming, utterly stupid and yet… you secretly loved it.

The warm amber ambience of the sconces on the walls held a dim light in the room. The handmaidens hurriedly took off your undergarments, but began to approach you with lotion. “It is not necessary, just get me a nightgown.” You raised a hand to stop them, they nodded and one lady grabbed a silky blue nightgown. She slips it over your head and let’s it fall over you. It covers you yet does not leave much to the imagination. Your nipples were hard against the cold air, they pressed against the sheer fabric. A different maid rushes to take your hair out of its elaborate do, pins and jewels clattered onto a gold plate on the armoire. They sparkled, a fortune sitting right before you. What a waste. You looked out the window and towards the sky, looking at Venus. You said a silent prayer, begging, pleading that she make it right between you and George. Sure, this hate-fucking scenario was fun and oddly enough you enjoyed it, but you wanted a connection. A genuine love. You wanted your attempts at love to be reciprocated and for him not to be so… closed off.

The moment the maids finished tying the nightgown around your waist you turned and stormed out of the room. You strode down the hallways, Brimsley struggling to keep up. You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, why did he refuse you? Why were you diminished to appointments to fulfil your ‘womanly’ duties? Why was this how your marriage was to be, how had this become your role in life. To serve and adulterate for a King, a man you barely knew.

The guards opened the doors to the kings room, you were overcome with emotion and truly, you just wanted to fuck the ever living shit out of him. “It is an even day.” You declared as you stormed towards him. He dropped his quill at his desk and immediately stood to meet you. Before the large doors could close his hands were on your hips. Exploring your body as he pulled you to be flush at his front. He pressed his lips to yours, desperate for their touch. Your tongues mingling as you kissed feverishly. He gasped out between kisses, as he undid the robe around you, “Are you alright?” His voice heavy with lust, speaking only when your lips were not on his. “I am fine.” You say breathlessly, your fingers making short work of his loose white shirt and britches. Immediately your hands were diving to his cock, fingers wrapping around it’s length and massaging it torturously. He managed to strip you of your robe, and as you watched his cheeks flush, he bit his lip as he looked down at you. Your ministrations never ceased as you used your left hand to pull down his pants. You were in charge tonight. You were the one who was going to fuck him mercilessly like he did to you each even day. The anger you felt towards this arrangement would surely fuel you to make sure the man wouldn’t walk by morn.

Eagerly you steer George back, pressing him against the wall beside the bed. Your hand still working on his cock, only now it was free and hard, pressing flush against your stomach. George didn’t know where to look, his eyes darted down to his dick and your hand then back to your face. Sheer determination and lust filled those eyes, he knew then what was in store for him tonight. Or at least he thought he did.

As if reading his mind you wrap your fingers around his dick, holding it a little tighter as George winced above you. “Lie down on the bed, my King.” He nodded hastily, eager for you to relinquish your grip on him. It was only when he was laying across the bed did you let go, only to manoeuvre between his legs and take him in your mouth. Expertly swirling your tongue around his tip, one hand working his length while another held and squeezed his balls. His eyes were wide as he watched you from above, panting heavily. It was clear he was in shock over your sudden twist in roles, but he was enjoying it.

You’d make sure of it.

You pressed down onto his dick, taking one deep breath through your nose before taking all of him. Your nose pressed against his navel as he squirmed beneath you. You repeatedly took him deep, each time growing the intensity while playing with his balls. He was begging now, “Please, oh fuck- please.. I’m gonna cum!” His fists were gripping the sheets, arms straining. You could feel the growing tenseness and with one last suck you took him out of your mouth and aimed his dick back at him. His cum shot across his chest, making a home on his chin. He gaped at you, shivering after such a vicious orgasm. “When did you- How did-“ He could barely speak, in awe of what you had just done. You simply waved a finger at him, grabbing the panties you had worn and stuffing them in his mouth.

“You will do what I say tonight George.”

He seemed to melt at your words, nodding, albeit reluctantly. You moved back, straddling his lap as you lined him up with your entrance. The moment you felt his tip slip in you, you let yourself fall onto his cock. He let out a muffled moan, his eyes watering while he watched you ride him with expert precision. Your hips rolled back and forth, up and down, he was a moaning mess. Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth, mixing with the cum that still rested on his chin. Your hands came to rest on his chest, balancing yourself as you rode him. His hands reached for your hips, bucking up into you and creating a titillating rhythm. “George…” you gasped, never truly adjusting to his size and girth as it plunged into you. He took it as a sign to fuck you even harder, skin clapping throughout his chambers, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. Your breath mingled as the pair of you neared release. His muffled moans and your cries for him to fuck you harder echoed around the room.

The wetness formulating from between your legs doused his lower stomach and your inner thighs. The wet slap every time your skin met only fuelled your desire for each other. George grabbed your ass as you continued to roll your hips on him, his fingers kneading your flesh before landing a light slap. A moan escapes you and fuck, you want him so badly. Each time he puts his full length into you, his dick perfectly pushes against your g-spot. Your legs and knees are weak, you swore only he could fuck you like this.

You couldn’t hold it anymore, the pressure in your core building, George gripping at you, still with your underwear in between his teeth, he was feral. Without warning, he grabs your hips and literally spins you on his dick to be on all fours. He starts ramming into you from behind, pushing down on your back to make you arch. “Oh fuck yes… you beautiful woman-“ He is gasping as he pistons into you repeatedly, you can’t even think. All that comes out of your mouth is saliva and moans. He’s so fucking delicious.

“I’m going to fill you up so much my beauty… you’ll look so sweet pregnant with our heir.” That was it, you came in one shuddering gasp and Alamo’s simultaneously George fucked you one last time before a warmth filled your belly. The pair of you gasped, tired and exhausted.

George picked you up gently, staying inside you as he rested you on top of his chest, brushing your hair out of your face. He placed a tender kiss on your forehead, as you get comfy on him. “I love you, my queen.” His face sweet, a glowing, tired smile evident now that he had spit out your panties.

You chuckled, kissing his chin. “I love you too, King George.”

#bridgerton #bridgerton series #bridgerton smut #bridgerton spoilers #king george bridgerton #king george iii #king george x f!reader #king george x reader #queen charlotte #bridgerton fanfiction #Spotify

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spacelazarwolf · 6 months

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hmmmmmmm i’m real fucking tired of jew haters lying abt me!

let's break this down, shall we?

white trans mascs like spacelazarwolf have no issue calling indigenous people "bone chillingly disturbing" for disagreeing with them.

actually i called what you said antisemitic, because it was. i called what i've witnessed from gentiles in general bone-chillingly disturbing and cruel, and that i've witnessed so much ignorance, hostility, and bloodlust from gentiles. because i keep seeing posts celebrating the massacre that happened on the 7th, and i keep getting anons that tell me "hitler missed one", "the world would be better off without your ilk", "we should have gotten rid of you all ages ago", "die zionists rats *nose emoji*", and a lot of very graphic descriptions of how they would like to rape and kill me. one user, blatantly on their blog, openly said that someone should kill me, and someone said they knew where i lived and could make that happen. that's not disagreeing with me. that is bloodlust.

they pretend to care about racism when trans women engage in it, but have zero issue jumping right to demonic stereotypes about indigenous people who dare to point out that their support of israel is supporting genocide.

hey asshole. I WASN'T TALKING ABOUT YOU.

also. I HAVE BEEN OPEN ABOUT MY CRITICISM OF ISRAEL, MY REFUSAL TO SUPPORT IT AS A STATE, AND MY BELIEF THAT WHAT THEY'RE DOING IS GENOCIDE. YOU FUCKING IDIOT.

literally just blatantly lying about a jew's opinion on israel so you can harass and demonize them is, i hate to tell you, antisemitic.

these so called "anti-semitic rants" were me saying jewish people can survive without israel and do not need to colonize or genocide another group of people to survive.

let's give some of the highlights of your posts:

"while you're here hand-wringing about the safety of israelis and spreading the white supremacist lie that they must be in israel to be safe, israel secured its continued existence by just now murdering 500+ parients and doctors under the excuse of 'well hamas is violent and is hiding in there"

'handwringing' do you mean mourning the deaths of peace activists and children? also if you've read literally any of my other posts on the matter, you know i literally talk about how zionists institutions and leadership use jewish safety and antisemitism in the diaspora to bolster support for a jewish state. pointing this out isn't agreeing with it when you do it, why is it when i do it? what could the difference possibly be??

also, there has been no confirmation on who caused the hospital bombing. there are many reports that it was a misfire by one of the groups in gaza, and those are still being investigated. regardless of who fired it, it's still a tragedy. it's still hundreds of innocent lives lost. and it does not change the fact that the lives lost on the 7th were also a tragedy. using this devastating loss of palestinian life as a bludgeon against a diaspora jew for having the audacity to mourn dead jews is disgusting.

"[you] only bring up jewish people of color to argue that israel is actually not a racist project because israel is the only thing stopping jewish people from being exterminated."

literally just lying.

"jewish people in israel are behaving as and acting as white supremacist colonizers of color"

thanks for literally just outright saying that you think the problem is jews, not the state of israel.

"colonizers globally are constantly killing kids"

and therefore the israeli children who died don't matter? are you expecting jewish people to choose between their nieces and nephews and innocent palestinian children who are killed in gaza?

"[spacelazarwolf has] ranted and raved that without israel existing, the jewish people would be genocided. he's appropriated the struggle of indigenous and black people abroad to cry that jewish people aren't welcome in countries like the us, despite living in the us and benefiting from his whiteness and the oppression of indigenous and black people as many other white jewish people do"

i think you've made it pretty clear you're totally fine lying about what i've actually said regarding israel, but the idea that jews are "appropriating the struggle of indigenous and black people abroad" when we talk about experiencing antisemitism in the countries we live in is so???????????? also you make it really clear in this snippet that your issue isn't with israel but with jews in general.

"white jewish people...have been able to exist in relative safety for decades in european countries"

are you actually fucking insane.

"israel's existence has made things more dangerous for jewish people in the middle east and north africa because these are areas that HISTORICALLY had co-existence between religious groups"

nice historical revisionism! swana was safer than christian countries for sure, but it's SO clear to me that you know absolutely nothing about the history of the jews of swana.

"he and israel supporters like him are constantly distracting from the war crimes and terrorism ISRAEL IS COMMITTING by handwringing perpetually about 'but violence is bad and hamas is bad for being violent, the only good palestinians are the ones that are quiet and don't fight back against us when we kill their kids"

sorry, who's "we"? are diaspora jews killing kids? or do you just equate every single jew in the diaspora to israel? also, yet more blatantly lying and claiming i support israel when i repeatedly have stated i haven't! but it's much more convenient to claim i have, because then you can say that i kill kids!

there's a bunch of other times you repeat the lie that i support israel and "advocate for the continued existence of a settler colonizer state and lying and claiming it's the only way for jewish people to be safe" but i won't include all of those bc this post would be VERY long.

"israel supporters are really out here arguing that palestinians need to hold hands with their genociders and forgive them and find peace - completely ignoring that for centuries there was peace between religious groups in the region and israel destroyed it"

goyim being embarrassingly ignorant of jewish history outside of a warped view of the holocaust? i am shocked!

"the supposed civilians attacked turned out to be iof soldiers so yeah actually it's fucked for you to say. they shouldn't attack people who colonize and massacre palestinian people for their day job"

blatantly supporting the massacre of 1,300 israelis, including children.

"all they can do is fight back or die, while israelis grab their passport and fly back to the us or some other european country and wait for israel to finish their genocide so they can go back"

feel like i don't need to explain why. this is conspiracy theory levels of antisemitic.

"the crying and bellyaching that if the jewish people don't have israel, they'll have to go back to countries that are hostile to them is not one i have sympathy for"

yeah we know you don't have sympathy for jews, that's very clear.

"jewish people, black people, and indigenous people all still live there and survive and fight back and thrive in solidarity together. and they DON'T participate in genocide against other groups of people"

yet again making the blatant assertion that it is JEWS who are committing genocide, and not the israeli government. also let's not pretend that. there's always been perfect solidarity between our communities. jews have not always been the best allies to indigenous people and black people, and vice versa.

"there are other places to turn to if you had any interest in NOT participating in western hegemonic white supremacy. but instead of staying and fighting and existing and thriving with other marginalized people who are at HIGHER risk than you in these countries, you argue that somehow jewish people should be exempt from this work that every other marginalized community does"

shouldn't have to point out that i don't argue that, but also this is, again, conspiracy theory levels of fucked up.

"bonkers to watch israel-supporters screaming and crying that if they don't colonize and genocide palestinians then jewish people can't safely exist"

yikes.

"if it were remotely true, israelis wouldn't have pulled out their dual citizenship passports and gone back to europe and the us to wait at a distance for their government to finish the genocide they started in 1948"

again, yikes.

there is a choice outside colonization - you can just fucking leave and go back to your home countries that are welcoming you with open arms cuz you still have dual citizenship. you don't have to commit genocide colonize people to exist."

more yikes.

"spacelazarwolf really wants to try and argue that they can't stop colonizing palestine cuz if they do, they have to go back to - checks notes - countries where a ton of people still live"

who is "they"?

"for some reason [spacelazarwolf] thinks that to avoid going through [genocide], jewish people need to be allowed to commit genocide themselves and eradicate palestinians"

once again lying abt me, and also openly saying that they believe it is jews who are committing genocide.

"fucking bonkers that he thinks he somehow has the right to commit genocide and colonize to avoid the situation other jewish people, indigenous people, and black people worldwide find themselves in. cowardly bitch baby behavior actually. like i'm sorry lots of other groups of colonized people, who have been subject to genocide and violence, and racism and are still undergoing it, has managed to NOT colonize other groups of people for their own gain."

bc jews are just inherently more evil than other marginalized ppl, right? we're just more prone to being selfish and hurting people? we're just sniveling whiny bitch babies who will turn around and stab you in the back, right?

"screaming and crying that 'we need to be allowed to genocide palestinians or otherwise we have to go back to the us, where we as white jewish people never have to actually deal with the things indigenous and black people there do' is disgusting genocidal behavior. the thought of actually being in solidarity with colonized people is repulsive to people like spacelazarwolf - that's why they all seek to justify colonial projects instead."

again, conspiracy theory levels of fucked.

at no point do i engage in anti-semitism. all i ever criticize is israel.

don't feel like i need to point out that this is not true.

he has repeatedly stated that israel has to exist, otherwise jewish people have to go back to the us, where indigenous people are being genocided.

cool lie! also fucked up thing to say!

i've said nothing about jewish pain and trauma. in fact, i have said on numerous occasions that jewish pain and trauma are very real and that they DO NOT justify. colonization.

mmmmmmmmmm nah. "whiny little bitch babies" is not saying that "jewish pain and trauma are very real." also oops you accidentally did dual loyalty again.

but spacelazarwolf is so rabidly racist he immediately began fearmongering about the bloodlust savage knocking at his door trying to kill him.

i'm on desktop or i would include that mike wazowski standing meme bc genuinely what the fuck.

anyway, i have no doubt that their support palestinians is genuine. that's great. but it is also incredibly clear that they hate jews, and that is going to be a huge detriment to their activism for palestinians, and they're not the only one this is happening with. people need to figure that shit out on their own instead of harassing and lying about jews online and perpetuating this kind of violently antisemitic rhetoric. bc this is like beyond fucked. i am tired of gentiles blatantly lying abt me so they can get away with saying horrendously antisemitic things to and about me. get your fucking shit together.

#i/p

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factorialsotherfandoms · 7 months

Text

They're back at that one bit of woodland again, with the strangely cut trees and the avocado sapling and an unusual number of birds. Fit hates it here, he hates what it does to his friend. He sees the distant look in Philza's eyes, the way his movements become softer, slower, almost floating. He sees the warpstone, and takes it, and knows it means that sometimes Philza comes here alone.

He sees the way Philza puts his parachute away too high, and does not bucket clutch when he lands. Hears the crunch of his ankles, too.

It's not the first time Fit's seen it either, though its novel in /Phil/. In the wasteland, in the many wars... Yeah, he's seen this before. People who can't face what they've done - what the world did to them - so their minds fade into a dream until reality crashes in with a knife through their spine. Nobody wastes an end crystal on someone who got lost in a dream, at least not the quiet ones.

(To kill those lost in a nightmare you want a bow, anyway - even if you dress in their colours, they might still consider you a monster in their dreams. Fit's almost glad Philza's brain cracked quietly - its safer, less likely to draw the Federation's ire, but it also means the pain goes unnoticed. He wonders, just how many islanders' suffering has been missed?)

The doubt in reality even when present Fit has seen less of, but it's not unheard of. In the wasteland people tend towards killing and being killed, but sometimes someone gets a grand idea into their heads.

Well, no, a lot of people do. Even if Fit only considers grand torture he can think of a good number of people, they're just not often met with success.

He has seen it, though, between one incursion and the next. There had been this one asshole up in the north eastern quadrant who took a delight in fucking with people's heads. One of the Veterans - Fit can't remember his name, why can't he remember even his allies-of-occasion's names? - had been caught. The guy managed to break himself out in a few days, but even that had been enough to have him clarifying reality for months.

Philza...

Well Philza was gone for at least twice as long, and, old crow that he might be, he doesn't have nearly the training against mind games and /human/ bullshit a Wastelander has.

He's still quick with the scythe whenever monsters appear, so at least the Feds haven't stolen that from him too.

"The birds are here, right?" Philza eventually asks.

"Yup," Fit pops the word a little, wanting to go home but not wanting to leave a trauma-fucked friend at ground zero too long. "Still here, still the wrong biome. The avocado sapling is still here, too. There was something here, they just took it down."

Philza squints at that sapling, and hums under his breath. Fit doesn't expect to be believed. It's just, despite everything, he has his own fucking eyes. This place is clearly fucked up, the Federation builds in an instant so why not destroy, and not /once/ has Philza asked him if something is real and the answer was no. His perception wasn't fucked with, just his faith in it.

Which is, in some ways, harder to deal with.

Fit would wonder why he's dealing with this, but he knows everything Philza has done for him and how, when its down to the wire, they're about the only friends either of them can really rely on. Seasons change, alliances are betrayed, lovers fight, and in the middle of it all is always black wings and Philza.

If after all these years all the man needs is an occasional reality check then, gods damn him, Fit won't even charge him for it.

He's nice like that.

"Alright," Philza eventually says. "Let's go home."

They warp back to his home - an empty home, but a home - and Philza hesitates at the hatch.

"Look," Fit says. "If you want to go out there again, or you see something you're not sure about? Just ask me. If I'm not about, take a photo and ask me later."

"Thanks mate," Philza says, with a smile reading 'I'll never do that, but the offer's appreciated'. "Sleep well."

"You too," Fit calls back, and really, he did expect that to be the end of that.

---

It is not, of course, the end of that. There's a few more times in the coming days when they're together, and Philza asks his opinion on the reality of a bird - almost always a bird, sometimes a shrub, and Fit is lining up what triggers he can to try convince his friend to avoid.

He knows Phil, and he knows people, and he knows that most people would rather claw their own eyes out than ask for help. Philza included. Himself included, to be fair to the man.

It's what makes what happens next more horrifying, and more of a surprise.

He is out with Pac and Mike when it happens. Mike is still acting a little odd, but so far he has attacked nobody, threatened nobody, and made no creepy comments about the eggs - Fit will take what he is given and call it a success. Mike is even acting a little more normal, herding Pac and Fit onto a picnic rug and serving them drinks.

Pac laughs and smiles, and Fit slips poison test strips into every single glass he is handed but laughs along with him.

So far, no poison - Fit knows better than to think doing nothing will have fixed the brainwashing (possession?), but maybe the level of control varies. It seems reasonable, then, to expect a chill day for the morning crew; Tubbo is offline, Philza is tens if not thousands of blocks out exploring, and Fit has a date with his two favourite scientists.

... A social engagement with one of his favourite scientists, chaperoned by the other.

Fit sits and listens as Pac explains some additions he and Mike wish to make to the Murder Mystery Arena, occasionally offering his admittedly uncreative takes. Fit knows what he's good for, and it isn't interior design. He just... did not quite expect his thoughts to be so bad that they managed to trigger a laughing fit in the still somewhat out of it Mike.

If only he could also help Mike like he tries to help Pac and Philza, but whatever happened to him, his green-eyed scientist no longer trusts him enough for that.

It's a shock, then, when Mike speaks over Pac, scowling at his communicator. "I don't think this message is for me," he says.

"What message?" Pac asks, already moving to look.

Fit leaves him to it - probably Aypierre asking about some newfangled machine, or Cellbit wanting some answers - before realising Philza is the only person both awake and not at the picnic. That has him standing, grabbing his own communicator, even as Pac is already reading it.

"It just says 'can you come over here a second'?" Pac frowns. "From Philza. Do you think he's okay?"

"He probably just hit the wrong name and didn't realise," Fit tries to keep his voice easier than he feels. Even while he's speaking, he types out a quick 'sharestone?'.

Almost immediately he gets a reply 'thanks mate' and then 'red, named parrot'.

Fit's brain clicks in as to exactly what that might be.

"Yeah he meant me. Mind if I just go check in with him? I'll be right back."

Mike shuffles a little closer to Pac, who in turn waves him away. Their sharestone today is blue, not red, but he takes it to Spawn, and then heads out again.

Sure enough, there's a new red sharestone connected to the network. It's named 'prart', however, and Fit really has to wonder just how badly Philza must be doing to let that happen.

---

Arriving across the link, Fit finds Philza sat on the grass next to the sharestone, knees curled up and hands shaking. It is the middle of the day, but he still quickly checks around for threats. Swamp, no crocodiles, sharestone and Philza tucked close to a tree. The only other living beings he can see are birds - hummingbirds, parrots, and a grey one pecking at Philza's trousers.

Given Philza is in a swamp, Fit has a good idea as to what he might be doing.

"Oi Philza," Fit calls, tossing himself onto the grass beside his friend. "You were missing me?"

"Hit me," Philza replies, still curled in the ball. "You're real, right? Then hit me."

Fit knows the queries about birds well enough by now, but the query about his own presence makes dread settle in his stomach.

"Alright," is what he actually says, before backhanding his friend across the arm.

At the contact Philza's breath stutters for a moment, before his fingers reach out and trace where he was touched. It's a slow movement, one alongside which he mouths words without sound, before the fingers dart out and grab Fit's hand. He clings, tight, for a long moment, and then lets go with an exhale.

"Thanks mate," Philza's voice shakes, far too quiet for comfort. "... You can see the birds too, right?"

"Yeah," Fit frowns - for all he doubts reality, Philza has /never/ said he's seen a bird that Fit couldn't also see. "Let me see. Five or six blue parrots over there, three hummingbirds, another parrot in darker blue, pair of red ones, I think there's a green one in that tree over there... Four chickens, and then there's a grey bird by your ankle."

At the mention of the grey bird, a shaky hand reaches out, and Philza begins to pet its head. Fit knows of some people back in the wasteland who take animals to help with the trauma, but he can't help but think a bird is, right now, a terrible choice for his friend.

"So you are real," Philza speaks so gently to the parrot, though. "Here you go, come on up."

Fit watches quietly as Philza uncurls, sprinkling a handful of seed on his lap to tempt the bird up. Sure enough, it goes.

"What do you see in this photo?" Philza then asks, handing something to Fit.

It's a photo of a tree. It's not a tree that Fit can see nearby, but it is one for sure. A single black bird sits in it, watching.

"I thought crows had been banished from the island," Fit frowns. "Wild ones, anyway."

"Okay, okay," Philza runs one hand through his hair, and another over his bird's head. "I'm only going a bit crazy then."

"They're fucking with you," Fit frowns. "Else I'm somehow reliably hallucinating the same as you."

Philza shakes his head - Fit wonders just what happened in that birdhouse, that his friend's brain would rather deconstruct reality than face that it could have happened, and just what purpose it serves the Federation to try.

"This bird... You remember the parrots by the museum?"

"The ones that vanished?"

"When I got back to the bunker, he was in a cage right next to the trap door." Philza's eyes are wide, a little wild.

"Well shit." Fit frowns at it. "Same bird?"

Philza gently lifts one of the bird's wings, showing Fit a very distinctive pattern on it. Same bird, else the Federation did something extremely fucky.

"I have to cage him to bring him places. Dumbass doesn't understand ladders, let alone warps. I don't like caging him. But keeping him in the house is just another, bigger cage. I can't do that to him, Fit, I /can't/." Philza's fingers twitch as he says it. "But I can't let him go either. What if the Feds take him again? What if they hurt him? They hurt our children, why wouldn't they hurt him?"

"He sure seems happy enough to me." Fit doesn't actually know much about birds, but its eating out of Philza's lap and has never made any attempt to get away. "Likes you well enough, too."

"But its a /cage/, Fit," Philza emphasises the word. "I know he's only little, but the cage is small too."

It's not about the bird. There is no way in hell that this is about the bird. There is no universe, here or anywhere else, where this is actually about putting a bird in a cage for five minutes while Philza teleports.

Fit just isn't sure if Philza actually knows it isn't about the cage, though, and with him teetering on a full breakdown, decides its better not to ask.

Instead, he offers an arm. Philza collapses against his side.

"They were just fucking with you," Fit tries to reassure him. "Everything you're asked about has been real, your reality is fine, I'm here, you're here, we're both real. So are the birds. The eggs? Real. Missing, but real, and we will get them back."

"I wish they wouldn't despawn my withers so I could blow the fuckers up."

Fit gives a laugh, noting how Philza's own wings fluff up a little at the words.

"Same," he says. "I want to see it."

"Do you know how many I tried to spawn?" he asks. "And they just erased them from existence."

"Yeah, we noticed," Fit agrees. "Assholes."

Philza is still shaking a little, but laughs as he falls against Fit's side. He's managing to talk normal enough, but Fit's been around both him and the mentally fucked long enough to recognise the way his fingers cling and eye flitter. It's not the usual paranoia, he's looking at all the wrong things to check for danger - not the swamp, but the birds, Fit's hand, the sharestone...

Fit's communicator pings. Looking down he finds a message from Pac, 'how much longer will you be?'

'Not long. Can I bring Philza?' he replies. Then, a moment later, adds, 'Feds are fucking with him.'

There's a longer pause than Fit expects before he receives 'yes.' and then 'is he okay?'

"Hey Phil," Fit says, rather than immediately reply. "I was having a picnic with Pac and Mike. Do you want to join us?"

"I shouldn't-" Philza looks up.

Fit raises an eyebrow.

"Fine," Philza sighs. "I need to get rid of some toast anyway."

"That's the spirit!"

It really isn't; Fit tilts his communicator away from Philza as he types back. 'Not really. I'm worried.'

Pac doesn't reply again, or at least not immediately; Fit shoves his communicator back in his pocket, before untangling himself from Philza and hoisting himself up. "We have a blue sharestone set up; meet you at spawn?"

Philza doesn't reply as he collects his own sharestone and returns it to his inventory. He does, however, raise his portable warpstone as he traps his bird in a cage.

Fit waits to make sure Philza is actually leaving before raising his own as well. Spawn is far from beyond the Federation's influence, but its a hell of a lot safer than a random swamp... Fuck, 300,000 blocks out. Someone's always passing spawn, the Federation can't mess with it easily.

"Here," Fit points out the right sharestone as he arrives. "Mike hasn't even poisoned any tea yet! Or threatened to murder anyone today."

Philza's laugh is a little nervous, but he follows through anyway. Fit checks the map to make sure he got there, and follows.

He isn't surprised to get there and find the bird already free, sitting on Philza's shoulder, but how quickly he let it out...

It isn't about that bird and that cage at all.

"Fit!" both halves of Tazercraft at least are excited to have him back.

"I have wine!" Pac seems very excited about that, despite the concerned glance he throws at both Mike and Philza.

Fit does his best to give a reassuring one back - impossible given Philza's very quiet 'hi mate' before silently curling up under a tree. "Great! Sorry about the disruption, the swamp had crocodiles."

"Multiple?" Pac pulls a face - Fit would be Philza is convinced that Pac believes it, but Fit knows the tells. "Eesh."

"Bad luck," Mike passes Philza an entire bottle of wine before Fit can even think about subtly stopping him.

Philza does pour some into a glass before downing it. Right now, Fit will take what he can get. And if that is just he's going to need to play up his separation anxiety to keep Philza close and safe... He just hopes Pac and Mike understand, because he's not sure Philza will survive to see his kids again otherwise.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp philza #qsmp fitmc #hurt/comfort #dissociation #angst #its a bit heavy on the dissociation but from an outsider perspective #also vague references to Fit's memory problems #a cage for a cage #or rather its aftermath #pac and mike are also here because I love them #oh god this got too long save me

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acciocriativity · 6 months

Text

THE 'U' IN 'US' - AN ATEEZ SERIES - CHAPTER ZERO

Summary: You weren't really the lonely girl™ of campus, but it does feel like it when you look around, and there's no one by your side when everyone else are talking and whispering between each other. You did have "friends", more like "group projet friends" that you managed to get for yourself, but they were the ones that were real close, you were there only when they had an extra empty seat. But it seems like the gods above took your nonchalant facade as a challenge. Oh, you don't think you need friends to survive through college? Bet.

Pairing: Non! idol OT8 ateez x reader (platonic)

Tags: college! au; hybrid! au; ateez! au; fluff (a whole lot of fluff and wholesomeness); angst; hurt/comfort; mentions of mistreatment and abuse.

WC: 2,2k

N/A: It's finally here!! Please reblog and let me know your thoughts, the feedback is really important to me 💕 If you want to be tagged, also let me know!

INTRO MASTERLIST ONE

Ateez Masterlist

Don’t you remember us?, the words repeating in your head as you stared back at the brown haired boy. Now that your attention was on him and him only, you noticed the smallest of ears picking up from his hair, the color blend made it almost invisible. He was not a human, he was a bear hybrid, and you remembered exactly where you met him for the first time.

The police station was a complete chaos that day. It was a sudden change from the monotony of the small town your father started working at the beginning of his career. There was at least double the people walking left and right. Doing what? You’d never know, but it seemed important enough that you’re too scared to interrupt any of them to ask where was the bathroom, much less your father. He was not in the best mood since you moved, and you hated to be the reason for more stress. Also, he busied himself in conversations you could only watch from a distance, not even keeping his eyes on you sat at an old chair.

He won’t even notice that I left…, how stupid of you.

You wandered off, walking next to the walls so no one would bump into you while carrying a stack of thick papers. There was no sign of a bathroom in the room you were, you didn’t even know where you were, no idea it was the heart of that police station.

You kept walking further and further out of the room into the empty hallways at the back, ignoring the signs at the top of each door, too focused on the triangle dress you couldn’t find. You turned right, but you only found a single wooden door.

The sight was discouraging to say the least.

You sighed, or you thought you did, because you heard it, but it didn’t seem like it came out of your own mouth. Then you heard another sigh, now you were sure it wasn’t you.

You stared at the door a little longer, then up to the sign at the top of it, it said ‘RH waiting room’. You didn’t even know what RH was. A waiting room so far back? Maybe there is a bathroom inside of it. That was enough for you to grab the handle, but it wouldn’t open.

“You have to be kidding me”, you said as you looked up to the ceiling, but you hoped all the gods above could see your disappointment. You were out of luck for the 4th time this week.

Inside the room, there was only silence, something you didn’t notice right away. If you were there, you would be able to feel the tension and fear as the hybrid stared at the door.

“Hey, is there a bathroom in here?”, Jongho repeated the first words you said to him back to you. “You remember now, yeah?”, he could see the embarrassment coming back as you recalled what happened after that, which made him giggle with the others.

You never remembered that moment as funny, because your father told you what RH stood for and why anyone would be there in the first place. But he did.

“Wait, that’s actually the first thing you said to him?”, the one with the bunny ears asked, while laughing so hard he almost fell.

“Yes, I did Min…” you tried to recall as he leaned forward, a glee of expectation in his face as you said his name. “…gi, of course, Mingi”, you said as casually as you could.

He seemed so happy, you felt bad that it was whispered to you behind his back. You would get to it eventually, he did make a good impression of himself when you first saw him too.

“I do think I remember each one of you”, you said as you looked at each of them, one getting harder to greet than the other, until you reached the last two, Yunho and Hongjoong. They didn’t seem to hold any grudges against you, Yunho smiling wider than Hongjoong, but that was a given considering the little you knew about their personalities.

“It’s okay if you don’t, it’s been quite a while”, the blonde boy gestured it wasn’t a big deal with his hands. “I’m Yunho”.

“You didn’t have blonde hair back then…”, you trailed off as you remembered the one day you wished to forget.

“Nor the height, it’s truly unfair”, Wooyoung said with a sad tone as he gave the blonde one a side eye, but his fluffy red tail continued to bounce back and right with energy.

That comment made everyone giggle a little, even yourself. It was true, he grew up well that one, he seemed well nurtured too. That thought calmed your heart a bit.

“So can we sit, then?”, Mingi asked then sighed as if he was standing for hours by the table. Even his long bunny ears were tired of standing on top of his head, alert of all movement around him. He got one lightweight slap on the arm for that. “Ow… why-“, before he could whine, you interrupted.

“Of course, but there’s no-, Hongjoong, Yunho and San already went to get some extra chairs before you could finish the phrase, while the other 5 got comfortable in their sits.

Only then you noticed they wouldn’t be eating since there were no plates

“Do you guys want some?”, you asked as you looked down at your food.

They all declined, including the three ones that just came back with chairs, but you could see some of them eyeing your fries for a bit too long, so you slid the plate to the middle of the table.

“So, every single one of you came to study here, and this is a complete coincidence or this conversation has another purpose than to chitchat?”

In your mind, there was a clear answer. They wanted something from you, and you’ll be glad to give it to them if you could, but what can you do when the cases closed so many years ago?

“We saw you around campus”, Wooyoung said as he leaned over the table, you noticed one of his hands holding onto San’s arm, just like you remembered. “We didn’t think you would recognize us, though”, Hongjoong added after a beat of silence.

“So you followed me here? I don’t get it”, you looked at each one of them.

“No, w-”, Jongho said, but then looked at San and Yunho’s guilty smiles and back to you. “Kind of, some of us saw you around two other times, we weren’t sure it was you the first time, but your scent didn’t change much from back then…”, his voice losing its confidence and volume by the end of the phrase.

“We hoped you would be here, we did not see you today”, Seonghwa cut him off as he leaned forward. His smile was shy, but you could see it was sincere. “That’s the only time of the day we all have to be together before dinner, so don’t worry, we weren’t stalking you together like this”, he giggled while talking and then gestured to them all at the end of the phrase.

The effort Seonghwa had to make to not cover himself with his ears were more than he could express. He was glad his tail was out of sight, clinging to Hongjoong’s thighs in search of some comfort.

It was a weird feeling to be in front of you after so long, and Seonghwa knew the others would agree. He noticed how Yeosang was uncomfortable, readjusting his position on the chair every so often, and how San’s legs bounced without him even noticing.

“Well, that’s good to know”, it was easy for you to smile when they were being so adorable without even making an effort. “But that doesn’t really answer my question, so did you guys just wanted to talk?”

On one side, you had Mingi and Yeosang barely looking at you, at anyone for that matter. Then you had Hongjoong and San, apparently the air was so dry to the point they needed to wet their lips every 3 seconds. Seonghwa, Jongho and Yunho were too awkward to say it first, they could only smile to try to hide their own embarrassment. Wooyoung was eating to keep himself calm.

“Is it that bad?”, your joke made Yunho and Seonghwa giggle and shook their heads. “Then you can tell me, it’s okay, did I make that big of an impression in some of you when we met?”, it was supposed to be a joke, they were supposed to laugh.

But all of them nodded. In such a serious way, too, they weren’t awkward smiling anymore. Their staring suddenly became intense. You couldn’t pretend they didn’t mean it, and you didn’t know what to do with that information.

What could say? You didn’t do anything to help them, you couldn’t do anything at that age and with the little independence you had. Not to them, nor any other hybrid who stepped foot into that police station.

Your silence spoke for you, and your surprise spoke more than you intended to.

“We just wanted to see how you were doing and to show you how we were doing”, Hongjoong broke the silence.

“I’m glad you all are doing well”, they recognize a certain softness as you said those words, they knew you meant it from your heart.

It was this softness you carried with you whenever you spoke to them that made such a big impression. Humans tend to be harsher while talking to hybrids, maybe because they couldn’t see themselves in their position to be kinder or because they thought hybrids were born stronger and less emotional, they wouldn’t care about those things, right? Up until they met themselves, the only kind one was you, even when it was so brief they barely met your eyes.

“You weren’t even scared”, you barely heard Yeosang’s voice, but the other boys heard him as clear as the day.

He seemed like he was in another world, since he wasn’t looking to anyone in particular. Yeosang jumped out his skin when Seonghwa nudged him on his ribcage. The red colored his cheeks, ears, and nape as Wooyoung did a poor job at hiding his laughter.

You did laugh yourself, but you cleared your throat. “Who wasn’t even scared?

“Hmm, you, you didn’t seem scared when we came by”, Yeosang said as he searched for something to look at to calm himself down, but you did deserve the respect of being look at while being spoken to, so he ignored his instincts and all the bullshit he learned to look at you.

“Why would I be scared of you?”, you said as you watched all of them.

That didn’t even cross your brain, you only realized now. You were too busy wondering why someone would break the ultimate rule of society ‘do no talk to someone wearing headphones’, because that would be much more rare than a hybrid attack out of nowhere. Okay, that wasn’t a real statistic, but it could be.

Yeosang thought you were talking about him for a moment, but then he noticed it wasn’t the case. It was clear no one would ever be scared of Yeosang or Seonghwa, they were at the bottom of the hierarchy, even Wooyoung wouldn’t scare many hybrids, much less many humans. The other 5 were a different matter. By their tails only, one would know they were predators hybrids. Jongho could be underestimated, but smart eyes could tell he was a bear hybrid and not to be messed with.

They were surprised by your genuine question, including Hongjoong, but he felt like he shouldn’t be. You seemed to be just like the kid he met.

“Most people would, but you don’t seem like you are capable of being scared of hybrids, do you?”, Hongjoong said as he observed your body language.

His words carried more meaning than he let it show to the others, but you got it, of course, you did. You also remembered.

“Guess my mom was right when she said I’m not like everyone else then”.

“Fuck, I missed you”, those were the first words San said to you and it caught everyone off guard.

It sounded so genuine and raw, San himself didn’t know what to do now that he said it. Until now, he was observing, checking in with all of the others body languages and emotions, Wooyoung’s more than the others only because he was right beside him. But his own emotions were boiling inside of him, he had to say something to you, but he couldn’t find the right words, well, until now.

Wooyoung was only surprised by the sudden emotion coming from San, but he couldn’t say he was surprised he felt that way in the first place. You must not know to this day what truly happened to them when they met you, but your kindness was the only thing they had to hold themselves onto and if it was up to him, you would never know.

“I’m- I-“, Choi San was blushing like a school girl and that was enough for all chaos break loose.

The other students couldn’t help, but get curious to know what the hell was so funny as laughter dominated the whole cafeteria and to know who were those hybrids that no one saw before.

Tagslist: @asherthehimbo @katsukis1wife @a1i33a @idfkeddieishot @pyeonghongrie-main @h3arteyes4mingi

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wildemaven · 10 months

Text

Sweet Creature: Chapter Seven

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (Nicknamed Poppy)

WC: 6600

Warning: 18+ Blog/Minors will be blocked; Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

A/N: We’ll, there’s a lot here. This week was draining with a teething/no sleeping babe— but I was determined to get this finished! I don’t have a lot to say, but I’m excited for this part of their story! Thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey again for her support and proofreading every week! And thank you to everyone who has continued to stick with these two dumb dumbs as they figure their shit out. Love you all!!

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

Previous/ Next

Breathe.

In.

Out.

Dieter wills himself to regulate the adrenaline surging through him, it has his muscles tingling as its increasing levels spread through every pliable fiber.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

He takes in his surroundings, a steady attempt at grounding his mind, assuring him, keeping him present, giving him a chance to regain his composure.

He Sees…

The ornate tile that dresses the front steps to your Spanish Revival home, the perfect backdrop to the ‘welcome’ mat that greets him the minute he arrives to your place.

The sturdy wooden door attached to your home that keeps you protected, allowing you to live comfortably and securely without a bother from the outside world.

The well maintained landscape, no real knowledge of the specific varieties of plants that decorate the front, he senses a low maintenance and drought tolerant feel— a few things he had never heard of until moving in with Diem.

The way the sky begins to shift from its golden orange and purple hues to an even shade of deep blue as the sun tucks behind the horizon line, welcoming the stillness of the night.

The way he is actively replaying an episodic memory of you from just an hour ago when you had joined him at Diem’s house to read over his lines for his upcoming movie role.

“Are you sure you even want me doing this? I don’t know a single thing about acting. Can’t Diem help?? I don’t want to mess you up.”

It’s been a few days since the Capri re-grand opening. And a few days since yours and Dieter’s almost kiss.

There hasn’t really been a discussion on what had happened, or almost happened, only due to the fact that you hadn’t seen each other since Dieter had to leave to take Wren home.

Now you find yourselves sitting in Diem’s living room, on opposite ends of her sectional couch, ignoring the residual heat that is currently reigniting as you both look over the scripts you’re each holding— alone together, zero distractions.

“This scene is between two people who are navigating a new relationship, dancing around the sexual tension between them—“

The coincidence not lost on you.

“So, there’s no fuckin’ way I’d read through this with my sister. And I doubt she’d want to anyways, she hates this kinda shit, so I don’t even bother.“

“Okay, I’ll try my best, but if I fuck up—“

“You’re not gonna fuck up. I highlighted your lines in pink, just focus on those and you’ll do fine. Besides, you’re a teacher— you read stories for a living, just think of it like you’re reading to your class.”

“Dieter, it says right here at the bottom of the page in bold type, ‘HER EYES CLOSE AT HIS TOUCH FOLLOWED BY LOW SENSUAL MOANS’— there’s no fucking way I can imagine myself reading this to my class.”

You look up from the paper, his eyes already on you. You note the way his neck muscles flex as he swallows, the grip on his paper a little tighter— you’re not sure how you’re going to survive this.

He touches…

The weight of his chip, the brass cool against his warm clammy skin, pulling it from his pocket, it sits heavy in his palm— a quick reminder that who he was doesn’t define him now. A few light tosses, before gripping it with his thumb and his forefinger, one last look before returning it to his pocket.

The compact device that connects him to everything important to him in a single touch, his finger navigating back and forth between the home screen image of Wren and him eating donuts then to the text you had sent not long after leaving Diem’s house — Poppy💐- I have that easel ready, if you still want it. You’re more than welcome to come grab it — Then double checking the numbers on the house match the ones that you sent after he text back asking if he could come over tonight— a perfect match.

The silky strands of his ruffled dark brown hair as he tries to tame his wild curls, the cottony fabric of his gray weathered shirt pulling at it in such a way so it drapes over him just right, the rough texture of his faded jeans against his sweaty hands as he rubs them several times over where they hug his thighs— a blind once over of his appearance.

The way his hand skims over the velvety skin above your knee, the hem of your dress delicately dancing over his fingertips, the faint scar that now lives on the side of your thigh from a biking accident as a kid lays uneven under his gentle graze.

“Is this okay?”

Somewhere between shared lines, and fiery dialogue, Dieter finds himself sitting closer to you, his knee brushing against yours—hand so effortlessly placed on your thigh as he checks in with your comfort.

“Y-yeah— it says ‘HIS HAND REACHES THE APEX BETWEEN HER THIGHS’, so she would know that his hand is moving up her leg—.” Your voice trembles as you try to concentrate on the words printed in bold on the current page.

Looking up, you see Dieter’s focus solely on you, his folded script tucked between his leg and the couch cushion.

“That’s not what I asked.” There's a deep husk to his voice, his movements halted as he draws your attention away from the pages and up to him. “Are you comfortable with this, not what the paper reads or act is telling us to do. Is this okay with you?” Your consent, regardless of what the characters are doing, his number one priority.

“Y-yeah…” You murmur as you look down to where his hand is still subtly holding your leg. Your attention drawn back to his handsome face, placing your hand on top of his, encouraging him to continue his efforts.

He hears…

The symphonic resonance of the nightfall harmonics drifts through in the crisp evening air, a modest breeze carries the lilt of the chirping crickets throughout the stilled neighborhood, the rustling of the leaves scattered and swirling across the sidewalk, the faint cries of coyote pups awaiting the arrival of their mother who’s been in search of a hearty meal.

The way his heart beat reverberates against his eardrums, the thudding of his heart an emotive chorus, its pace evening out with each grounding thought.

The way your breath catches, its auditory staccato floats through the air and nestles somewhere deep within his mind, storing its melodic rhythm away as an echoic file, never wanting to forget how it sounds.

Dieter shifts himself forward, the crunch of the leather puckering as he settles a knee on the cushion, a hand gripping the back of the couch as he angles himself closer.

The crackle of paper startles you, Dieter grabbing the crumbled heap of papers and tossing it over his shoulder, removing any distractions that might be bothering.

Bit by bit you allow yourself to fall back onto the mound of decorative pillows in the corner of the couch. Dieter following your lead, keeping a close distance between you as he settled himself between your legs.

“When is Diem going to be home?” You breathed, a warmth spreads through your body as you fixate on the fact that this is really happening.

“Don’t know, at least an hour.”

A few loose curls fall into Dieter’s face, you lightly comb them back, the movements unhurried and attentive. Your fingers catching the frames of his glasses in the process, you gingerly remove them from his face, carefully tossing them to the side— producing your favorite lopsided grin from him.

Dieter pauses to study every little detail of this moment— the flash of want in your eyes, the way your fingertips skim over and around his taut biceps, the deliberate way the tip of your tongue wets your bottom lip before it’s drawn in between your teeth, the way your lungs continue to fill with the air you’re both sharing— he’s never felt more alive than in this moment.

He smells…

The night brings a refreshing scent of calmer air, the aromatic warmth of the citrus groves meld with the fragrant lavender farms that accumulates throughout the day, the herbal aroma that triggers a distinct nostalgic smell of his childhood.

The way your perfume mixes with your natural pheromones, the unmistakable notes of musky vanilla and orange blossom paired with your own unique scent stimulates his olfactory nerves, his spine tingling with pleasure as he breathes you in.

Dieter takes his time, deliberate in his own way, he wants to take his time— savor the moment.

He lowers himself down to the open space where your shoulder meets your neck— warm, delicate and inviting.

You angle your head, allowing him more space to move, your hands wrapping themselves around his neck, twisting his hair between your fingers.

Dieter places a soft tentative kiss to your shoulder, then slowly dragging the tip of his nose up the column of your neck, mindful of how responsive you are, nudging at your jaw before stopping.

“You’re so fucking soft.” His lips ghosting over your ear, voice honeyed and thick, his hand now situated on your bare hip, thumb toying with the seam of your underwear.

You nuzzle into the side of his head, his scent provocative in the way you crave it immensely. The smokiness of the sandalwood and cedarwood compliment the spicy musk and floral base— it’s Dieter, wild and delicious.

He tastes…

The ache for sustenance, a morsel of pleasure activates his taste buds, a palatable desire that he craves in hopes to fight off the hunger that plagues him.

A fieriness burns through your body, causing you to lose all ability to properly handle the way Dieter is making you feel— ravenous. You need more, something substantial that satiates the emptiness and the yearning.

The unfaltering look in his eyes, an unspoken feeling of infatuation that has you melting under his gaze.

Dieter leans in, gradually closing the gap between his lips and yours, sparking the immediate surge of oxytocin actively flowing through your veins.

His breath fanning across your lips, warm and minty, a brief remembrance of your almost kiss— several times over.

This position offers a new approach, angle of motion, feeling the fullness of his bottom lip catch your top lip, your fingers gripping tightly to his hair in anticipation as the weight of his lips begin to slot gently over yours.

*CLICK*

“Dieter? I’m home!” Diem announces her arrival.

Releasing the breath you were holding, grip loosened, warmth lifted— another moment gone.

“Fuck me!” Dieter grumbles, his forehead falling to your shoulder, your chest vibrating with a silent laugh.

Dieter places a kiss to your shoulder then pushes himself back from where he had been hovering over you seconds before, helping you to readjust the flowy fabric of your dress, a silent look to you asking “are you okay?”— you nod yes.

His body slumps back into the cushioned backrest, head falling back as he pinched the bridge of his nose, willing away his annoyance at Diem’s horrible timing.

“Oh! I didn’t realize you were here too, Poppy. I dropped Wren off for a playdate and picked up some dinner on the way home. You hungry?”

“Umm, no I’m good. Actually, I’m going to head out. I’ve got— there’s some things I need to do. So, yeah— I’m gonna go.”

You feel like two teenagers who were caught by the other’s parents. That awkwardness that looms over afterwards, not really knowing what to say or do.

You give his leg a light squeeze, pulling his attention back from his sulking, propping himself up with his arms on his knees, grabbing your hand and returning the faint gesture.

“I’ll text you later.” You mouthed to him before grabbing your items from the coffee table and making your way to the front door.

“You still on for this Friday?” Diem asks you as she’s unboxing the pizzas she had picked up, arranging a few slices nicely on plates.

“Yep— yeah! Friday is still good! See you later.” Your response short and to the point as you close the door behind you.

Dieter can hear the rustling of the wrappers and then a stillness hangs in the air. His back is to where Diem is standing in the kitchen, but he can feel her eyes boring into the back of his head.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you mention she was coming over? I would have grabbed more food, we could have all hung out together.”

“It was a last minute thing. I asked her to come read lines with me.”

Diem rounds the couch and places the food on the coffee table, before sitting and making herself comfortable.

“So… Did you finally kiss her?”

That gets a laugh from Dieter, face falling into his hands at the ridiculousness of Diem’s question.

“No, I haven’t kissed her.” Tilting his head towards where she’s sitting, chin resting against his clasped hands.

“Oh my god! You haven’t kissed her yet? What the hell, Dieter!”

“Trust me, it’s not for a lack of trying.” He assures her, picking at the toppings of his pizza slice that had fallen onto the plate.

“I don’t get it. If you’ve been trying, then what’s stopping you from actually doing it?”

“You are! Literally every chance I’ve taken, you stroll on in and fuckin’ cockblock me.”

“Wait— you’re blaming me for you not kissing her?” The shocked look on her face is priceless and equally hilarious.

“Yeah, I’m definitely blaming you. You have the worst timing ever!” He laughed, because even as annoyed as he is, the whole situation is a little funny.

*BUZZ*

The vibration of his phone cuts into their conversation, a text from you pops up on to the screen, he swipes it open.

Poppy 💐- I have that easel ready, if you still want it. You’re more than welcome to come grab it.

Uncle Dude - What’s your address? Be there in a few.

He wipes his greasy fingers with a napkin then tossing it onto his forgotten pizza. He stands to his full height, placing his phone in his pocket and makes his way to the door.

“Where are you going? I was going to turn on that one show we’ve been wanting to watch.”

“I’m— going out. Go ahead and start it without me.” He shouts as the door clicks closed behind him.

Uncle Dude - What’s your address? Be there in a few.

Poppy 💐- House number 402. White house on the left side of the street. See you soon!

The distance from your house to Diem’s is a short one, 3 minutes if you’re a fast Walker, 5-6 if you take your time.

Dieter was on his way— to your house.

You toss your phone onto the counter, and run to the bathroom. Not knowing how soon he was leaving after stating he’d be here in a few, didn’t leave you much time to freshen up.

You literally just saw him, so you kept it simple a few swipes of deodorant, clean away any mascara flakes and opting for a fresh coat of chapstick instead of lipstick— less is more approach.

2 minutes down.

Running through the house, you do a quick once over, grabbing any loose items, out of place items or kind of embarrassing items and tossing them into your hall closet— making sure to snag your copy of ‘My Pleasure: An Intimate Guide to Loving Your Body and Having Great Sex’ off of the coffee table.

4 minutes down.

Heading into the kitchen— Maybe he’ll want something to drink? You grab two tall glasses and fill them with ice, sitting on the counter waiting to fill with whatever Dieter wants.

5 minutes down.

Nervously, you stare at the front door, your nervous tick of picking at your fingernails keeps your hands busy. Should I turn some music on? Should I have put on a little more perfume? Maybe I should have brushed my teeth?

*Knock Knock Knock*

You grab for the door handle, pausing for a minute to take a deep breath, then cracking the door open to see Dieter standing on your front porch, hands in his pockets, casually looking down at his feet then up to you at the sound of the creaky door hinges— his face lights up instantly.

“Hey! Hope you found it okay?” You can’t help the dopey smile that grows on your face.

“No issues at all. Didn’t realize how close you lived this whole time.” He says, gesturing in the direction of Diem’s house.

“Yeah, almost neighbors.” Your smirk is laced in flirtation, your head leaning against the edge of the door in the most 90s rom-com way. “You wanna come in?”

“Sure.”

“Are you thirsty at all? I have sparkling and regular water, Diet Coke, and some beer— I haven’t made it to the store this week so I’m running low on things. I’ll be more prepared next time.” You ramble as you lead him into the kitchen, your nervous energy spiking just slightly.

“I’m good for right now, thank you. So, there will be a next time?” He asks, observing the way you bite at your lower lip when he mentions the prospect of a “next time”.

“Yeah,” You shrug your shoulders, noting the way the corner of his mouth quirks up and the light flutter in your stomach that follows. “I think so, if that’s what you want?”

“Yes, definitely want that.”

There’s a beat of silence, sans the sounds of home— the tick of the clock, the clinking of ice falling into the tray, a faint sound of music coming from another room.

“Oh! I—I have your jacket, I keep meaning to bring it over and then it would slip my mind…” Very much a lie, you were wearing it early this morning while you sipped your morning coffee, reading the latest chapter of ‘My Pleasure’… and you also might have worn it afterwards, when you needed a little— relief. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s totally fine. I mean, a little Birdie has been asking about it— it’s not a big deal.”

“Let me go grab it so I’m not tempted to hold it ransom for longer. Umm, help yourself to whatever. Then I can show you the easel, see if it’s something that will work for you.”

“Okay.”

Dieter takes in your home, it’s very much you.

Your love for plants extends inside, dozens of potted green plants, in varying shapes and sizes grace just your living room alone.

There’s a hint of a modern flare to your style, clean lines and lots of wood, a very neutral aesthetic— most of the color living as art work on your walls.

The art hanging throughout your home, he can only assume is your own. He’s drawn to the texture and the style of each painting— faint lines formed into human figures , landscapes resembling the world outside of these walls, and vivid abstract strokes of color adorn canvas everywhere he looks.

A soft glow catches his eye and like a moth to a flame, he’s lured to a dimly lit room— your art studio.

Large windows flank the walls, he imagines the natural light in the daytime is ideal in a space like this.

Tattered empty tubes of acrylic paint, evidence of being overly pinched to extricate every last bit of paint, strewn across a large table against the wall. Empty glass food jars repurposed as storage for your massive collection of paint brushes, while spatulas and other painting instruments lay haphazardly across the tabletop.

The table seems to double as a desk, once light colored, now coated in layers of colorful dried paint drips and spills. He runs his fingers over the surface, a balance of smooth and irregular textures, imagining the years you’ve spent standing over this table deliberately colors and mixing new ones.

Dieter thinks you must have been painting recently, a clear palette holds fresh dollops of paint in the center with a few experimental strokes on the side. He dips a finger into one of the little mounds, rubbing the emulsion between three fingers. It's cold and wet as it glides over his skin.

The wall of windows behind him he finds an easel, it too covered in coats of paint— a newer canvas sits in the support bar, a rough sketch of something just barely visible.

Next to where the easel rests, there are canvases stacked neatly against the wall along the floor. He analyzes each painting with regard, taking in each deliberate stroke and use of color— intently connecting with the emotions you’ve experienced in creating each piece.

He admires your tenacity. Through your long days of teaching at the school, little humans requiring so much of your attention for hours. To volunteering your time to help others explore their creativity at the gallery, planning and teaching weekly. And yet, you still find time to cater to your needs by doing something that makes your life more fulfilling, not allowing any roadblocks to deter your endeavors.

There’s an ache in his chest, a deep reminder of how different his life could have been had he not been bound by the shackles of Hollywood and the dark world that surrounds it.

Dieter had only ever dreamed of having such a space like this of his own, where he could chase a creative high and drown out the loud noises that followed him daily.

Stopping his thoughts before they begin to spiral, he thinks back to a motivational speaker he listened in on while in rehab. There were a lot of valuable words shared during the speech, but he remembers the line that really stood out to him— even through the darkest moments and afflictions that overpowered all his memories and people closest to him, it didn’t mean he is less worthy of a good life, a great life, moving forward.

Dieter realizes that with everything he’d lived through and how much hurt he had caused, he knows those things led him to this point in time— they led him to you.

“I ended up washing it, read the care instructions on the tag so I wouldn’t fuck it up. I found some melted Kit-Kats in the pockets and a few condom wrappers— this jacket has definitely seen some things…” You stop talking when you realize you’re met with an empty room, Dieter not where you had left him. “Dieter?”

There’s a slight movement that pulls your attention in the direction of your studio.

You find Dieter standing in the center of the room, the flicker from a burning candle emits a diffused light, washing his sharp features in a soft glow. There’s almost a pensiveness to his expression, hands tucked in his pockets lost in his thoughts, you watch him quietly take in the room around him.

“I see you helped yourself to a house tour.” You announce your presence as you enter the room, placing his jacket on the overstuffed chair in the corner then turning around to walk in the direction of your large art table, the skirt of your dress shifting from side to side as you walk.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep—“ He starts to apologize, realizing you both hadn’t set any boundaries with each other.

“It’s fine, I’m just messing with you. I hid all my incriminating things already.” You joke, but there’s something about him that makes you feel like you don’t have to be guarded.

“Are these for your showing?” He asks, pointing to the canvases he had just been studying.

“Yeah,” You say as you turn to face him, lean back against the table. “They’re all pretty much done— I’ll probably fine tune some things before the big day.”

“Can I ask what they represent?? I can see two figures— a man and a woman in some sort of intimate setting. I see the woman is fully fleshed out in color with distinct features, similar to your own— but the man looks like a shadowed figure, starting out blank, then slowly gaining color and personality in each painting— like an evolution of some sort. But what’s the narrative behind them?”

The way he’s analyzing your work, makes you feel even more captivated by him.

“I was having this dream— a nightmare maybe? For weeks, it would come to me every night, always starting out in the same way. I would feel him all around me— his hands, lips, everything. I would try to speak to him, but he would never respond, and I could never see his face, didn’t know who he was. Then he would vanish, like I had lost him and I would wake up in a panic. But as the weeks went on, it was like I could start to see him a little clearer…”

Dieter hangs on to your every word, he’s drawn in to your openness to share your thoughts so freely with him. He steps closer to where you’re standing, wanting to know more about these dreams.

“Go on.” He says softly, encouraging you to share more details.

“Some nights his face was a blur, but I could see his features, more clearly each night. And as his face became more visible over time, the dreams didn’t feel like I was losing him— it felt like I was gaining more of him. The last week or so, I can see his face— I know who he is.”

At some point in explaining the story behind your paintings, your eyes fell to the floor— the way he was watching you so intently felt overwhelming the closer he got.

“Who is he?” He asks, placing two fingers under your chin to slowly lift your gaze up to him.

“You.”

It’s a fierce softness in the way his mouth molds to yours, the gentle press of his lips is breathtaking— punching the air right from your lungs.

His touch is meticulous and thoughtful, resting his hands on your bare thighs, fingers lightly graze over your soft skin leaving a trail of tiny goosebumps.

Your hands snake up his body, settling back to where they were not so long ago— cupping the back of his head, slow drawn out scratches to his scalp.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs against your mouth.

“Y-yes— more than okay!” You breathe out— you’ve literally dreamt of this moment.

Experimentally you slowly swipe your tongue across his plump bottom lip, silently begging for a little more and he obliges, allowing you to slip your tongue into his mouth. An equal exchange of feelings and yearning as the kiss alternates between a tangle of tongues and sweet pecks.

Dieter pulls back, resting his forehead on yours, his breaths ragged puffs across your warm face.

“Why did you stop?” Your breath equally as ragged, chest heaving as you question his halted movements.

“Be-because—“ His throat dry as he tries to regulate his breathing. “If we don’t stop, things will get— more serious.”

“I-I’m failing to see the problem in that.” You tease.

“I don’t have any condoms— I didn’t think we’d get this far with our track record.”

“I locked the door, after I let you in— didn’t want to chance any interruptions.” His chest vibrates with a soft chuckle at your response. “I’m clean and on the pill— but only if you’re comfortable.”

“I am, clean I mean— I’m clean, plus haven’t been with anyone in, well, awhile now. Might be a little rusty in all actuality.” He confesses, his thumbs still moving in sweeping motions over the tops of your thighs. “You sure you want this?”

“Very, very sure.” You whisper against his lips, grabbing one of his hands and dragging it slowly up under your dress to the throbbing ache that has settled between your legs since he started kissing you.

“Fuck!” His eyes flutter shut at the sensation of your bare cunt, nearly choking on air— his fingers start to tentatively swipe through your wet folds, watching as your eyes start to roll back in pleasure.

“I thought I had felt some kind of underwear earlier?” He asks, as his fingers coated in your slick start to draw lazy circles over your sensitive clit.

“Ah!— I-I did. But I was so keyed up when I — left, I came home and had to— Oh! I had to— Fuck I can’t think straight when you’re doing that!”

“Did you come home and touch yourself?”

“Yessss— Oh god!” You whine breathlessly as two of his fingers enter your heated core, remnants of your earlier orgasm fully welcoming him.

“You’re so perfect.” He exclaimed,

his free hand cupping your face, keeping you close, his thumb lightly tracing across your lower lip.

His two fingers continue to move in and out of you, working up so effortlessly. He presses a long slow kiss to your lips, followed by a few short light ones.

You can feel yourself moving closer to the edge, there’s a tingle running down your spine, converging with the fire that’s beginning to break within you. Your velvety walls begin to flutter around Dieter’s fingers, prompting him to kiss you a little deeper and it’s just the push you need.

“Oh my god! I’m gonna come—“ Your body begins to shake, your hands slamming done on your table— paint splattering into the air.

It’s an inferno of ecstasy blazing through your body, you wrap your arms around Dieter’s waist, clinging to him as you ride it out— letting the embers cool down.

Without a single breath, you grab for the button on Dieter’s jeans as he tries to pull at the straps of your dress. It’s a jumbled mess of limbs, but finally working in tandem to rid each other of clothes.

Dieter crowds you against the table, the edge digging into your lower back causing you to yelp.

“Are you okay?” His eyes etched in concern, as he scans over your blissed out features.

“Ye-yeah! The ta-table is digging.” You say, pointing to show him.

He bends down to grab onto the back of your thighs. “Jump.” He says as he helps guide your naked body onto the table.

His hands rest on the table as he leans in to kiss you again, unhurried as he licks into your mouth as he guides your body to lay down on the table.

“You’re so beautiful like this, Poppy.” He says as he leaves a trail of kisses down your neck and over your chest, stopping and pressing his lips over the spot that he hopes to hold on to for a while— your heart.

The gesture has your eyes welling up, blinking rapidly to fight them off. You feel so completely overwhelmed by him, you have to actively stop yourself from telling him how in love you are with him.

He lifts himself off of you just enough to reach between the two of you, giving his cock a few hasty strokes before notching its weeping head at your entrance.

“Fuck!” He gasps as he slowly pushes his full length into your warm cunt— the slightest ghosting of your climax now pulsing around him.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in as close to you as possible, silently begging him to move, but he grips onto your leg to halt your movements.

“Wait— I need a minute otherwise this is going to be over before it even happens.” He says, resting his head on your sternum to give himself a moment.

“Dieter, it’s fine. Just take what you need— I’m— I’m good.” You feel more than satisfied with the two orgasms you’ve already had, you just want to feel him.

He slowly states to move his hips, several purposeful thrusts, wanting to savor the way you feel, the warmth already starting to bloom in his belly.

Dieter lifts himself off of you, sensing this new angle is pleasant based on how you start to arch your back off the table, his steady thrusts working you both up in a desired frenzy.

“Fuuuuck, you feel like a dream., Poppy.” His voice is hoarse, glancing down to watch the way your arousal coats him, his hands gripping your waist as he thrusting into with a little more earnestness.

“Dieter— I think I’m going to come again— oh god!!” You announced into the lust filled room, the tell-tale signs barreling through your body.

You try to grab onto something, hands looking for something to anchor yourself to, Dieter too far away and too lost in his own pursuit— each thrust is a little deeper producing your muscles to tighten on their own accord.

An unexpected swipe of Dieter’s thumb over your clit is blinding, sweet erotic sounds pouring from your mouth, hands slamming back onto the table, you're met with wetness, your brain registering where you are and that your hands are covered in paint.

The thick emulsion is cold when it hits your skin, your nipples pebble at the sensation of the paint gliding over them, your hands kneading the weight of your breasts— paint building up between your fingers with each calculated squeeze, each roll of your nipple sends you closer to your third orgasm.

You look up to see Dieter’s slack jawed expression, which only makes you emphasize your movements, giving him a little show. You’re arched back putting your chest on display, your hands working over your exposed skin covering your upper body in a rainbow of colors.

“Oh shit— shitshitshitshit— I’m gonna— fuck!” The sight of you sets Dieter off, folding himself over the top of you, face nestled into the crook of your neck as his thrusts begin to falter at the way your cunt begins to contract around him.

A gravelly moan against your damp skin and one final thrust, his hips still as he’s spilling into you.

The room is still again. The faint scent of your oud and sandalwood candle is overpowered by the sex hazed aroma. Chests moving against each other simultaneously, lungs begging to properly breathe, skin slipping with each pull of air— this might become your favorite way to create art.

A soft kiss to your shoulder as Dieter lifts himself up into his forearms, resting his temple against your jaw to give his arms a chance to regain their strength before giving you a softer kiss to your lips.

“That was—“ He’s still trying to regulate his breathing, words jumbled in his brain and not quite producing properly.

“Amazing!” You finish his sentence for him.

“Yeah— amazing.” He says, one more kiss because he doesn’t think he’s given you enough yet, then he’s slowly pulling out of you and helping you sit upright.

“What a mess we made of ourselves.” You laugh as you examine both of your colorful torsos.

“Worth it.” Dieter replied with a slight shrug and a quirky smile on his handsome face.

“I’m going to go grab some stuff to clean us up. I’ll be right back.”

Hopping off the table to head towards your bathroom, Dieter grabs you by the wrist, spinning you back towards him, your bodies flush against each once more as he gives you a toe curling kiss.

“Alright, hurry back.” He says, giving your backside a few taps.

You take a few minutes to freshen yourself up, wiping away as much of the paint as you can.

Throwing on a clean pair of underwear and a loose shirt, the hardwood cool against your bare feet, you make your way back to your studio where you’re met with an unexpected sight when you get to the door, Dieter sitting in front of your easel where your last canvas sits. His naked body wrapped in his fuzzy coat, his brow furrowed in concentration as his hand moves around the canvas with a paint drenched brush.

You take a moment to just watch him, leaning into the door frame, watching how he looks so relaxed and happy.

“You snoop and you help yourself to my painting, you sir are a menace.” You jokingly say to him, it earns you a generous laugh.

“Sorry, guess I’m two for two now. I saw you had it roughly sketched out and thought I’d paint you the way I see you.” He explained, leaning back into the small metal chair.

“And how do you see me?”

“Beautiful.” The word floats out and around you, its weight settling into that little space in your chest that has felt empty for so long.

“That’s two times you’ve painted me now— I think those would be grounds for someone to fall in love.” You tease, but there’s truth wrapped up in your statement. Pushing yourself off the doorframe, making your way over to where he’s sitting.

He places the brush in the glass of water, his hand reaching out for you to come closer, softly grabbing at your hips he’s pulling you down so you’re straddling his lap— fully aware he’s still naked and covered in paint under his jacket.

“Do you?” He has to know if you’re feeling the same way as him. “Do you, love me?”

“Yes.” Your voice a little wobbly, your emotions bubbling up in your chest.

But you do, you love him without a doubt and it’s the most terrifying and thrilling feeling you’ve experienced in a long time.

“I love you too, Poppy.” He whispers to you, his eyes glossy as he fights back tears.

“Why are you crying?” Wiping the single tear that has started to fall down his cheek.

“I’m scared— that I’m going to fuck this up. And you’re going to resent me. And I’ll be back to where I was a year ago— alone.”

Your heart nearly breaks at his confession.

“That’s not going to happen though.” Brushing his wild hair away from his eyes, caressing his face and hoping he hears the sincerity in your voice.

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t. But a wise man once told me— we’ll figure it out as we go.”

His arm wraps around your waist as his other hand cups the back of your neck, bringing your face to his, your nose bumping into his.

“I love you.” He breathes against your lips.

And before you even have a chance to reciprocate, he’s kissing you with so much love and feeling.

“Will you come? To see my showing on opening night?” You ask between feather-like kisses.

“I wouldn’t miss it, Poppy.”

It’s a few hours later when Dieter walks through the front door of Diem’s house, ready for a shower and sleep.

“You’re home late.” Diem’s voice sounds from the same spot on the couch he’d left her in.

“Uh, yeah. Lost track of time.”

“Were you at Poppy’s?” She asks with herround of motherly questioning.

“Yeah, I was. She had that easel, so I went to get it.”

“Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“The easel.”

“Oh, I— I must have forgot it. We were talking, lost track of time. I’ll grab it another time. I’m gonna take a shower then head to bed. Night.” Hoping to throw her off his scent, the last thing he wants is to hear her boast about what you and him were up to.

“Night. Oh hey, Dieter.”

“Yeah.” Turning back towards her.

“Make sure you wash that cute hand print on your neck.” Her devilish grin beaming at him.

He gives her a middle finger for good measure, then heads to the bathroom.

#sweet creature series #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo #pedro pascal #dieter x poppy #wildemaven writes

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gojos-thot-patrol · 1 year

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This can be SFW or nsfw or both, whatever you fancy hehe, but can you do turn ons and turn offs for the jjk men? Plz and thnx o holy one ☝🏽

Oh reader, Don't call me Holy, I might just fuck around and start a cult ♥️

Now Presenting...

Starring Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Nanami Kento, and Ryomen Sukuna

Satoru Gojo

You existing is his main turn on.

Jk.

…..But not really.

When girls with enough hair tie it up OR let it down? That's his drug.

When you let out a little giggle at his stupid jokes? Heroin

That look you give him when he’s being actively dumb? It’s going to make him act up even more.

The look on your face when you're concentrating? Begs him to break that concentration.

Also just like…dominant people.

Honestly I feel like Gojo is a little bit of a masochist, ngl. So like, little pats on the back that are just a bit too rough do it for him

Honestly, say anything with a little bit of bass in your voice and he’s hooked

Thigh highs, he fucking loves thigh high stockings.

Thighs in general really, thick thighs save lives

The little dimples at the base of your spine? Drive him fucking wild.

And your moans are basically an aphrodisiac for him.

Blindfolds on him? Eh. On you? Next level.

Edge him, please edge him, he’s begging

As for turn offs

Spit, blood, piss, bodily fluids of that nature, off the table.

I’m going to keep it real with you, I do think he’s at least a little turned off by condoms. He thinks his pullout game is that strong enough and he’s so touch starved, that when he does get to that point with you he wants zero barriers between you.

Feet. He hates them. Keep your grippers to yourself.

Suguru Geto

He is verrrryyy….musically motivated.

Certain songs really get him going, and no it’s not what you're thinking.

You’re thinkin’ Nonsense by Sabrina Carpenter, I’m talkin’ Animal by Nine Inch Nails

Concerts in general are a turn on for him. The energy goes straight to his dick.

He takes you to a concert and half way through he’s fucking you in the filthy ass bathroom

For similar reasons, you singing is a major turn on for him.

Also, when you stretch to try and reach something and your shirt rides up and he can see your tummy?

He’s going to go feral.

Stripteases are also a major turn on for him.

You begging him to fuck you is far better than opium as far as hes concerned. It scratches his corruption kink

Honestly? This may be controversial but he loves it when you say you hate him.

Cause that just gives him a reason to show you why that's bullshit.

Head is another major turn on for him, both giving and receiving he is ALL ABOUT IT

Also he’s into voyeurism. Look at him.

Call him sir and watch him lose all control.

Call him daddy and watch him walk away LMAO

Vore is a major MAJOR turn off for him. It reminds him of swallowing curses and makes him GAG

Honestly anything relating to the jujutsu sorcerers or work turns him off ngl

Actively trying to be sexy is another turn off for him. Like, just let it happen naturally and be in the flow. He thinks people trying to force “being sexy” (Like thirst traps for example) Are often stilted and awkward and maybe even a little funny?

Nanami Kento

Some of Nanamis turn ons include:

A stable income

A 401k

A retirement plan!

Nanami is the most turned on by STABILITY.

Nanami is more than willing to take care of his partner, but he does want to feel like this is a partnership.

Now, all jokes aside, Nanami is a man of taste.

He finds hip dips intoxicating, and loves the spine line along your back.

The way you laugh is an aphrodisiac to him.

But, he's not all fluff. If we’re talking nsfw…

He loves a solid matching set. Lingerie in general really is a huge turn on for him.

If you’ve read my NSFW headcanons (See: Here) you know why 👀

Dirty talk is another turn on for him, as he uses it to get consistent consent from you

Call him daddy. Call him daddy, I dare you, watch him ACT UP

He also l o v e s LOVES to see you covered in marks. He’s all about it.

Now, As for his turn offs..

Nanami is big on smells. This isn’t even like a “Bad hygiene turns him off” because, yea fair. No, I mean things like, Coconut or pear smells actively turn him off. Buy the wrong shampoo and face the consequences.

Also, blood. I don’t see him as a period sex guy, his job is too bloody for him not to be turned off by it.

Forcing your voice to go up in pitch. AKA: The uwu voice. If that’s naturally how you talk, that's one thing, but putting on a voice is another.

Call him Daddy in the UWU voice, that will really confuse him.

Ryomen Sukuna

Ryomen is fucked up dude, I’m not gonna front LMAO

Lets start light before we get fucked up.

It turns him on when you need him. When you need him to get something off the top shelf or open a jar or whatever. That shit turns him up to 10 because he loves feeling like you’re dependent on him

It turns him on as well when you try to question his authority. He loves to see that feistiness in you...and also cause he knows that he’s about to get to punish you.

In kinda the same vein, it turns him on when he sees you being bad, but not defiant against him.

Like, if he catches you being particularly mean to one of the servants? That scratches his corruption kink, he’s gonna lose his shit.

Now, on to the main event

Remember when I said blood was a turn off for Nanami? THE EXACT OPPOSITE FOR RYOMEN.

He will purposely bite you until you bleed.

In the same vein, crying. You crying activates the predator part of his brain and he loves it

He’s a sadist, there I said it.

He also loves watching your tits bounce when he’s fucking you, that shit will make him go feral.

He loves when you get cock drunk for him, seeing you desperate for him to fuck you strokes his ego in all of the best ways.

He’s got a praise kink, but he won't admit that.

This is about to be so vulgar…watching his cum drip out of your pussy makes him want to fuck you full again. Yep, take that line in

And like, if he ever knocks you up, god help you both cause his breeding kink will not let either of you rest.

Now, turn offs for him?

Honestly I see Ryomen as constantly horny so there's not many.

You flirting with someone else would be a turn off for him, but he’s also going to kill you for it.

Getting food involved in any way I feel like would be a major turn off for him, that's the vibe I get.

If you tell him you love him in the middle of the act it might scare his boner away, ngl.

….that's it.

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discopaddock · 10 months

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SNOW, SNOW, SNOW - PIERRE GASLY

PAIRING: single dad!pierre gasly x polish!fem!reader

GENRE: angst

WORD COUNT: 2380

NOTE: im back finally!! sorry for absence yall i just had a lot of school and i was on a school trip so i wasnt using phone too much. hope you like this one, x.

WARNINGS: burn, missing child, my english, google translated french

If Y/N L/N had haters, Pierre Gasly was one of them. If she had only one hater, it was him. And if she had zero haters, that meant that Pierre Gasly was dead.

Y/N had no idea why Pierre didn't like her so much. If there was something which happened and it didn't have a good outcome, he would always blame her from their whole group.

And because of his father, Claude Gasly didn't like Y/N either. He was Pierre's mini-me so of course he was acting the same as his father.

I guess it was the 2023 winter break, when Y/N, Pierre, Claude, Max, Charles, Arthur, Lorenzo, Lando, Yuki and their girlfriends were together in the Alps and the little guy got lost in the woods, but I'll tell you about it later.

“Enzo, none of them like me so why should I share a room with them?” Y/N asked, when she heard that she was going to be roommates with the Gaslys.

“Come off it-”

“I'm fucking not, for fucks sake, I don't want to share room with them, they are going to kill me and I am fucking serious at this moment” she announced, making Lorenzo, Charles and Max laugh. “I can even sleep on the couch, just not with them,” she added, but then Max said that he can share the room with Pierre and his son, but she would have to share the room with Lando.

She had never felt so thankful in her life before.

Sure, Lando was pretty disgusting, but he was better than the Gaslys, who hated her.

“Hey, hey wait! Y/N!” Verstappen yelled to her, watching as she was running upstairs with her huge suitcase.

“Hey Lando! Guess what, we're sharing a room” the girl said, after entering the bedroom, where Norris was sitting on his bed, which was the one against the window.

“Oh, okay?” He said a little confused, but he didn't mind. He was actually best friends with Y/N, so he was happy about it.

“So um yeah, bye Lando” Max announced after taking his valise and he left the room.

And then the Gaslys had arrived. Claude was an energetic boy. He was full everywhere. And as I said, he was his father's mini-me, so he looked exactly like him; the same ice-blue eyes, brunette hair, a gap between the teeth. As if you did copy paste in real life.

And Pierre liked to have matching clothes with his son, so it was even more copy paste in real life.

And again as I said, Claude was really energetic. And because of that just after taking off his winter clothes and shoes, he ran to his, Pierre's and Max's bedroom, not looking around, so he collapsed with Y/N, who was carrying a mug with a hot tea. This story for little Gasly had a happy ending, unlike L/N, who burned herself with the tea and broke her favourite mug.

“Kurwa mać” she cursed in her native language with teary eyes and a red hand. She quickly picked off parts of the mug and ran to the kitchen and put her hand into cold water. “I'll clean it up in a moment!” she announced but Colette, who saw the whole incident calmed her down, saying that she would do it for her. Fucking hell

“Do you need anything?” Augustin asked, after she entered the kitchen and saw Polishgirl, who still had her hand in the water. “Could you bring me my makeup bag? I have ointment for burns and frostbite in it” Y/N answered and Colette only smiled, nodded her head and went to the room of L/N and Norris.

“How bad does it hurt?” Lando asked, when he entered the kitchen with Y/N's makeup bag.

“Really bad? I guess” the girl answered, wiping her hand with a paper towel. “I don't have any bandages, damn it” she announced, rummaging through the makeup bag.

“Lorenzo's must-have” and with that, Lando ran to the eldest Leclerc's bedroom. “Enzo said if your hand won't stop hurting at night, he will drive you to the hospital,” Norris announced, putting the bandage on his friend's hand. The girl nodded. Her hand was hurting like hell, but she was hoping that she wouldn't have to go to the hospital.

“Fuck, I don't have any mug now” she said after a moment of realization. “I need to go to the town” she said and started walking to their room. Lando followed her, saying that he could go with her. “Be careful with your hand” the boy said, which made the girl roll her eyes. They were almost ready to go, when someone knocked on the door. “Come in!”

“Y/N, I know someone that wants to tell you something” Collette announced after walking to the bedroom. The little boy stood in front of the Polishgirl and mumbled: “Je suis désolé d'être tombé sur toi” I'm sorry I ran into you

“Je ne suis pas en colère, mais fais plus attention la prochaine fois, d'accord?” she answered, crouching, so she could look at Claude's face. I'm not mad, but be more careful next time, okay?

“Je suis désolé pour ta tasse” the boy added. I'm sorry about your mug

He actually felt sorry for that situation.

Sure, he didn't like Y/N, because of his dad, but still she was always kind and nice to him and it was his fault that all of this happened.

“Je ne suis pas en colère, ne t'inquiète pas” she said with a smile on her face and Claude hugged her. L/N had no idea what to do. After a while she hugged him back and because of that, he gripped her even tighter. I'm not angry, don't worry

Finally the boy moved away from her, so she could go with Lando.

“Bye!” the boy waved at them, so did Colette, who had a warm smile on her face.

“I don't remember if little Gasly had ever treated you like this” Norris said, when they finally sat in the girl's car.

“Same, Lando. Like I- fuck, he never liked me” Y/N announced. “Like his dad. Because they act the same but you know. I didn't even think that he would apologise to me”

“Yes, yes, same. Like he never wanted to play with you when we were hanging out, he was just mean to you like Pierre” Lando agreed with her.

“Do you know why Pierre doesn't like me so bad? Because for four years since I met him he always treated me like shit and never told me why” she asked, but her best friend didn't know.

“Since Claude was born he became really protective over him. So maybe it's because he didn't know you before C was born? Like he considered you as an enemy because he thought that you would hurt his beloved son? Like the female defends her young” Lando explained and the girl had no choice but to shrug.

“I don't want to think about them, just let me buy a new mug” Y/N said and got out of the car, so did her best friend.

They came back to the house after two hours, because they also went to the bookstore just to watch some books because they felt the vibe.

“You two were on a date or something?” Charles asked when they entered the living room.

“Who knows?” Lando moved his eyebrows in a suggestive way with a smile on his face. Y/N only shook her head, also smiling.

“Good luck on your new way of life!” Yuki yelled at them, when they were walking to the kitchen. Everyone laughed.

Well, everyone except Pierre who shook his head with a disgusted look. How old were they? 5?

“Oh, Pedro, stop being so boring,” Yuki told his best friend.

“You act like you were five,” Gasly said, which made Yuki laugh even more.

“Why are you laughing?” asked Claude, who just woke up from his nap. His English was broken but as a six year old bilingual boy it was really good.

“Because of your dad, C” Tsunoda answered, sitting the boy on his lap. “He's really jealous, you know” Yuki whispered to the little brunette boy's ear.

“Why is he jealous?” Claude asked, also whispering. “Y/N and Lando,” the Japaneseman answered quickly and quietly.

Well, yes, Pierre was jealous about Y/N and Lando. He was jealous of their relationship. In his opinion, they were together, like they were dating and did all that stuff, which people in love do and he used to do, when he was in a relationship with C's mother, Héloïse.

He was also jealous because he didn't spend as much time with Lando as they used to before the Brit-Belgianman met the Polish Girl during her Erasmus in France.

Plus, Y/N was really attractive, like she had catched a lot of women's or men's eyes, so did he. He wanted to date her actually, but he was at lost point; he fucked up at beginning of their acquaintance.

So Pierre thought that there was no other option, than just pissing her off for the rest of their lives.

On the next day, the whole group went skiing. Some of them like Lando and Arthur were snowboarding also.

It was a fun day. It was the only time when Y/N liked being in the mountains the whole year. Because she was a sea person (just like Pierre).

At twelve, they went to eat lunch. L/N was sitting with Norris, Charles and Colette at the table, while Pierre and the rest were sitting at the other one. It was only because the big table where Pierre was sitting was too small to accommodate them all.

After lunch they went for a walk in the woods. It was fun, relaxing and the trees were looking amazing covered with the white snow.

Everything seemed to be a dream until Pierre realised that he lost his son. They were at the car park, when Gasly realised it.

“No Pierre, you're staying here with Yuki, you're panicking and you won't be helpful in this condition” Lorenzo said, looking into the Frenchman's eyes.

“We should start looking for him as quickly as possible, let's go” Y/N said and ran into the woods, so did Lando, Arthur, Carla, Max, Gabby, Charles, Colette and Lorenzo.

“They'll find him, don't worry” Yuki tried to calm down his best friend, who was crying.

“I fucking lost my son, I'm a horrible father” Gasly scoffed and rested his head against the car seat.

“No, you're not! You raise him on your own, he doesn't have a mother, so you have to be both for him and you are doing it really well. And it is common that kids are lost, when they are small like C” Tsunoda handed the brunette man a tissue, so he could wipe his tears.

“Yes, but in markets not in woods!” Pierre cried out. “I'm so awful. Like fuck, I treated Y/N like shit for these four years and now she was the first person to ran into the woods to look for my son. That fucking hilarious!” he said.

“You should apologise to her” Yuki announced, which made the other man take a deep breath before he started talking again.

“It's too late”

“No, it's not! Y/N is the kindest person I've ever met. Like if you tell her the whole truth that you like her in this romantic way, she will definitely forgive you” the man announced.

“Yeah and that's the problem. I'm grumpy and she is sunshine. I won't tell her that. She doesn't like me back. She's dating Lando” Pierre said.

“You're such an idiot, they're just friends”

And while Yuki was giving Pierre a lesson about Y/N, she was running in the woods just to find the little Gasly. It was getting dark so she was worrying even more about the little boy.

“Claude!” she knew that she shouldn't scream in the woods, but what could she do? She repeated the boy's name a few times, walking deeper into the wood. “Claude!” she yelled again and she was losing her hope, but then she heard a small voice on the left. She quickly ran there and found little Gasly, who was sitting under a tree with blue lips and red hands.

“Oh, Claude” she said and picked him up from the ground. The boy only hugged her and covered his head in her neck. The girl pulled gloves from her jacket pocket and gave it to Gasly to wear them.

She was terrified of his condition.

“I want Papa,” he cried. He was hungry, terrified and frozen. “I know, you'll meet him in a moment, I promise” she announced and kissed his head. “I was chasing a squirrel and then no-one was around” he said, which broke Y/N's heart. He was only six years old and it definitely was a huge trauma for him. “You're safe now. I won't let anything happen to you” she told him. “I think I know why my papa thinks you're pretty,” Claude whispered. “I heard when he was talking about you with Yuki in our living room. I think he likes you, but he doesn't know how to tell you” he added.

Y/N was shocked.

Pierre fucking Gasly was thinking that she was pretty.

“Do you like my papa too?” the boy asked and Y/N had no idea how to answer him.

“Well, he's nice” she only stuttered and started walking faster. It was already dark and she was worried that she would get lost too.

“We're here, Claude” she announced when they were ten metres from the whole group.

Y/N was the last person to show up (as always).

“Is Papa here?” little Gasly asked, but the girl didn't answer him, because both of them were hugged by no-one other than Pierre. “Papa!” Little Gasly gasped after he recognised his father by his smell.

“Je suis tellement désolé, Claude” the man said. “Et merci, Y/N, merci beaucoup” he added. I'm so sorry, Claude. And thank you, Y/N, thank you so much.

The talk with Yuki gave him a lot to think about himself, her and how he treated her and how he wanted to treat her.

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