#having witnessed several conversations like this
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Latest fanfics read, part 6
(Part. 1) (Part. 2) (Part. 3) (Part. 4) (Part 5)
I Keep My Mouth Shut Tight (Cause I Don't Want To Lose What's Not Even Mine)
"Being affectionate, he has always used certain pet names with me. He’s called me sweetheart since we met, and I have used several in turn. That night he used a new one... I realised that he had woken me, saying it was time to take another dose of medicine. It was the way he said it, though: “Baby, I need you to wake up for me...” I am only slightly ashamed to admit that I whined pathetically at him calling me that, but he seemed to take it as protest that I didn’t want to wake, and not for what it really was—me absolutely losing my mind over that word coming out of his mouth and being directed at me. The cherry on top of it all was when he kissed me on the forehead and my brain promptly stopped working completely."
OR: At hit wits end, Henry decides to turn to reddit to ask the internet if his roommate likes him back, or if he's going insane. Then Nora intervenes.
Additional tags: Social Media, Ask reddit, Cute, Short & Sweet, Silly, Sharing a bad, Didn't know they were dating, Cuddling & Snuggling
It's Not a Secret
Henry is a boring person.
This is an objective fact. It’s been such a constant in his life that it hardly bothers him. He prefers the mundane. Thrives under routine. Tolerates many things poorly: surprise parties, capsaicin, loud noises.
Another objective fact: Henry loves Alex. Alex is not boring at all.
Unfortunately, everyone else in Henry’s life seems to think that a bore like him is incapable of a relationship like theirs— and, more distressingly, that this must mean that Alex simply doesn’t exist.
Or: Five times that no one believed that Henry and Alex were an item, and one time that they all did.
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Director of Finance Henry Fox, tattoo artist alex claremont-diaz, Opposites Attract, Not actually a secret relationship, Misunderstandings, Developing Relationship, Sexual Content
in sickness and in health
Henry has a rather nasty cold, but June had her appendix removed, which means she wins. Because of her victory in the unwell olympics, Henry will stay in Texas while Alex flies to New York to visit his sister and the rest of their chosen family, something Henry desperately tries not to resent.
Additional tags: Slice of life, Sickfic, Married life
The Room Where It Happens
caged, Alex who he had never thought would be his, making himself at home, in a place Henry hasn’t thought of as home since his father died. It was simply a place he lived. His home was now sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off his socks.
----
Or, a trio of firsts.
Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, First Time Bottoming, Angst, But not like Alex/Henry angst, Lonely Henry angst, Praise Kink
the way it is suddenly there, total and complete
As Alex falls in love with David, Henry falls even more impossibly in love with him, and their little family.
Or: Over the first year of their new life together, Alex fully commits to being a dog dad. Henry is his captive audience.
When I Get Going
“On a scale of one to ten,” Henry says softly, stepping closer to him and lowering his voice in a way that has Alex’s pulse jumping in his throat, his entire body aching to respond, “how far gone are you right now? One being ‘I could easily hold a conversation with the Queen’ and ten being ‘I’m genuinely surprised nobody’s noticed yet’.” Alex grits his teeth, but even the reminder of Henry’s nefarious grandmother can’t quell the arousal burning hotly in his stomach.
“Six,” he hisses, embarrassed and turned on, every molecule of him straining to reach out and pull Henry into something that will start off as a kiss, and end as anything but.
“Let me know when you get to eight,” Henry says firmly, then he just-
Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, PWP, Underwear, Coming In Pants, Orgasm Delay/Denial, delayed gratification, Control, Light Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Begging, Praise Kink, Henry is a fucking tease
crushed velvet
"In this brief moment of reprieve, Henry pants for breath, digging his fingers into the red material of the sofa to remind himself that this is, in fact, somehow real."
Or, movieverse couch blowjob missing scene.
Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ficlet, Missing Scene, Blow Jobs, Skull Fucking, Simultaneous Orgasm, Coming In Pants
Comfort in the Backlight
For the prompt: "rainy day in the brownstone, fluff?"
Maybe sneakers weren’t the best choice of shoe for the day, Alex realizes as he shuts the front door behind him and grimaces at the quick puddle forming beneath him.
you are my medicine (when you're close to me)
After one last peck, Henry finally pulls away, leaving a sore spot of hollowness where his touch had filled it before. Alex forces his face to stay even– he doesn’t want his boyfriend to feel guilty for doing what he needs to do, doesn’t want to feed into the assumption that Alex is helpless without him.
Doesn’t want to be another obligation in Henry’s life that will one day grow to be too much to shoulder.
When the door falls shut, leaving Alex alone with a house that is much too empty and silent without his family there, there’s a lump in his throat that he can’t quite swallow. He thinks of Nora, making jokes that Henry is a saint for putting up with him during exam season; he thinks of June who uprooted her entire life to take care of him during college– and finally, he thinks of Henry, gentle and perfect Henry, that has had to worry about others way too much in his life– and a stinging sense of dread settles over him.
-
Or, Alex's no good horrible very bad two weeks without Henry.
Additional Tags: Alex Claremont-Diaz Has ADHD, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has Abandonment Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Panic Attacks, Alex Claremont-Diaz Needs a Hug, Long-Distance Relationship, Mental Health Issues, Established Relationship
Smile, You're on Camera
"Baby," Alex manages, and Henry groans in response, grazing his earlobe with his teeth. Alex bites his lip his stifle his own whimper. "H, hang on."
Henry pulls away from his assault on his neck, face flushed, chest heaving. "What's — what's wrong?"
"Nothing, sweetheart, nothing," Alex soothes, placing both hands on Henry's shoulders. "I just — do you wanna do it? Now?"
Henry blinks owlishly. Alex watches as the realization slowly dawns on him, and he turns his head to look at the camera. He stares for a moment, then looks back at Alex and says, "Can you bring it closer?"
Or, Alex and Henry film a sex tape.
Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Tapes, Explicit Sexual Content, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crying During Sex, in a sexy way not a sad way, Switching, Sub Top Alex
no bunny compares to you
Henry is a lot of things as a person and while much of his personality transfers over to his bunny form, his physical attributes do not. Most notably, his size.
Where Alex’s boyfriend stands tall and regal, his furry counterpart is small and fluffy, unable to summit even the most minor of obstacles.
Take their sofa, for one. Alex is watching TV and minding his own business, when he hears a steady thump from just below him. Peering over the edge of the dark cushion, he spots his boyfriend angrily pounding his back foot against the carpet.
“Ha! Is my little bun too tiny to get up here on his own?” Alex teases. He’s promptly rewarded with a whisker twitch followed by a nose scrunch. Henry is pouting and it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever witnessed.
--
or, five times Henry shapeshifts for himself and one time he does it for Alex
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Magical Realism, 5+1 Things, Bunny Henry, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Shapeshifting, Idiots in Love, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Needs a Hug, Protective Alex Claremont-Diaz, Soft Boys, Henry Has Bad Days
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Lessons in History
Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x f reader
Word count: 2.8K
Gif by @tomcriuse
Warnings: fluff, reader had no physical description but she/her pronouns are used, flowers, some history, colonisation & discrimination mention (not graphic), not beta/proof read except for sending the first 3 paragraphs to @coulsons-fullmetal-cellist!
A/N: This was written for @morallyinept's flora and fauna challenge for the month of May, green carnations are mentioned here but the real focus is on the Faqqu'a iris! I hope you all enjoy this and maybe learn a fun floral fact as well! The mentioned pieces of art are imagined and I didn't put in any artist names because I couldn't think of any, oops! Title was inspired from 'Lessons in Chemistry' because of name vibes, haven't read or seen it lol! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated 🫶
@mittos may you get to the botans soon bestie x
Javi Gutierrez was nothing if not a patron of the arts. He was the biggest cinephile in all of Spain, he had the film memorabilia and Letterboxd account to prove it. Letterboxd had contacted him several months ago to let him know that he had logged the most rewatches of Face/Off than any other member, by a lot... He’d been enchanted by the theatre from a young age, he had an ever-growing collection of visual media, and he was a critically acclaimed screenwriter and producer. It’s why he was at this pop-up exhibition a History in Flora. Of course, it didn’t hurt that the curator and gallery educator was so pretty.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her, she had an air of intelligent grace and while her eyes were kind, they definitely had the potential for a sharp wit. She was tidily dressed in colours that brought out the beauty of her skin tone and eyes, and a keffiyeh around her neck. She was positively radiant. A beauty that needed to be captured in art, he’d proudly commission such a piece by a dozen different artists just to try and find someone who would be able to capture her essence in their art. He was smitten by you as well.
When you made eye contact with the handsome man, a slight blush coloured his cheeks and you couldn’t help but smile even wider. His soft curls were stunning, you gave him your best smile which made him melt more. If you kept smiling at him like that he’d either melt into a puddle or he’d hold a snowdrop bloom and become a new installation in the exhibition to symbolise his resilience with the challenge of not causing a scene and swooning over you and attempting to sweep you off of your feet.
You had a hand on your abdomen as you waited around near the entrance of the botanical gardens greenhouse, this was the opening day of your pop-up exhibition. One you’d been working on for months. Probably more like years with how you were such a history nerd and how one conversation with your cool aunt when you were a teenager sparked an interest in flowers and all the nerding out that came with that.
Anxiety was looming in your stomach but that was to be expected, having your hand on your stomach wasn’t a super obvious marker of that though so you kept it there as you tried to imagine your diaphragm while regulating your breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
While some people had already come in and started to make their way around the art, this would be the first guided tour of the exhibition. This project had been your artistic baby for so long, it felt really important to you and you just wanted it to go perfectly.
You took a deep breath and listened to your amazing colleague who came over after a moment as you both ran through some things quietly and in what felt like the blink of an eye, you were now standing with a group of about a dozen people of all ages and had started to guide the tour.
You weren’t sure if you’d blacked out and started, you weren’t sure what that would feel like so you couldn’t compare it to anything else, but you were certain it would feel something like this. You don’t know what had happened but your feet had started moving and your mouth had turned up into a friendly smile and words started spilling out as you’d started to lead the keen group around the exhibition.
You all walked around and discussed the sculptures, crochet installations, and paintings. The group was interested and respectful, there were some witty questions and there was a plethora of interested and respectful questions as well.
Whenever there’s a point you almost forget to add in Javier will smile and politely raise his hand to ask a question, a gesture that nobody else makes before they ask a question. He’s too cute. His existence is taking almost everything in you not to giggle when you look into his sparkling chocolate eyes and nod and he then asks the perfect question for you to elaborate on something.
“Ah…” He coos at the right times when you speak.
“How interesting!” He genuinely exclaims with a fascinated and kind smile when you add in a stroke of a fun fact while painting the context of a piece.
You’re feeling more and more confident with each piece you show and talk about. Having your personal, professional hype man in Javier is extremely helpful. It’s the little necessary boost in confidence that helps bring you back into your body and in no time you’re feeling more present in the moment and that you can truly enjoy it.
There are pieces and interesting conversations about peonies, a Chinese symbol of wealth adored by Emperors, violets, a queer symbol of sapphic women going all the way back to Sappho on Lesbos island thousands of years ago. The group are interested and engaged throughout the various topics which makes you smile.
You smile more widely as you and the group arrive at the next three pieces. Javier’s eyes shine as he sees the genuine but more customer service polite smile turn into a wider, awe-inspired smile as they get to the next piece. His eyes take in how your eyes glow like the most luminous image in the world. You’re a true piece of art. He thinks of how inspired and meta it is that the most beautiful piece of art in the world is sentient and is the one loving art and educating the public on it while being completely unaware of the masterpiece that she is.
His cheeks heat up, he’ll keep that image of you as a mental photograph to treasure for years. He’s not sure if he’ll ever have the words to describe it with justice in one of his screenplays but he’ll try. It’ll be the look of love on the intelligent lead’s face, and then the romantic look of love, that’s on his face right now, will be seen on the love interest’s face.
You’re completely unaware of Javier’s thoughts as you’re not a mind reader. But you smile more as you look at this next piece. You love every piece in this exhibition of course, but these next few pieces stunned you the most with their power and the artistic vision and skill that went into them. You had felt honoured to be able to work with these artists.
The piece that your group have now stood around is a display with a series of woven Waratah flowers in different stages of bloom, all bright in colour. The crimson of the flower is so eye-catching and gasp-inducing. All of the pieces are stunning but this is one of your favourites, you happily reactivate into nerd mode for this piece.
“This is a collection of the Waratah flower through its cycle of life.” You catch the amazement in the eyes of people who step closer to take in the vibrant colour and detail in this piece, you pause to let it truly have its moment, before continuing. “The Waratah is a stunning crimson bloom native to Australia, that has particular significance to the Aboriginal communities there. Its name comes from ‘Warada’ which is an Eora Aboriginal word meaning ‘beautiful’.” You say as you smile and look at the woven piece, its colour is so vibrant, while it may not be a real bloom that everyone is looking at, it’s still clear that it deserves to have a name like that. “Each Spring in the southern hemisphere, when the Waratah blooms it’s viewed as a time of new beginnings and marking of the new season. The flower has a history of being used medicinally for the Aboriginal peoples in Southeast Australia, and symbolises the powerful connection between indigenous peoples and their land. Indigenous peoples aren’t homogenous but there is a shared experience with connections to land and the trauma of the loss of land that has come with colonisation along with other institutional and intergenerational traumas that have occurred and continue to as a result of colonisation.”
Collaborating with indigenous and other artists with histories of resilience and oppression had been an honour and you were happy for it to be platformed in this space and to see people engaging with it.
You guide the group to the next piece in the exhibition, which was a mixed-media collage painting. Two men were painted outside of a theatre, they were wearing suits and hats and each had a green carnation visibly pinned to the lapels of their blazer. It was then collaged with newspaper headlines about men charged with sodomy and homosexual law reform.
“The red carnation symbolises deep love and affection, pink meaning gratitude, white meaning pure love. The green carnation wasn’t originally given a specific meaning like its differently pigmented cousins.” You say as you look at the large painting, it was truly incredible, the brushwork was stunning and the colours had been pulled together perfectly.
“In 19th century Paris, it became a fashionable coded way of queer men signalling their queerness to each other.” You see Javier raise his hand and you smile and nod, confirming him to ask his question.
“This is in relation to Mr Oscar Wilde, the poet and playwright, right, Miss?” He asked with a big smile.
“Yes.” You smiled at him warmly which made cheeks widen with a big, innocent grin. “In 1892 Oscar Wilde popularised this symbol by asking his friends to wear it on their left lapel when attending the opening night of his play Lady Windermere’s Fan. Boygenius’ pink carnation is a reference to Elliot Smith, not Oscar Wilde, I’m afraid.” You add with a small chuckle that gets a few laughs in the group, mainly the younger ones but Javier chuckles like you said the wittiest thing ever.
There were a couple of questions about this piece and a discussion on all the different elements of this piece. You took a deep breath in and made eye contact with Javier, he gave you a warm reassuring smile. He mouthed you can do this! And his eyes were as warm as a hug from your closest friend you haven’t seen in months.
You then guided the group to the final piece, it was the big finale of the exhibition, something truly incredible. You looked at the gorgeous, blooming sea of purple with hints of dark yellow, brown, and green sprinkled through the cloak.
“Here, we have this stunning cloak.” You paused to take it in and to see the expressions of everyone else take in how detailed and time-consuming this must’ve been. “This cloak is covered in the Faqqu’a iris, the national flower of Palestine. Covered in over 300 handmade flowers, each one is made out of satin that had been hand-dyed and or hand-painted by this young artist.”
“The Faqqu’a iris is typically purple and has grown in the mountain ranges of Palestine.”
“Purple irises symbolise intelligence, no?” He asked with a gentle smile on his face as he looked at you.
“Yes, along with royalty and strength and courage. Which is particularly fitting here.” You say with a smile, Javier thoughtfully nods, almost as if he wasn’t aware and this is new information to him. “The Faqqu’a iris has suffered as part of the resulting ecocide of Israeli settler colonialism and the illegal occupation. The flower has become critically endangered due to over picking and deforestation for Israeli settlements dating back to the Nakba in 1948. This became worse in the 50s and the flower has been called endangered, vulnerable and at the risk of extinction several times by various organisations.
This artist had been making some blooms for a project but was inspired to create and finish this piece after the 2024 Met Gala which had the theme of ‘The Garden of Time’, the story that inspired the theme and the fashion choices were opulent, showing a great class divide, and apathy towards the struggle of many. This, the complicity of guests and media covering this and the media distraction away from the genocide Israel has been committing upset many. Fashion was not used as a form of protest at that event. Which is highlighted here, with how simply it could be done.”
You look at the cloak for a moment and then have a conversation about all of this and the exhibition as a whole. Slowly the group breaks off, some leaving and others deciding to stick around. You take a deep breath in and then another one out as this has happened, the rest of this pop-up is going to go well, you know it.
“Excuse me, Miss,” you’re interrupted by Javier’s words with his thick accent and kind face. “I have to say that I truly feel like an expert in floriography and the social history of blooms across the globe.” He continued, smiling as the few lines around his eyes creased in delight as he looked at you.
You couldn’t help but chuckle at his words. Your sweet cheerleader.
“I’m glad to educate a stranger, always.” You playfully tease.
“A stranger, mi amor?” He asks feigning shock as he pecks your cheek softly.
“Thank you for coming, it was really sweet.” You say softly as you smile at him.
“You were truly exceptional, mi amor! So smart! So creative! So pretty!” He exclaims as he looks around at the exhibition in awe.
“You’re too kind.”
“Do you think any of the patrons saw through my sneaky disguise?” He asks playfully with a bright large smile. He’s so playful and endearing, if you had a cold heart, he’d melt it.
“No,” you chuckle. “I don’t think anybody wondered if the inquisitive patron is seeing the guide.” You chuckle more as you look at him.
“Maybe I pay more attention to pretty educators, and this exhibition has the prettiest one, who could not be inquisitive amor?” Javi then turned in a theatrical way. “I believe I just saw someone delivering and installing an installation live?”
“Wait-what?” You ask, as you quickly turn. “Is-” Your eyes widened as you saw the purple hues of a large bouquet of flowers being delivered to your colleague at the entrance who was nosily checking the note.
“We should see the history behind this one no, amor?” He asked with a hopeful smile as if you wouldn’t want to look at a big bouquet that had been delivered. You nodded and gave his cheek a soft peck as you walked over to take the flowers from your colleague, she winked at you and smiled at Javi.
Purple irises that symbolised intelligence, the man had done his homework. But you suppose he had done that just by living with and loving you. A similar purple hue was in the greenery backing the bouquet, the heliotropes, everlasting, eternal love. The centrepiece was your favourite flowers which made you smile. The other little flowers carefully placed in were beautiful and he had certainly picked up one of the many floriography books that had been sprawled out on the dining room table lately.
“You and your sweet words and gestures and perfect curls.” You say with a small breathless chuckle as you look up at him, he smiles back at you. The flowers are gorgeous and there’s a sweet smell as you look at him.
“Well amor, I’ll look around again and then go back to the entrance for the next tour.” Javier says smiling widely.
“You don’t need to stay for the next tour, it was so sweet of you to come now- it helped.” You say after letting out a small chuckle at his offer.
“Is it too much?” He asked as his eyes widened, worried he’d maybe overstepped. His face was always so reactive and sweet. “I’m just so proud and always impressed by you, it is marvellous to see the passion you have when you speak of the intersection of art and history.”
“No, not at all, it’s so sweet.” You reassure him as your cheeks heat up. You feel very loved with all the little sweet gestures happening, the flowers, him showing up to the opening day of the exhibition, engaging as if he’s a stranger enthralled by this, wanting to spend the day doing that. And he does.
#javi gutierrez#javi gutierrez x you#javi gutierrez x reader#javi gutierrez fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal fanfiction#jettsflora&faunachallenge#javi gutierrez fluff#the unbearable weight of massive talent#javi g fanfiction#javi g x you#javi g fluff#snuck a history lesson in there did you notice?#javier gutierrez x reader#javier gutierrez x you
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One of the most egregious "not a typical girl" thing is when they make the rough-and-tough survival-artist fighter lady bad at cooking. Aside from the sexism, it just makes no sense. Like. You're telling me this woman knows ten different ways to kill a man and can survive for weeks in the wilderness, she's an independent woman and proud of it, but she doesn't know how to cook?
Cooking is a survival skill. A very basic, very important one. It's also not very difficult. She can fix an engine, but she can't figure out how to make pasta? Come on.
The only reason to make her bad at cooking is because cooking is seen as a female thing and she is Not Like Other Girls and sneers at anything feminine. Like the ability to make food for yourself.
ALSO btw every single person I know who trains and wants/needs their body to be in good shape is decent at cooking because they all end up cooking, because it just makes sense to make sure you're getting the right nutrition, enough protein etc, when you're trying to build muscle and endurance. Your body needs fuel and the better the fuel, the better the performance. So you learn about nutrition and cooking.
The only reason to make a female character bad at cooking is because cooking is seen as a female thing and she is Not Like Other Girls and sneers at anything feminine. And we've decided that the ability to make food, an actual survival skill, is feminine and therefore silly and beneath the dignity of tough warriors.
It's a stupid stereotype and it makes no sense and it ends up making her seem like an incompetent child who needs other people to provide her with one of her most basic needs and who, realistically, isn't getting the nutrition she needs to be tough and strong. You can't be an independent woman (or man, or person, or whatever) if you can't even feed yourself.
How about badass warrior types who make a fantastic spaghetti bolognaise and just make people slightly uneasy with how quickly and precisely they can slice a tomato or their insistence on always using the biggest possible knife, how about ripped fighters who exchange tips on how to add more protein to your meals because that's way more realistic than "eww no cooking is for GIRLS".
#at least in my experience it's realistic#having witnessed several conversations like this#during and after sword training#just saying#i'll never believe that emma swan can't cook#at least on some basic level#or that leia organa never learned#either at home or in the rebellion#or that MARA JADE can't cook#like... what#madness
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𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄-𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓
➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn!reader (aside from a single idiom whose origin uses masculine language/pronouns - every man for himself)
➸ SUMMARY: Against all odds, the Lieutenant accidentally falls asleep on your shoulder. Unfortunately, there are witnesses to the precarious situation (just your luck that it would be Gaz and Soap).
➸ WORD COUNT: 2k
𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄: don't poke the bear.
Danger in your line of work typically consists of trying to walk away from a mission while still being left completely intact (i.e. the goal is to make it out alive, in one piece). You’ve survived a great number of ordeals: cornered into a shootout with a dwindling supply of ammo, tiptoed your way through a field of pressure-sensitive IEDs, dove towards probable death (with an awfully high probability of splattering onto hot, concrete hell like a bug on a windshield) because your helo was sent tail spinning courtesy of a perfectly-aimed RPG – and really, the list goes on.
It's been child’s play, in the grand scheme of things. An extensive catalogue of life-or-death scenarios accounts for your entire military career. And sure, this might be a bit of a stretch, but you'd wager that none of those instances thus far have been as high-stakes as the current predicament you’ve found yourself in.
Jesus-fucking-Christ. Why’d Ghost have to fall asleep on you?
𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: avoid sitting next to him on the plane ride home. You've had to learn it the hard way.
And the kicker is that this whole thing could’ve been avoided; it didn’t have to be your problem. You could’ve sentenced any one of the other soldiers to your seat. Every man for himself, right? Get off scot-free, have a normal trip back to base with plenty of legroom so that you’re not cramped. Theoretically, it would've been beautiful – a passenger's paradise, the closest you could get to a first-class ticket.
But no.
Instead, play the Good Samaritan; extend your hand out with an act of benevolence. What’s the harm, right? So, you'd spared the poor guy, said you wouldn't mind switching places with him because he'd looked as white as a damn sheet at the idea of being crammed beside this behemoth of a lieutenant who's infamously every FNG's living nightmare.
Yeah, well hindsight is 20/20. Had you known what was going to happen, you would've had no reservations about throwing him under the bus. Sayonara, mate.
Law of the jungle, plain and simple.
To make matters worse, he is, in fact, exhibiting terrible flight etiquette. His head (which is dead weight and feels about as pleasant as a fucking bowling ball, mind you) has taken up every inch of real estate on your shoulder and is practically tucked into the curve of your neck; you’ll need to take a trip to the chiropractor’s after this – several, probably. The edge of his skull mask is digging into you. And, the cherry on top: get this – he’s man-spreading, so his left leg's trespassing into your own territory and brushing against your thigh. Utter lack of regard for personal space.
Incredible.
You’d still rather die than wake him up, though. You're not sure what'll happen if you do, but that's a risk you're not willing to take.
All things considered, an achy shoulder is a much better alternative than incurring the wrath of one angry Lieutenant. He's more subdued in this kind of context. To be completely honest, if you weren't already well-acquainted with him, you'd find it endearing.
From here, it's easy to see the simple rise and fall of his chest, steady and even. Slow inhale in, slow exhale out. He's at peace, a rhythmic lull that matches your own breathing. You can't quite put your finger on the exact moment he fell asleep. (He's got a habit of shutting his eyes and folding his arms over his chest when he isn't in the mood to converse with the other soldiers onboard. But God willing, he would never voluntarily loll his head onto your shoulder.) For what it's worth, he deserves the rest – never been one to do it this soundly as countless missions have taught you that he's usually a light sleeper. You remember him roughly prodding the toe of his boot at Soap's arm once when the Scot was conked out and his snores were a bit loud for Ghost's taste.
Rather odd then, that the Lieutenant even managed to allow himself to doze off like this. It’s too loud, too unsteady – the droning of the plane engine doesn't exactly make for good white noise and the turbulence outside is jostling the cabin around. Moreover, this puts him in a position of vulnerability, and he’s not the type to let his guard down so easily.
But somehow he did it with you beside him.
You try not to think about the implications of that.
𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄.
Because, Soap's just woken up from his nap, the first among the entire company of soldiers in the cabin still sleeping, excluding yourself. His seat's parallel to yours, straight across the walkway within direct line of sight, so he’s got an unobstructed view of you and Ghost. Soap sends a questioning glance in your direction, eyebrow quirked. A look that says, The hell's going on?
The level of your voice is down; it's at a conservative decibel to avoid rousing the others. Yet you convey your distress with the same amount of passion as if you were stuck in the middle of a losing firefight. "MacTavish, help."
Soap works with bombs for a living. Surely, he's capable of defusing situations too.
Alright the man’s a demolitions expert, but that’s semantics.
He blinks like he's trying to make sense of the situation. Though, it's pretty obvious what the problem is here. You're not sure why he’s got to take a moment and contemplate it. You need a solution, now. And he's moving at a snail's pace.
For a second, you think he might sympathize with your plight.
But then his mouth morphs into a shit-eating grin and when he nudges Gaz awake, you know right then and there that you're absolutely fucked.
More witnesses.
Great.
Because that’s just what you need, isn’t it?
Gaz drags a hand down his face. He pans over to his right to figure out why he’s been jolted awake so suddenly, and sees Soap who’s inexplicably, nauseatingly jovial before his eyes land on you.
Much like Soap’s original reaction, Gaz can’t help but offer a quizzical expression. The confusion is evident. His brows are drawn together because he knows that the L.t. wouldn't fall asleep on your shoulder.
Soap's shifting, sliding his hand into his pocket before pulling out his phone. He messes with it – a few taps here, a few swipes there. And then before you're registering what's happening, he's aiming it straight at you, like one of those mums getting a snapshot of their kids in matching jumpers during the holidays.
"Say cheese."
An indignant gasp leaves your mouth. "If you so much as—
"Soap, no. Don't do that." Gaz says from beside him, plucking the phone out of his hands. He tsks him with a click of his tongue. Stern disapproval in spades. The meaning is clear: it’s a big thumbs down from the Brit. He’s not endorsing this type of behavior. “Gone mad now, have you?” he asks in admonishment.
You release a sigh of relief. Finally, some moral support. He's reliable. Your faith in him is unshakable. Always could count on Gaz to get you out of—
"Have to shoot with a wide angle, see? Or else it'll look wonky," he corrects, flipping the phone horizontally before handing it back to Soap.
"Aye, thanks mate.”
Gaz's smile isn't as excessive as Soap's but the smirk gracing his face tells you he's relishing in your misery all the same.
Fucking traitor.
"Knobheads—"
They’d risk their own hides to save you from certain death. You've seen it in Cairo, Valencia, and Seoul. Good men. Good hearts in the right place as well. However, they're also the type to embarrass you at every opportunity – public humiliation being somewhere on that roster as well. And for that, you want to strangle them.
"Rude,” Soap comments pointedly.
"Bite me, MacTavish."
"Just wake him up if it's bothering you," Gaz supplies unhelpfully.
"If you were in my shoes, would you do it?"
"'Course, not," he snorts. "I don’t have a death wish.”
“Well, I also prefer my head on my shoulders, thank you very much," you whisper furiously, nearly hissing at him.
And Soap is admiring his handiwork, when he coos, “Aw, the two o' you make quite the pair." He briefly twists the screen so that you can catch a glimpse of it, and even from this distance, you can confirm that he's captured the shot. Annoyingly well, to add insult to injury. Angle? Spot-on. Lighting? Brilliant. It's interesting, has character. Black and white photography. He's managed to make a stunning composition and your upper lip is curling up into a sneer of disgust at his artistic eye. How infuriating.
"I'll send this to the Cap. He’ll get a kick outta it."
"Sod off."
"He'll appreciate bein' included."
Gaz matches the energy with an equally gleeful smile, now delighted by the idea. “Hey, and the L.t. he looks—”
“—cute," Soap has the audacity to finish for him.
What.
There are many words that you’d use to describe Ghost.
Cutthroat, maybe. Imposing. Glacial. Taciturn. A stringent set of ideals that makes him the perfect soldier: disciplined, honed, fierce. Intimidating, if he's not fighting on your side – someone you'd much rather have on your team than against, unless you fancied death. He can be a stone-cold terror on occasion. The man’s been penned as a walking horror story by those in the military. Given his iron-hearted demeanor, you'd be hard-pressed to disagree with that statement; there's not much room to call his steel-encased resolve into question.
So, yeah. Above all else, he's certainly not cute.
Your eyes narrow at them. "Congratulations, the both of you have officially made the top of my shitlist."
Soap, indifferent to your crisis, asks, "Want a copy for your wallpaper?"
There's another heated remark waiting on the tip of your tongue, because there's no way in hell that you would and you're ready to tell him off, about to give him an earful.
But somebody else beats you to it.
“Wipe that picture, or I’ll wring your bloody necks.”
Ice surges through your veins. Goosebumps break out across your skin. Because that voice belongs to one person. Oh, Christ. Never in a million years would you want to be on the receiving end of it.
There's anxiety warping in your chest. You're scared stiff, paralyzed with fear in a way that implores you to remain stock-still. The coarse fabric of your trousers bunches underneath your palms as you try not to freak out. This isn't your fault. None of it is.
And here's the worst part: Ghost hasn't lifted his head from your shoulder yet.
But Soap's unfazed. He blinks a couple of times, seems like he's weighing his options – as if there's something else he could choose besides following his lieutenant's command – yeah, right. He wises up, settling for a simple answer in the end. "Alright, Ghost." His smile makes a reappearance, sweet and well-meaning. Troublemaker. "Any chance you'd like a copy before I do away with it?"
"What kind of fuckin' question is that, Johnny?" he grumbles. "Obviously."
𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄:
"I take it you don't think I'm cute then. Have I got that right?"
"I'm sorry... mind repeating that again, sir?"
"You didn't have anything to say about Soap's comment."
"I have a feeling that whatever I answer will get my arse handed to me, L.t."
He's smiling in response – like sunshine trapped behind clouds. Despite it being obscured by the mask, you can see his eyes crinkling at the corners, which makes the black charcoal that's lining them begin to crease a bit. "Permission to speak freely, Sergeant. You have the floor."
Your mouth parts in surprise. Well, then. Maybe you stand corrected. And so, you appraise him momentarily, giving it some serious thought. There's more to Ghost than you give him credit for. He's terse and rough around the edges, but respected for a reason. Admirable. Someone you think highly of and has deserved your approval. The mask undeniably provides an air of intrigue. “I suppose you can be,” you start off, gradually warming up to him being more approachable. “When you’re not terrorizing the new recruits, that is.”
#i got lazy again#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#cod fic#cod mw x reader#cod mw 2#cod modern warfare#call of duty fic#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare 2#cod x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley fluff
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Let's Talk About Un-ironicizing Art!
In light of a lot of the conversations i've seen surrounding Death Grips and recent events concerning them, I want to take the time to point out that this is a good time to start thinking about how we engage with art on the whole!
For a long time, the irony poisoned method of consumption went unchecked in all facets of internet culture. As an internet musician in current day, I have noticed a sharp disconnect between artists and enthusiasts/casual listeners when it comes to attitudes surrounding music specifically, though I've witnessed it permeate all forms of art in some way.
I see people who have grown scared to engage on deeper levels, intentionally severing any resonant connections or knowledge learned from a piece of media before it has the chance to take root. In short, dare to be vulnerable! Dare to enjoy something on the basis that you yourself resonate with it, and not for any other nebulous reasoning. When masses of people relegate art to a spectacle, not only do artists become more likely to be disenchanted with the passions that fuel their work, but the consumer base ultimately suffers as well. All art at that point becomes less an extension of ourselves, less a vehicle to explore our identities, and is rendered a meaningless hulking sludge, or worse, the opponent to an already shrinking and narrow worldview.
Be not afraid to be unabashedly in love with the work that inspires you. Be not afraid to have the things you love misunderstood by by some. When you engage with work new and old, make sure to do it for yourself. Making and consuming art is inherently selfish, but being selfish is not inherently misguided. Allow yourself to learn, grow, discover, and repeat that cycle until the day you die.
To speak more candidly about my own experience, throughout the course of my life, there has been art that I've held near and dear to my identity, and own journey of self discovery that I seldom find others who hold the same sentiments to. I've always found this exciting. Exciting to hold something close to my chest as something so personal, and even more exciting when I can ease up on that grip when I find someone who I can share that with. However, I've also been through the throws of how the internet tends to chew up and spit out art that generally isn't understood by the many. I've fallen victim myself to the hive mind mentality that circles some artists and the cult of non-identity around them. This off-color ouroboros of knowing all about an artist's work and simultaneously upholding this facade of vapid complacency. I've come to the conclusion that if being openly supportive and connected to an artist's work or a particular piece of work automatically renders a person uninteresting and unambiguous at the very least, then I will live happily as an uninteresting open book. At the worst times, we see this line of thinking contribute to Death Grips being mocked and belittled en masse by people who are unwilling to engage with their art before they even get that far. It's heartbreaking, to me at least to see people put so much effort, emotion, and passion into transforming culture for the better to be rewarded with a crowd that's plugging their ears.
I realize I run the risk of sounding pretentious, self indulgent, or even patronizing to an extent; I apologize because that isn't my intention, I'm hoping to see gears shift at least on a micro level surrounding attitudes towards art appreciation. Remember to dare to be in love holistically with the art you engage with! Speak of the things you love in a way that makes that clear to others, and consider your peers to do the same! You and the people around you can only be better off for it.
#long post#really long post#music#death grips#the internet is full of bright and beautiful art so why not help yourself
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f!reader reacts to Zhongli (Morax)! "apoptosis" during Rite of Descension | angst + 🔞 NSFW
So... I've always wondered how Zhongli's close friends (let's pretend he has close friends) would react to his death during the Rite of Descension...
╔══════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*════════╗
Summary: Zhongli and you are a couple, and you know he's Rex Lapis. How would you react if your beloved dragon boyfriend dies in front of your eyes during the Rite of Descension? Or worse yet, how would you react if you found out that he is actually alive?
Tw: Angst (a lot), smut, 🔞, MDNI, p i v, nipple sucking, words of hate during sex (i hate you), mentionsof death.
🎨 by: Nid417
2k words.
╚════════*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*═════════╝
The soft caress of Zhongli's fingers on your forehead woke you up in the morning, bringing you back to the earthly realm and wrenching you from the comfortable sleep you had taken as a reward for your performance the night before. Like every night, Zhongli had abused you in bed, using you until he left his empty balls in your belly.
The light streaming through the window, the rays of sunshine heralding a new day, brighten your face as you realize that Zhongli has gotten out of bed. You watch him get dressed, the shirt covering his arms, golden marks on his dark skin, the marks of your nails on his back, crimson traces open to the passage of your passion.
"Today is going to be a long day," your ardent lover says as he adjusts his tie, "I'm sorry to have to wake you, it's never my intention to cause you any discomfort, but I'm afraid on this occasion it was absolutely necessary."
"The Rite of Descension is today, I had forgotten," you mention, leaning back on your elbows and rubbing your eyes, the locks of hair falling over the valley of your breasts, the sheet covering you sliding down to your waist, giving Zhongli a magnificent view as he adjusts his pants.
"When it's all over, we should have dinner... and then maybe try our luck at starting a family," he says, though it's hard to make out his words because of the volume of his voice. Zhongli speaks with a tinge of nostalgia, a back and forth of dark feelings and a melancholy aura, he has been in this state for several weeks now.
"I guess there's no point in me asking you again what's wrong with you today," you say, embellishing the sentence with a subtle laugh, sometimes your dear Morax is very secretive about his feelings and manages to become hermetic and unshakable as a rock, today is one of those days.
"I promise you that once the Rite culminates, all your questions will be answered," he says, sitting next to you, caressing the curve of your back and tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. One of Zhongli's favorite images is your face when you wake up...especially the morning after a good fuck. There's something about your puffy eyes that drives him crazy, or the scarlet color on your skin from his teeth the night before that makes him lose his mind, whatever it is, he finds you to be the most charming creature he's ever met in his millennia of existence.
"I only ask you," Zhongli says, continuing the conversation, keeping the cryptic tone he had a few moments ago, "I only ask you not to be afraid, no matter what you see, do not be afraid. I will come back to you no matter what happens”
"You always do," you say as you turn around, your face lit up with a smile and your breasts in full view as you reach out a hand that manages to caress his cheek, "that's our contract, darling, you always come back to me."
Zhongli fiercely fights the desire to fuck you at this moment, these words and this image you have given him.... He takes a deep breath before getting up from the bed, ignoring his instincts. There will be time to indulge your carnal desires.
You know the Rite of Descent in detail, you have witnessed it and heard it performed firsthand. This time there is nothing out of the usual, perhaps a new face or two, but nothing out of the ordinary. You find yourself looking forward to what will happen next, and perhaps during the night you will comment to Zhongli how strange it is to see him in his draconic form, and how sweet you find his empathic act of introducing himself to the....
The rumble of the lifeless body of the Lord of Liyue falling echoes through the place. The offerings table is a mess, and the ensuing uproar even more so. There is talk of murder, the Millelith rushes in pursuit of the suspects, and as the rest of the crowd disperses, you lie in place, frozen, stunned by what you have witnessed. You bring your hands to your chest in a reflex to stop the heartbeat that seems to pierce your skin, the sound of the Millelith's footsteps confused with the thumping rhythm of your heart, your lip trembling and your hands sweating, your trembling fingers clutching the fabric of your clothes, trying to bring you back to reality as you watch the body of your beloved Morax lying lifeless before your eyes.
"Tell Wangsheng Funeral Parlor what happened," Keqing orders you... or is it Ningguang's voice? " Y/n! There's no time to waste, go!"
Much to your chagrin, you find yourself running to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, your eyes on the verge of bitter tears and deep weeping, but you cannot afford to do so, not when you cannot explain your reaction to others. You walk down the stairs, wondering: Did Zhongli's recent attitude mean that he suspected that someone wanted to kill him, and if so, why didn't he trust you? The questions cloud your mind, you stumble over some people while debating with yourself, Zhongli knew it, in short, that's why he had such a mysterious attitude lately, he knew he would abandon you? No, you're cursing yourself, you can't think about him like that, especially now that he's... You can't even think of the word, Morax, Rex Lapis, your beloved Zhongli, is an immortal being who has traveled miles of life, he is a powerful being, the strongest of the gods... or he was... ....
You resign yourself to the facts, to the image of the dragon lying on the rubble, his chest motionless, his eyes lifeless... you had not even been able to say goodbye to him that morning. With regret gnawing at your heart, you burst into Wangsheng's funeral parlor and called out to Hu Tao.
"Rex Lapis," you say with a lump in your throat, as she grabs your arms and asks you to calm down, "Rex Lapis is..." you pause over your words as the figure of your lover emerges from one of the offices.
"Y/n" Hu Tao agitates you, but you are absorbed in the image coming towards you, the way Zhongli hurries to give you a drink.
"He's dead," you manage to finish the sentence without taking your eyes off Zhongli. Hu Tao is shocked by this and laments over such an unfortunate event, delving into theories that could have led to something like this happening.
"There is no reason to jump to conclusions at a time like this," Zhongli suggests, "Ninnguang must need help.
It is Hu Tao who leaves the place at his subordinate's suggestion, leaving him in charge of your welfare, your poor condition being too obvious to the average eye. It is just the two of you in the room, the sound of commotion outside is beyond reproach, but at this moment, you are oblivious to what is going on outside.
Zhongli holds out his coat to you, draping it over your shoulders and adjusting the collar over your chest, you holding the drink he offered you a few moments ago. You analyze him closely, your eyes scanning him in detail, taking in every inch of his image.
"Y/n," he whispers as he caresses your shoulders, his hands coddling your arms, looking at you like an infant about to cry.
"Zhongli," saying his name feels like breathing out your last breath of life. You bring your hesitant hand to his face, a reflection of your desire to check if what you are observing is real. You press his skin against your palm, and he leans into the familiar touch of your caress.
"My beautiful y/n, I beg your forgiveness" he muses as he moves the cup away from your hands, to take your small limbs between his, kissing your knuckles gingerly.
The gesture causes you to burst into tears, to throw yourself into his arms and release the sea of bitterness and pain that had built up in your chest. Zhongli pulls you close to him, wrapping you in an embrace that he hopes will never break, that he hopes will prove how sorry he is for the hurt he has caused you. You ask him for explanations between sobs, you reproach him for not being clear with you, for letting you believe he was dead, you beat his chest in agony and resentment, and he allows you to do so, if it were up to him, you could actually kill him at that very moment, he deserves no less, not when he has made you shed tears for him so bitterly.
"You should have told me" you whimper, and your legs start to shake. The burning in your chest grows and you feel like you will faint at any moment. Zhongli senses it, senses every change in your organism, so he hurries to ask you to return home.
The road passes in silence, Zhongli has put his arm around your shoulder, and along the way he has showered you with pleas to redeem himself, but you ignore him, you don't even look at him, and that hurts him deeply.
You cross the door and go into the room to lie down on the bed, finally you can no longer use your legs, you have never felt so weak, so useless... You let out the rest of your cry on the pillows, leaning on your hands, your chest heaving for air, the shock hasn't completely left you...
Zhongli approaches you and puts a hand on your back, but you clearly warn him not to come near you, not to touch you, and maybe you are being too hard on him, but it is what you think he deserves.
"Go away," you order sharply, "you're supposed to be dead... you..." you speak nonsense, it's the pain of shock that overwhelms you.
"What are you saying?" Zhongli exclaims in anguish, searching for your face, though you hide it well for him. He struggles with you, trying to bring you to your senses, "I'm here, my love, it's me... I'm alive," he says, taking your hands and pressing them to his chest, where his desperate heart beats in desperation. You look at him pitifully, your eyes drenched with tears, your lip trembling.
"This is the heart of a living man," he says, "and this is the warmth of a living man's skin," he says, bringing your hands to his neck and chest, unbuttoning his shirt in a desperate act, and as the shock of his desperation strikes your complexion, you seem to snap out of your trance.
"Zhongli..." you finally whisper.
"Here I am, beautiful, I came back for you..." he muses, pressing his forehead against yours.
"You always..." you falter, "you always come back to me," your breath mingles with his, as hot as yours. You rush to his lips, so eager to taste his breath of life, the divinity escaping his mouth like groans as you bite his lip, pressing it harder against your mouth.
"This is our contract," Zhongli says between kisses, a trickle of saliva between the two of you as he removes his shirt and your clothes.
He fucks you with anger, with desire and a burning he didn't know he was holding back. And you scream, your moans high and boisterous, not caring what is happening outside or how sacrilegious it is that you are fucking while everyone outside is suffering the death of Rex Lapis... the same Rex Lapis who is pounding on your cervix with fervor and enormous force, the same one who is massaging your clitoris while sucking on one of your nipples.
"I hate you," you spit angrily, drowning out your moans as you cling to his arms.
"It's what I deserve," he says, just as vulgar as you, sonorous and quite vocal, resting one of your legs on his shoulders, "hate me all you want, y/n, but then scream my name when you cum and when you give birth to our children."
"You bastard," you moan as your fingernails leave scarlet marks on his sculpted shoulders, "don't stop.... Zhongli, don't stop," the way he pounds you is delicious and your guts know it as they twist in a hot knot as his cock makes its way into your pussy.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry," he repeats, not stopping his assault, settling on top of you to look at the bulge rising in your belly where his cock is abusing you. He puts one of his hands on yours, the other massaging your thigh and the flesh on his shoulder, looking at you with a devotion that you do not recognize, as if you were a treasure, a goddess....
His hips crash mercilessly against yours, and you, as spiteful as you are horny, can't help but make the most vulgar sounds you can. You feel Zhongli's balls slapping against your skin, the frantic movement in and out of your pussy, the way something inside you seems to snap from the force of his penetration. He has you wide open for him, fully exposed, and he gives himself to you like the devotee he is when he fucks you, seeking only your pleasure.
"Zhongli..." you moan as one of your fingers gently caresses the line that divides his scarred abdomen, your digit running down the valley of his rock hard muscles....
"Let me take care of you, darling," he says, taking your hand and planting a kiss on the back of it, leaning down to capture your lips with his mouth. His tongue penetrates the roof of your mouth and you feel your throat receive the visit of such a welcome guest.
Zhongli turns you over, your body snug against the sheets, your face deep in the mattress, and he on top of you. He continues to stir your loins as he lets his chest fall on your back, his face sinking into your shoulder, and you feel that this way, so close to him, he has better access to you. His cock twists in your favorite spot, the one that makes you let out a yelp and reach out a hand for support, grasping the silk between your fingers. Zhongli intertwines his hand with yours, and there, trapped beneath his body, at the mercy of his relentless assault, he whispers a "I love you" with deep regret.
"Zhongli," you moan, completely trapped between the bed and how well he is fucking you, your hands trapped in his, "I love you...damn it...I love you," you cry out as you convulse beneath him, your orgasm erupting as he bathes your velvety walls with his white seed.
You turn your face to breathe. Zhongli doesn't let go or leave you. You stay like this for a moment, enjoying the heat the other gives off. Zhongli kisses your shoulder blade and you feel the remains of his cum leave you as he pulls his cock out of your abused hole. The empty feeling makes you moan. He doesn't let go of you at any point, clinging to you as he lies down and sets you beside him, wrapping you in his arms, securing you in an embrace as he leaves deep kisses on the back of your neck and shoulder. Your chest heaves for air, the ecstasy you feel is unlike anything you have experienced before, no previous encounter has ever been like this.
"I didn't mean it," you say, your voice hoarse, your throat scratchy from shouting, "I don't hate you...I couldn't," you turn to him, meeting amber eyes that look at you with calm and deep regret.
"Do you forgive me?" he asks in a sweet, syrupy, insistent tone.
"My dear Morax," you whisper, taking refuge in his chest, "I forgave you the moment I felt your aching heart beat with concern for me."
These words are enough for Zhongli to ease the weight he was carrying so that he can rest his chin on your head and breathe in the scent of your hair, mixed with the smell of sex in the room.
He strokes your back, running his fingers over your small human form, downplaying the commotion outside, focusing only on you and your well-being....
#zhongli x reader#zhongli smut#zhongli scenarios#genshin zhongli#genshin smut#genshin impact#genshin#zhongli#zhongli genshin impact#zhongli fluff#genshin impact smut#genshin x reader#genshin imagines
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𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐄
𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : kyojuro sure likes to stare, doesn't he?
:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : sfw, gn!reader, pre-established friendship, background obamitsu meddling.
:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 : 1.4k+
Kyojuro, bless his heart, is so hopelessly attracted to you in ways he’s never experienced.
Everything about you draws him in, from your striking beauty to your quick wit, how despite your snark you always treated others with compassion. You were fast friends, not that Kyojuro was particularly difficult to get along with. You’d even argue that such a person as him was impossible to dislike, at least without feeling guilty about it.
He was blunt, genuine, and brimming with so much enthusiasm it tended to unsettle some. But never you. You would look upon him with quiet acceptance, hanging onto his every word. You didn’t seem to mind his complete disregard for eye contact or his erratic conversational skills.
You just get him, he muses. And he’s never felt a kinship like that with anyone.
Kyojuro has always felt like he was moving faster than everyone else, both in mind and body. The man couldn’t sit still or shut up to save his life, or so the other Hashira would say – endearingly of course. No matter the sentiments his comrades held for him, none of them seemed to keep up quite as well as you did. Which is why he presumed you worked so well together.
He could blabber on about anything and have you following along just fine. Though after a few roundabout conversations ranging from swordplay to street food, he musters the confidence to ask if he talked too much for your taste.
You only quirk a brow and snort, “Pffft, of course not! I like listening to you talk.” and you see something shift in his gaze, the softest shade of pink tinting his round cheeks.
It’s around there when the staring starts.
It’s a subtle change at first, catching his wide-eyed gaze from across the training field. Feeling his eyes upon you as you shared meals together. Stumbling over your words when you realize for the first time that he’s actually looking you in the eye as you talk.
It’s a new and exhilarating feeling to be able to admire those honey-colored eyes fully fixated on you for a change. Too often you found yourself staring back. And the way he brightens when your eyes meet sends your fickle heart into pesky palpitations every time. You swore his pupils bled further into his golden-red irises every time he spotted you.
The idea of his eyes dilating at the mere sight of you endears you even more fiercely to him. As if such a thing was possible. You’re already attached at the hip, not to mention the dozens of joint missions you’ve taken.
His exuberance could be trying when your objective was to blend in, but his swordsmanship more than made up for it. He was incredibly good at taking the edge off when tensions were high, he was an emotional pillar of support, and you were honored to have his focus.
The beloved Flame Hashira was enthusiastic about many things, but you most of all it seemed. You’ve been told by several other Hashira that you were one of his favorite topics of conversation. The image of him gushing about you to other people is as embarrassing as it is flattering.
“Y/n is so easygoing, I cherish their company!”
“Did you know Y/n makes the best rice cakes?”
“Y/n is such a fierce swordsman, I am honored to fight at their side!”
“Y/n this, Y/n that. You’re all he talks about you know,” Iguro points a finger in your face one morning.
“So I’ve heard,” you hum, hand perched lazily on the hilt of your sword, though you’re unsure of precisely why he’s telling you this. Your eyes stray to Kaburamaru, who only flicks his tongue at you, leisurely slithering down Iguro’s shoulder from his coiled position around his neck.
You’ve always known the Serpent Hashira to be abrasive and confrontational, but the sudden interest in your relationship with Rengoku was uncharacteristic. Especially since he usually disregarded your presence unless he had something to criticize. You didn’t dislike him, but you wouldn’t say that you were close.
Did he know something you didn’t?
You try not to make assumptions based on the worries of others, but Kyojuro’s childhood friend approaching you out of the blue to tell you something like that? It makes you wonder just what sort of things Kyojuro has been saying about you to warrant such an interrogation.
Was Iguro trying to discern your intentions as a way of looking out for him? Perhaps your feelings for Kyojuro weren’t as internalized as you’d thought.
“Is this your way of saying you’ll snap me like a twig if I break his heart?” you ask, lips curling up into a sly grin, head cocked to one side.
Heterochromatic eyes blink in surprise, and then narrow.
“You catch on quick.”
“You can relax, Iguro. I won’t hurt him.”
“Few can be entirely sure of that. For your sake, I hope that’s the truth,” he waves you off, turning away in disinterest upon hearing your response.
The encounter leaves you with mixed feelings. Would Iguro have asked if he didn’t already know how Rengoku felt in return? It's an unsettling and gnawing feeling. Not the idea that your feelings could be returned, just the uncertainty of it all. If Iguro noticed it, why didn’t you?
“Iguro approached me earlier,” you say as you sit across from the flame-haired swordsman, currently having lunch at one of your favorite spots to eat.
“Did he now?” Kyojuro acknowledges, eyes still closed as he stuffs another bite of octopus into his mouth. His round cheeks puff out cutely, the image of a chipmunk with its cheeks full of nuts forming in your mind.
“He told me you talk about me a lot.”
“All good things of course!” he assures, seemingly unbothered by the news.
“That’s the thing,” you chuckle nervously, poking at your food with your chopsticks. Kyojuro’s eyes fluttered open, now focused on your fidgeting hands. “He seemed concerned that you had feelings for me beyond friendship.”
It’s silent for a moment, and you stuff food into your mouth to escape it, eyes focused on your plate. You can feel his gaze, but you’re too intimidated to meet it.
“Would that be a bad thing?” for once, Kyojuro sounds nervous.
It's a subtle strain in his tone that others who didn’t know him as well might have missed. But years of close proximity have made you perceptive to the almost invisible chinks in his armor. Kyojuro was heavily guarded for being such a friendly man, always eager to lend a hand or ear when others were in distress, but quick to clam up when it came to his own problems.
Your heartbeat skips, excited and terrified. Was that a confession? Were you reading too far into things? Was the question rhetorical? All these questions well up inside until you feel like you’ll burst.
You can’t help but let out an exasperated sigh.
“You’re so hard to read,” you lamented, nearly jumping out of your skin when his fingers brush yours from across the table.
“Perhaps If you looked at me, you’d have an easier time,” he laughs, and your heart already feels lighter at the joyous sound.
The anxiety in your tummy melts into giddiness, and you demurely tilt your head up to meet his eyes. They’re crinkled fondly, pupils large, and fully fixated on yours. His golden-red eyes consume yours, inspiring your fingers to twitch against his. You can only compare such an expression to a smitten puppy.
You suddenly feel silly for entertaining any doubts that the Flame Hashira was any less enamored than you were.
“To be completely honest, I have been interested in you romantically for quite some time now, and at a loss of how to contain such strong feelings,” he confessed, and suddenly a lot of things started making sense.
He stared at you so much because he liked you. He talked about you so much because he liked you. He let you tag along to missions he could have easily handled on his own because he liked you. Iguro approached you because he noticed.
“Then no, I don’t think that would be a bad thing at all.” You turn your hand with your palm facing upward to accept his own into your grasp.
Kyojuro’s smile widens, and he nearly shakes the entire restaurant with the volume of his declaration of, “WONDERFUL!”
“See, Obanai? I told you they just needed a little push!” Mitsuri gushes from across the restaurant, just her green eyes and the top of her head peeking over the menu.
#‧₊🦇˚⊹ ashi writes#kyojuro rengoku x reader#rengoku kyojuro x reader#kyoujurou rengoku x reader#rengoku kyoujurou x reader#rengoku x reader#kyojuro x reader#kny x reader#demon slayer x reader
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Hello lovely,
I saw your post that your requests are open, so I will give it a try =)
Imagine Bucky and reader are best friends but they have a huge argument and now they don't talk to each other for days. She's feeling really bad, missing him. He is her most important person and now without interacting with him for days, she's feeling lost and lonely and heartbroken. Maybe she has not a super power and is only a normal human, helping the Avengers with IT or something. Due to the argument with her best friend and not talking to Bucky (Bucky ignores her completely) she begins to feel it not only mental but also physically. She can't eat probably and at the end falls deathly sick.... With a fluffy happy ending and a worried and protective Bucky
Please. That would be nice.
Take care honey
oh my goodness— my heart 😭❤️ the angst is gonna hurt, but i’m such a sucker for it. i had so much fun writing this one, thank you for requesting and i hope you like it🥰
Love Hurts
♡ Pairing: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
♡ Summary: You and Bucky get into a heated argument, things are said and done and now he won’t speak to you. You don’t think you can handle him ignoring your existence.
♡ Warnings: language, mentions of bucky’s trauma, heavy angst, malnourishment, depression, anxiety/panic attacks, minor injuries, hospitalization, suicidal ideation, self hate, literally hurt just writing this
main masterlist
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | MATURE CONTENT 18+
Your nails bit into your palm, denting the flesh— threatening to pierce the delicate skin. It was all to hold yourself back, distract you from the words that wanted to burst out.
It was becoming a sickening routine, Bucky was reckless and had yet another near death experience on his recent mission. The anxiety and the nerves stopping your body from functioning— the dreaded wait for his jet to arrive back at the compound. You shouldn’t have to be used of receiving the call that he had yet again made a reckless move— but you were starting to discover a pattern.
It did nothing to ease the panic that swirled in your chest every time he left for missions. You’d sob, throwing up everything you had eaten that day— unable to stomach anything with the idea that Bucky was on a mission. You never found your anxiety to be so severe— but when Bucky was even mentioned about going on a mission… it spiked.
That’s where you found yourself in his room, watching him pace the space— avoiding your frustrated stare. You weren’t angry at him per say— you were angry that he didn’t value his life.
“Seriously (Y/n)— you get so worked up over nothing. I’m here and alive— isn’t that enough?” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration.
You pressed your nails tighter to your palm, yet the pain couldn’t stop your thundering thoughts.
“You’re here and alive now, until you do some stupid shit like this again and are dead!” You hissed, trying to keep your voice low but you didn’t know how much longer you could control yourself.
He glared at you, squinting his eyes in anger and then rolling his eyes.
“Oh for fucks sake— can you stop fucking babying me? I can handle myself!” He raised his voice, his metal arm whirring.
“I’m not babying you— I’m just scared you’re gonna get yourself killed. Do you care about your life at all?” You asked him aggressively, your voice raising just a tad.
He took a long pause, staring at you with his face void of emotion— only annoyance.
“Not really.” He admitted.
You were taken back, although you had these conversations with him a time or twenty. It was an ongoing process to get him to slowly love himself— his past as The Winter Soldier torturing his soul. He was so convinced he wasn’t deserving of anything, not even a roof over his head. It was a struggle to help him, but you weren’t going to give up on him.
“You realize if anything ever happened to you I—” Your voice broke, needing a breath, “Buck I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”
You thought you saw his eyes flash with guilt, but before you could linger on the look for too long— his face was hardening again.
“That doesn’t sound like my problem.” He mumbled out, making your eyes widen.
You were extremely taken back from those words, your chest aching painfully— him not knowing what effect those words had on you.
“Are you fucking serious?” You asked him, your face morphing into a hurt expression, mixed with anger. “Can you just do your job without trying to kill yourself?”
His face grew red with rage and he was stomping up towards you— his face inches from yours.
“I am doing my job— very well in fact. Unlike you who just fucking sits here doing nothing!” He defended himself, his breath hitting your face in warm pants.
“Doing nothing? Buck— why are you like this?” You puffed your chest, not backing down from his towering form.
But your words seemed to have hit a nerve, as he shrunk back slightly, narrowing his gaze at you.
“Like what?”
You furrowed your brows, slowing your racing heart from the shouting— you weren’t sure you had said anything bad. Did you?
“What?” You squeaked out, nervous now.
“You said, why am I like this… like what?” He pushed, stepping closer to you now, his face still red with anger but you could see the hurt in his eyes.
You swallowed and wondered how to convince him you didn’t mean anything bad by what you said. But you were almost positive it would be an impossible task to get Bucky to listen.
“Buck, I didn’t mean anythin—”
“What— you think I’m not capable of doing my job? You think I’m still the monster hydra made me?” He spat, his chest rising and falling quicker.
“No, no Buck listen—”
That was definitely not what you meant, you could tell he was spiraling and you were still confused as to why. You would never make him think that.
“After 70 fucking years I finally have a job that I like— that I enjoy doing— I fucking help people! I’m finally doing some good and now you’re telling me I’m not capable of doing it?” He boomed, his chest puffing into yours and your stumbled back slightly. “You think I’m only capable of being a monster? Huh? Is that what you fucking think?”
You were growing scared now, the look in his eyes wild with something and you didn’t like how close he was to you— you knew he’d never hurt you but your fear overwhelmed your senses.
“Friday— call Steve and Sam in here now!” You shouted into the room, and Bucky’s eyes squinted painfully— his metal arm whirring again.
Bucky only saw one thing— you didn’t reassure him that he was thinking irrationally. You didn’t correct him that he wasn’t the monster. Instead you called for help, that you were clearly scared— because you thought he was a monster.
He was at a loss for words and just stared at you, almost through you— as his breathing was only getting heavier at the sight of your fearful eyes.
Not even minutes later, Steve and Sam were busting through the door, taking in the scene and separated you and Bucky.
“Hey— what’s going on?” Steve asked in between the two of you. “Buck, what’s wrong man?”
You couldn’t seem to find the words and just stood speechless as well— the fight startling you. This was one of the worst ones, and it was also one that still left you confused. You cursed yourself for not being careful enough with your words— but it was almost impossible to get through to him when he was on the brink of having an episode.
Sam walked closer to you, his facing morphing into concern as he took in your shocked expression.
“(Y/n)? You okay? Did he hurt you?” Sam whispered, keeping his words only between you two.
You slowly shook your head but still didn’t respond verbally.
“Okay, okay that’s good. You wanna go get a drink from downstairs? Why don’t we take a breather okay?” Sam suggested softly, big brother mode kicking in at the sight of your frazzled state.
Without another word, you left the room with Sam— missing the devastated look from Bucky.
Steve waited until the door shut, then his attention was back on Bucky.
“Buck, you gotta talk to me man— what happened?” He asked softly, watching his friend slowly relax, but it wasn’t from being in a relaxing mood— his body and mind were just exhausted from the argument.
“I fucked everything up. That’s what happened.” He mumbled, turning away from Steve to sit on the edge of his bed.
Steve followed behind but stood in front of him, shaking his head— ready to argue.
“You didn’t mess anything up, arguments happen. You guys will work it out. I know how much you mean to each other.” Steve pointed out, watching Bucky’s face unchanging.
“You didn’t see the way she looked at me— she’s scared of me I—” He shuttered, his breath shaky as he remembered your look, “I fucking scared her.”
Steve’s chest ached, the state of his friend breaking his heart. He knew Bucky meant no harm, and he almost for a fact knew that you knew that too. But Bucky for sure didn’t believe that himself.
“I didn’t see what you saw, but I can guarantee you that she’s not afraid of you. This is (Y/n) we are talking about. You are her world Buck.” Steve tried to convince him.
Bucky shook his head, running his flesh hand through his hair.
“I think I just need to stay away from her for awhile.” Bucky came up with instead.
Steve immediately started shaking his head, knowing that was the last thing he needed.
“Bucky I—”
“Please Steve… I just need some space.” Bucky pleaded, his body sagging in exhaustion.
Steve couldn’t find it in himself to argue with him anymore about this. Maybe he did need some time to himself, to cool down and gather his thoughts. Also Steve wasn’t going to force him to anything ever. After the years his pal went through— he would never make him do anything. He had enough things decided for him, and Steve wasn’t about to stoop to hydra’s level.
Meanwhile down in the kitchen, Sam was getting you a glass of water— standing across from your seated form at the island. He slid the cup across, sending a worried glance at you.
“(Y/n)?” Sam snapped his fingers getting your attention.
You were shaken from your state of staring, but even snapped out of the trance— the anxieties still swirled within you.
“Yeah sorry… I’m here.” You whispered, grabbing the glass and taking a tiny sip.
Sam gave you a quizzical expression, watching you start to slip back into a mindless stare— so he spoke up.
“You wanna tell me what happened?” He asked, genuinely curious what had went down.
He knew— hell everyone knew you and Bucky were extremely close. Best of friends, always there for one another— dancing on the line of strictly friends to lovers. Truthfully, Sam found it completely obnoxious and just wanted you two together already.
“I don’t really know… I think I said the wrong thing— I didn’t mean to make him upset.” You confessed, keeping your eyes on the countertop, not risking a glance to Sam.
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up— mistakes happen. I’m sure he’ll forgive you.” Sam told you.
You shook your head, gripping the cup tighter.
“God I hope so… I don’t know what I’d do without him.” You whispered pathetically, tears welling in your eyes.
Sam reached out to rub your arm comfortingly, trying to relax you so you didn’t start crying. He hated to see you cry— made his heart hurt.
“It’s been a long day for everyone, why don’t you go head upstairs and get some sleep. I’m sure things will have blown over by tomorrow.” He suggested and you finally met his gaze, smiling weakly and nodding.
Without saying goodbye, you stood up and headed to your room. Taking Sam’s words and playing them on repeat in your head.
Tomorrow is another day, tomorrow would be better.
God had you hoped that was the case— it only was the beginning on the torment.
You had slept in longer than usual, but overall felt refreshed. The first thing that came to mind when fully waking up was Bucky. Immediately you headed downstairs to find him— needing to talk with him— apologize.
Making it down to the kitchen, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in at the sight of him sitting at the island— sipping at his coffee. You furrowed your brows, thinking he'd be done with his coffee by now, since you had slept in. Your chest ached with guilt with the possibility that he didn't sleep well.
You took a deep breath before making yourself known, although you were sure be could sense you in the room— considering he was a super soldier.
"Morning Buck." You announced, walking around the island so you could face him.
He kept his gaze down at his coffee, finding the cup more interesting than you.
Okay, that’s fair. You thought, you most probably deserved that reaction.
“You sleep okay?” You asked again, picking at the skin on your nails nervously.
Again— he didn’t even lift his head. In fact, he wasn’t even acknowledging you. You waited several minutes for a response, the silence becoming thick with tension and you couldn’t stand it.
“Bucky?” You tried, and this time he lifted his head.
Your heart twinged in your chest at his bloodshot eyes, clear evidence that he hadn’t gotten good sleep. You hated yourself for causing him the stress, especially knowing he was just starting to actually get hours of sleep. It was huge progress compared to his nights either screaming awake or just staring at the walls. But now you had to go and ruin all that progress. You felt sick to your stomach— disgusted with yourself.
“I’m really sorry about last night… I didn’t like how ugly it got and I’m sorry if I said something to upset you— you know I’d never intentionally hurt you.” You told him, picking more aggressively at your nails, causing to nail beds to bleed.
You swallowed nervously when he didn’t answer right away, instead staring at you with… what was that? Disgust? You didn’t know, but you hated the look altogether.
“Bucky, please say something.” You pleaded.
Bucky lowered his gaze to his coffee again, taking a minute before he stood up and looked your way.
“I just need some space.” He told you quietly.
You were relived to have him finally talk to you, but to hear him suggest space between you two— you could almost feel the knife digging into your chest. You tried to keep a neutral expression but otherwise felt your bottom lip quiver.
Without giving you time to respond, Bucky was walking out of the room— leaving you standing there speechless, lungs begging for air. You didn’t want your mind to go immediately to that thought, but you couldn’t ignore it either— he hated you.
“Hey babe, I need you to help me out in the lab tod—” Tony came busting into the room, but immediately shut up once he saw your broken expression. “Honey, what’s wrong? You alright?”
You nodded your head, lying to him and yourself and started waving him off with the fakest smile.
“Yeah— yeah I’m good. Just need to uh— need to get some things done.” You told him, your eyes darting all around the room, the familiar feeling of panic seeping into your being.
Tony gave you a ‘really?’ look and stepped closer to you.
“(Y/n) I’m not blind— I can see you’re upset. Talk to m—”
“Seriously Tony— I’m fine! Just leave it alone!” You told him a little too aggressively.
His face was taken back and you felt guilty immediately, cursing yourself for hurting everyone.
Why are you such a fucking issue? Your mind screamed at you.
You didn’t waste another second and sped walked out of the room, needing to calm yourself down before you ran into any one else. You were spiraling and you needed to just relax— take a deep breath. Maybe you just needed one more day and things would be back to normal.
Yeah… just one more day.
You had hoped that was the case as well… but as always— things only got worse.
Bucky refused to talk to you or even look at you. He’d given you the cold shoulder for almost two weeks now. He would get up and leave the second you entered the room. He couldn’t stand you it seemed.
You couldn’t keep hiding your hurt. At first, you had done a good job at hiding how you were really feeling. Saving the sobbing and attacks for when you were alone in your room. As the days lingered on, you found yourself weak and drained— you didn’t have enough energy to put up a charade anymore.
The whole team were sending you worried looks, and attempted to talk with you. But the second they’d try— you’d bolt. The subject was too sensitive, too raw. You didn’t want to talk to anyone but Bucky— and he hated you.
You had missed so many meals, forgetting to eat with your mental struggles throughout the days. You had been getting no more than two hours of sleep. You were so stressed, so stuck in your own mind that you couldn’t function. Even when you had managed to remember to eat, your stomach would knot up to the point that you were throwing everything up. You were gaunt, basically a real life zombie. You needed help— but you needed Bucky more.
You were laying in bed staring unknowingly into space, it had been hard to focus with no food or sleep in your system— so you had only managed to lay here. Even that was exhausting, no matter how much you laid around— your mind wouldn’t stop the assault. Your anxiety had never been this bad, you were a prisoner to it.
Knocking at your door had you jumping, your heart racing— and for a moment you forgot where you were.
You’re in the compound… yeah that’s right.
You slowed your breathing and swung your legs sluggishly over the edge of the bed to answer it. You weren’t prepared for the sudden dizzy spell, your vision spotting with black and white specks. You tried to blink it off, but suddenly you were toppling to the ground.
You fell to the floor with a loud thump, luckily landing on your front, your hands somehow catching most of your fall— you could already feel the throbbing in your palms.
You didn’t hear the persistent knocking, or the door open. You didn’t even hear the voice speaking from the doorway. It was when a hand landed on your shoulder that you were gasping, forgetting your surroundings once again.
Your eyes met Steve’s and you swore your heart was about to beat out of your chest.
“(Y/n) are you alright?” He asked you, hovering his hands over you— not sure what you had hurt.
You furrowed your brows, looking him over.
“Steve what are… what are you doing here?” You asked genuinely confused.
You watched Steve’s eyes widen and he swallowed nervously— his expression growing more concerned.
“(Y/n) it’s okay… I’ve got you.” Steve hushed, and he was pulling you into his chest, hugging you protectively.
You were still confused but then you tasted one of your stray tears, and you immediately came to your senses. You were crying in Steve’s arms… but why? You were having gaps of time missing from you, this wasn’t the first time this had happened— you just didn’t seem to care.
“Steve… my head hurts.” You slurred into his chest, sagging against him.
You were grateful that he was here, you desperately needed someone around. You were just hoping that someone would’ve been Bucky.
“Okay, let’s get you to Helen. She’s gonna take care of you, okay?” Steve asked you, and you could only give a weak nod.
He knew there was no way you were walking there, so he hoisted you up into his arms, and cradled your head as he started to the med bay.
You just stared blankly at his chest, not really caring if Steve were to throw you off the roof of the building. You just didn’t care.
Steve had gotten you down to her, and she checked you out. Alerting Steve that you were extremely malnourished, dehydrated— an insomniac. She kept listing off all the things Steve was afraid to hear. The whole time he was sure you didn’t hear a thing, although you were in the room— you were just checked out.
Helen eventually left, and Steve took his opportunity to speak with you. He pulled up a chair next to the hospital bed and grabbed your hand.
“(Y/n), what’s going on? You can talk to me— you can’t keep doing this to yourself. Please… just talk to me.” Steve whispered, pleading with you that you would stop torturing yourself.
“He hates me.” You mumbled.
Steve’s eyes widened and he frowned, knowing what you meant. He knew he let this go on for too long.
“(Y/n) he doesn’t hate you. He just needed time to himself, so he co—”
“I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, I don’t even know what I said to hurt him but I—” You rushed out, the heart monitor beeping frantically, “I’m a horrible person, I didn’t mean to— I didn’t mean to!”
You wheezed out, clutching your chest as you couldn’t catch your breath. Your cheeks glistened with a steady stream of tears, your wheezing only growing by the second.
“Okay, okay (Y/n)— I need you to slow your breathing. You’re okay, he doesn’t hate you. Just take deep breaths okay— even if you can’t just try. I’m here.” He tried to coach you, but this wasn’t his thing.
Now he was starting to get mad at his friend, Bucky shouldn’t of let this go on for this long.
You followed his chest rising and falling, staring at him as he tried to calm you down. Your breaths were heavy and painful sounding. Steve was about to say something but stopped himself when he saw your eyes look behind him.
He turned and saw Bucky standing in the doorway— his face paled. Truthfully, he looked like he was going to be sick.
“(Y/n)?” He whispered, his heart breaking at your state.
He had ran into Helen in the kitchen and was informed of your condition— he didn’t believe it and had to see for himself. He was shocked to find you like this.
Your tears only edged on from his appearance and you shook your head in shame.
“I’m sorry Bucky! Whatever I did, I’m sorry!” You sobbed and Bucky ran to the bed, kneeling down and taking your hands into his.
“Doll it’s okay, you’re okay. I’m here— I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you… I’m sorry.” He rushed out, shushing your cries, watching you slow your breathing at his words. “There we go, just keep breathing with me. I’m here, you’re okay.”
He kept repeating himself, making sure you knew he wasn’t going anywhere.
Steve knew you were in good hands and slowly snuck out of the room— knowing you two needed to talk.
Bucky tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers trail down your cheek to your jaw. You couldn’t help the way your face leaned into his touch, it felt like it had been forever since the last one.
Your breathing had slowed down, and now you just stared up at him— eyes glossy with more tears. You felt so many emotions. You felt relived, but also angry and hurt. Above all— you needed to know what you did to upset him. The guilt still ate away at your heart, and even just the memory of the argument had your chest aching.
“What did I do?” You whispered, making his eyes shoot up to yours, concern painting his face.
“You didn’t do anything.” He told you, and you furrowed your brows.
You were still anxious— he hadn’t answered your question. Even more so— if you didn’t do anything then why did he ignore you?
“Then why?”
“Why what (Y/n)?” He dared to ask, and you scoffed— ripping your hands out of his.
The anger was approaching.
“Why did you shut me out?” You wondered, and he only let his eyes cast down to the bed— making you angrier. “You ignored me for two weeks! Two fucking weeks you just acted as if I didn’t exist! Do you know how much that fucking hurts?”
You were breathing heavy again, but this time it wasn’t from panic— it was the full force of all your anger bursting out.
He lifted his eyes to you, and you saw how broken he looked. How your state had affected him.
“I could never do that to you Buck— I would never do that to you! You’re my everything! I don’t trust anyone as much as I trust you!” You raised your voice, while he stayed silent. “If I didn’t do anything then why would you— why—”
You broke out into a sob, covering your face with your hands. You felt good getting all the built up anger out— but now you felt extremely guilty. The pitiful face of Bucky staring at you, causing your heart to hurt all over again. It didn’t matter what happened, you always ended up hurting others.
“(Y/n) I’m so sorry I— god I fucked up. I didn’t ever mean to hurt you, please know that. You’re my other half, and no one has ever been there for me like you have.” He spoke through a tight throat, swelling with emotion.
You uncovered your face and just stared at him a little longer, still incredibly hurt from his actions— but you knew you couldn’t stay mad at him. You so badly wanted to forgive and forget— and just wrap him in your arms like you both needed.
“It’s hard to explain what’s wrong with me to someone when I don’t even understand what’s wrong with me— I just know I’m fucked up. I’m broken beyond repair.” His voice broke, his own eyes welling with tears.
You didn’t have it in you to keep up an angry facade, and so you reached out and took his hand in yours. His face almost immediately lit up, his breathing slowing at your touch.
“Try me.” You whispered, watching Bucky take a deep breath before he spoke again.
“The night of our fight…” He started, and you swallowed in having to remember that night. “I had never seen you look at me like that.”
You stayed silent, afraid to open your mouth and have a sob escape. You could feel it bubbling up— the memory playing back through your mind.
“You looked at me like you were scared. You looked at me like I was a monster.” He confessed and it all made sense to you now.
It wasn’t about what you said, it was your reaction that disturbed him to no ends. Even if you couldn’t control your reaction in the moment— you still felt guilty for causing him pain of remembering the hydra days.
“Oh Buck…” You whimpered, trying to pull him close— but he pulled away before he could reach your embrace.
“No— you don’t get to be nice to me after what I did. I promised I would never hurt you and I did— you’re in here because of me! I don’t deserve your forgiveness!” He raised his voice, and you weren’t scared of him— just concerned.
“I wasn’t scared of you Bucky, you just caught me off guard. Things were heated— I’m not afraid of you and I most definitely don’t think you’re a monster.” You tried to convince him.
“I really hope you’re not lying because if you were afraid of me… god I don’t know what I’d do. If you never wanted to see me again— that’s fine. Whatever you want, but I can’t live knowing you’re afraid of me.” He whimpered out.
“I wouldn’t lie to you.”
He nodded his head, knowing damn well you’d never lie. That was one thing he loved about you— you were so honest. Keeping it real with him, even if he didn’t wanna hear it. He could count on you for the truth.
“I still don’t deserve your forgiveness.” He argued.
“Well too bad, I’m forgiving you anyway.” You finally told him and he felt his chest expand.
Like he could finally breath.
“Why?” He wondered.
You knew it was the line you two had been dancing on forever— but you knew if there was ever a time to say it. It was now.
“Because I love you.” You admitted quietly.
His eyes widened just slightly, and his breath stuttered. He had always had a feeling what you two had was more than friends, he just never spoke up about it. Of course he loves you too— god he loves you so much. That’s why the thought of you being scared of him was enough to pull him away. He couldn’t bear being around you if you were frightened by him. He couldn’t live with himself. More importantly he now discovered, he really couldn’t live without you.
“I love you so much.” He confessed back as your tears leaked down your cheeks.
You pulled his arm, and he let you pull him to the bed— close enough where you could cup both his cheeks.
“Don’t ever do that to me again, please. I need you Bucky— life is not livable without you.” You cried, kissing his forehead to which he leaned into your lips.
“Never again— I promise.”
This time, he wouldn’t break it.
to be added to a taglist
TAGLIST: @engie115 @kmc1989 @ghostofwinter @silverfire13 @goldylions @potatothots @billy-reads @hanihoney88 @skittle479 @hereticdance @mentalidrainedfangirl @natashassandwich @marvelogic @soul-system @alinasmcu @almosttoopizza @lilbabygirll @sebastiansstanswhore @yujyujj @jasminocano
#bucky barnes#sebastian stan#the winter soldier#marvel cinematic universe#reader insert#buckybarnes#marvel imagines#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes angst#protective bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x female reader#hurt/comfort fic#james buchanan barnes#beefy bucky barnes#theleggymeggy fics#fluffy#heavy angst#I write so much sadness I swear im okay#thank you for requesting!
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Energetically Attractive Placements in Astrology P.1🌒
☽ ASC-/Sun/Pluto/Jupiter. Something these all have in common is this “untouchable energy” to them that just simply makes people interested in them. For ASC-/Sun/Jupiter they SHINE in a crowd, they have a bright, unique and creative aura to them that makes them stand out and naturally likable. While Asc-Pluto individuals have a more mysterious and intriguing aura to them, they have this touch of power to them and many people respect them.
☽ Jupiter in Pisces/Cancer/Libra. All three of these placements have a generous and lovable energy to them, people can be attracted to how giving they can be and how pure their souls truly are.
☽ Pluto/Mars 11H, is a common placement I see with people who easily attract attention. Many people are simply just interested in who they are, they have a strong and assertive energy to them, very respectable individuals.
☽ Jupiter 9H, naturally lucky individuals, there’s not shocked that they can attract attention easily, these individuals are smart also, people may be attracted to their wit and knowledge on several topics.
☽ Sun-Moon/Mercury positive aspects. Unless afflicted, these individuals have a very tranquil impression on others, so much so that these people can seem like a breath of fresh air, their souls and intentions are pure.
☽ In addition to the previous note, especially Sun Conjunct Mercury; these individuals are interesting to be around, they communicate pretty well and tend to be naturally likable people with their honesty and humor.
☽ Sagittarius Moons. While these people while have a reputation of being hot headed, on the other hand, people are often attracted to these individuals by their blunt and humorous nature. Sag moons are purely authentic, whatever you see is simply how they are, they are honest and they know how to make people laugh, they have an energetic energy that is almost IMPOSSIBLE to forget about.
☽ Sun/Neptune/Jupiter/Uranus Dominant. What these have in common is their unique energy, they are creative and innovative, similar to sag moons they’re hard to forget about, there’s often one trait or physical feature they have that people can remember them by. This is also relevant for people with these plants in the 1H/5H.
☽ Mercury/Moon in 11H. These individuals are just fun to be around, for Mercury 11H individuals they just know what to say, they’re great in conversation and people are attracted by that, for Moon 11H, they are just fun to be around, they just seem to have connections with almost everyone and anyone.
☽ Cancer Degrees (4°, 16°, 28°) on Personal Placements + Asc/MC. People can be attracted to the pureness that lies deep within their hearts and intentions, people feel comfortable getting along with them, some even feel the need to defend/“protect” them.
☽ And Last but certainly not least, I commonly see Leo/Venusian(Taurus and Libra)/Aquarius/Sagittarius ASC that have a lot of attention to them, these people have a natural ability to just attract people to them. Libra and Taurus have a calm and genuine energy to them, while Leo/Sag/Aquarius ASCs have a very unique way of expressing themselves, they stand out and its surely not impossible to not notice.
HM:
☽ Placements in Aquarius and Leo Degrees (11°, 23°, 5°, 17°, 29°)
☽ Pisces ASC
☽ Asc Trine Moon
☽ Sun-Venus Asp.
- Neptune. ☽
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Neptune’s Angels🐚🪽
beauty, love, planet energy astrology observation✨
Neptune in the 1st House, Neptune in 2nd
Neptune Ascendant Aspects
Neptune Sun Aspects, Neptune Ruled/ Dominant
Pisces Sun, Venus, Moon, Mars
Pisces Ascendant, Pisces Rising
12th House Placements, esp. Pluto, Neptune, Sun
🐚“Ethereal, but beheld. She was absolutely magical. A changeling. The moon danced in her wet eyes, beckoned by her pure heart. Then like the tide.. she was gone.”
please don’t copy any of my original work.
🧿BEWARE OF ENVY🧿
esp. 12th housers, 1st housers, and Pisces Asc & Venus
You never have to do too much. Your siren’s tune announces your presence before you enter the room. Gifted with the siren’s stare and the mermaid’s heart. In social settings, you will find many people push their projections upon you, envious of your ethereal energy.
In example,
POV: You are engaged in a conversation about a niche topic you possess extensive knowledge of (with your philosopher’s soul lol). The person you’re speaking to is mesmerized, completely entranced by your eye contact.
Usually a particularly miserable, (insecure, mean girl type) bystander who witnesses this energy exchange, picks up on this. They see the genuine glimmer in your eyes and can easily deem it flirtation, flattery, and even worse…arrogance to others. This can create negative clouds of gossip, fueled by your natural mystery.
This lack of clear energy, the child-like purity you possess is a key theme of Neptune. This Neptunian energy makes for a juicy meal for the beasts called Envy and Jealousy.
I believe it’s worthy to note the distinct difference between the two.
Jealousy is anger towards the thought of losing something to another, whether that’s a competition, person, or admiration.
Envy, of course is wanting to possess exactly what the other person has. Envy calls upon an evil fouler beast… the coveting.
Coveting is perhaps one of the most dangerous forms of envy and Neptune seems the perfect victim to a covetous green eyed beast.
Why is this?
Neptune’s energy to its core can be compared to the archetype of Persephone, in my opinion. The paramour to Persephone is Hades.
Hades, God of the Underworld rules Pluto.
Per the mythology, he falls deeply and insatiably in love with the young Persephone. She is pure, loving, and adored. He is the broken protector and she is the healer.
He is scorpio and She is pisces!
Side note: Any couples with significant pisces and scorpio placements… I know you feel this. The PASSION!
However, as it pertains to envy... Pluto rules over these obsessive and destructive energies. Others possessing bad aspected Pluto or Mars… even Mercury *cough* Gemini’s… can be really put off by the grace of an ANGEL.
The obsessive digging of a Plutonian, aggressive courting of a Martian, or excessive gossiping of a Mercurial is inevitable as they try to define you or figure you out.
But, you are an enigma! A changeling, always shifting shape…
At first, they will adore you. This adoration will lead to coveting as they try to possess what you have or even worse, YOU. They can become fiendishly obsessed.
This healer dynamic can also get a bit toxic within a relationship if badly aspected or if the broken person does not wish to grow.
protect yourselves, queens!
NEPTUNE’S 🔵 ✨GIFTS
While the energy can come with baggage, ultimately your energy manifests several beautiful gifts. The first and most obvious gift is YOUR BEAUTY!!
You’re the type of person people just stare at… simply in awe of such a uniquely beautiful and out of this world face.
Neptune in the 1st house is a well-known models placement. A gorgeous innocent with a siren-like gaze. Everyone wants to possess you! Some even want to BE YOU.
Immediately what comes to mind is Ms. Marilyn Monroe (Pluto 12th house). So many have idolized and mimicked her energy because she was sexually attractive, but she was most likely even more intoxicating in her private spaces where she felt comfortable.
Nobody oozes sex appeal like the siren, Rihanna. (Pisces Sun) Countless celebrities have mentioned how entranced they were by simply her presence. This is not a beauty that has to be symmetrical like Venus, but ever-changing. You’re everybody’s cup of tea. You have OPTIONS! Some women really just got it like that.
🐚 However.. as I mentioned, people adore your innocent energy and some will expect you to be vapid. They will expect you to be a push-over with a pretty face.
On the contrary, Neptune (and Big Daddy Jupiter for those with pisces placements) blesses you with a vast knowledge, which surprises those who underestimated you… enticing them even more!
🐚 But, My dear Angels… Do you truly KNOW how special you are?
Do you know that your very being consists of magic and Angelic healing energy? The 12th house and Piscean influences are not of this earth, but of the metaphysical. This means that your energy is literally unexplainable to the 3D. It is literally magic connected to spirit!
This energy gifts you with a mermaid’s heart… bigger than your body. The gravitational pull of your heart’s energy is so powerful. Within you is an infinite amount of love for literally all beings. (No joke, it’s giving animals are attracted to you and babies love you vibes. Disney princess vibes! PURR.) Esp, Pisces Venus
However, this includes those who hurt you. (Because your heart is just so pure, it empathically understands why they did what they did and you actually sympathize with your attacker!)
STOP THIS IMMEDIATELY. It is totally stopping your evolution and glow up.
🧿Please protect your angelic energy.
Please take the time to fully isolate and recharge that energy. That is a luxury you MUST afford yourself to maintain or achieve optimum health and vitality. Neptune is the higher octave of Venus, a planet that thrives in self indulgence through the means of the human senses. Pamper yourself. 💅🏾
Think of yourself as a rare silk. You wouldn’t let just anyone trample all over your exquisite fabrics with dirty shoes, hands, or their outside clothing.
The same goes for you, your aura, and your PRESENCE! 🪽
The mere presence of your energy is like fresh Filet Mignon to those starving of true self love.
🐚 An undeserving or broken soul will seek you out like a wayward sailor in a dark storm… hearing your siren song.
You MUST be handled delicately.
Thank you for reading. Wishing you blessings! 🪽✨
PLUTO AVAILABLE ♏️✨
MERCURY AVAILABLE ♍️♓️✨
MARS AVAILABLE ♈️✨
Other planets coming soon.
@thesirenisles
#divine feminine#neptune in the 1st house#neptune#astrology#girlblogging#pisces#12th house#pluto#pisces venus#pisces rising#pisces moon#mercury in aries#sirencore#siren#mermaid#tarot reading#neptune aspects#model aesthetic#water signs#scorpio#cancer#moon#dark feminine energy#black girls of tumblr#coquette#coachella#poseidon#greek mythology#hades and persephone#persephone
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Shine
Azriel x Fem!Reader
Summary - Petty games don't work well with Azriel, but you never learn, do you?
Warnings - angstttt, pettiness, feral Azriel, possessiveness, lil bit of fluff, smut, oral m!receiving, p in v, dirty talk, praise kink, shadow play, unhinged Az, basically just smut tbh
Tension and anger echoed about the study, it was so stifling that even Rhys had no option but to dart his gaze between Azriel and yourself as you both stood opposite one another, chest to chest, shouting at one another due to your sheer luck and dangerous stupidity.
It wasn't like you couldn't handle yourself, but you knew you had only returned from your latest mission in tact by the skin of your teeth and sweat on your brow. Azriel had known the severity of the situation when you had muted the bond, and that made him morph into a feral beast.
Cassian had received the initial onslaught of his anger, his cheek throbbing and bruising as he sat lax in one of the armchairs with a rag full of ice pressed to his skin.
Muting the bond was something he had forbidden you to do, no matter what, and you had gone and done it.
"I couldn't risk your tugging distracting me whilst we tried to get out of there," you shot, shouting up at his towering frame that cast a shadow over you.
Even his shadows had retreated behind him, occasionally begging their master to stop shouting at you, that their pretty love was alive and well, they begged him to hold her and love her, but he was too angry to even think of it.
How could you be so foolish? Azriel had told you not to make all of the mistakes that you had, and you hadn't listened to him, not for a mere moment. It was in that moment that he loathed your cockiness and wit.
Clenching his fists, Azriel's nostrils flared, you stood toe to toe with him, an act that not many lived to talk of afterward, new-born fire burned in your eyes, "You're so reckless, y/n. As long as I have a say in it, you won't see another mission until you learn your lesson."
Stoic. Final.
Rhys sucked in a breath at your face, a usually soft thing that had contorted into blind, psychotic serenity, even the High Lord shrank into his seat whilst Azriel slowly realised the gravity of his words, "Am I bad dog, Az? Are you going to rub my nose in my piss and tell me how awful I am?"
Darkness tugged at him, forcing him back a step, but your eyes didn't falter, didn't move from his face for a singular moment. It was too late to take it back, the underlying tone that told he that he was attempting to tell you what to do, so he stood firm. "You both could have died today because of your stupidity. Rhys would be mindless if he allowed you to step foot on another mission."
There was a cut in your brow that was leaking blood, arrows tipped with faebane were shot at you during your escape, one of which had grazed your brow. Dirt brushed against your cheeks, twigs were entwined in your hair, possibly from the fall that caused your scuffed knees; you had walked into the house limping, smirking to Cassian at the near death experience, and that made his anger roar even more.
The gaze of a thousand blades cut into Rhys and he winced, lifting his eyes from the desk to you. He couldn't deny how reckless your actions had been, you could have died, you could have left Azriel without a mate, both of them without you and Cassian.
Rhys' lips curled into a tight snarl, partly due to the anger of being pulled into one of your fights which left the city trembling, "This conversation can wait," he rose from the desk, hands flat and steady on the tabletop, "We leave for Autumn in two hours," he looked to you, "You should go and make yourself look more presentable. But as for you going on another mission, I do believe that you should take a step back for awhile, until you can understand how your actions impact the lives of your comrades."
You went to bark a reply, your shoulders rising and falling in rapid succession. Rhys simply held his hand up and you growled at the action, the predator inside of you not liking being silenced one bit before you turned on your heels and flung the door open so hard that one of the hinges ripped from the wall, not before glaring at Azriel like death was imminent on him however.
"Thank you for that, Az," Rhys sighed and fell back into his seat, making a mental note to get the door fixed and reinforced.
You were by far the most fierce member of the Inner Circle, war was your middle name, you relished in your brutality, and it had astounded them all time and time again just how vicious you could be. One winter solstice, many many years ago, Amren went as far as to gift you with a pair of ornate talons like they were pieces of jewellery, the bloodthirsty animal inside of you grinned at them, and you hadn't gone into any battle without them since.
Azriel was the only person who wasn't scared of you, so it made sense that you had discovered that you were mate. It had taken you a long while to accept the bond, you knew that you were a difficult thing to handle, but he seemed up to the challenge, and he slowly broke down every defence you had thrown up around your heart.
Throwing his head back and running his hand over his face, Azriel cocked his head toward Cassian who sat there wearing a shit-eating grin that he wished to wipe from the face of the earth, "You'll be paying for that later."
It wasn't exactly a lie. Each time Azriel stepped one toe over the line you had drawn, that being attempting to control you or hinder your movements, you would react in the pettiest of ways. Sometimes you would wear the skimpiest thing in your closet and walk about the River House in it to tease him, swimming in the dark eyes of Cassian or sultry words of Mor, and you'd continue to wear it until he would forcefully drag you into your shared rooms and fall to his knees before you, begging for a taste. Other times, you'd go as far as to paint the town red with Nesta and Mor, and he would find you grinding against another male in Rita's, drunk off your ass, and the male would freeze and simper away once he realised whose eyes had stalked him from across the room.
Every attempt to rile up your mate had worked, you had always pulled an apology from his lips the moment he was done fucking you senseless. Azriel hated your little games, he made it clear often, but he always played them.
From the fury in your eyes, Azriel knew that you'd be taking your pettiness to a whole new level that evening.
Using the excuse of your cut up brow, you had managed to buy yourself an extra hour of alone time whilst the rest of your family departed for the Autumn Court.
It was Eris' birthday, and the new High Lord had invited you all as a notion to strengthen the newfound alliance between the courts, and of course, Rhys had agreed. Pity for Azriel that Eris had always had a wandering eye for you, and you were certainly going to use that fact to your advantage.
Gold clung to you like a second skin, a tight and sheer strapless corset pulled against your chest, adorned in a design of vines and dainty flowers, the skirt was long and trailed behind your steps and it was just sultry enough that it exposed both of your legs, right up to the thigh, and one wrong move would expose your cunt for all to see, the only saving grace being the golden fabric that just brushed below it.
Nesta had chuckled low at the look in your eye as she had styled your hair into loose curls. No accessories were needed, the dress was a statement on its own. You had been saving it for yours and Azriel's anniversary which was three days away, but such vicious actions had led you to remove the custom made garment from its casing and wear it for the High Lord of Autumn instead.
Adjusting the straps of you golden heels, you floated through the house like a summer wind and winnowed right onto the front lawn of the Forest House, a feline smirk on your lips as you felt the bond sing at your presence. Music and laughter poured from the open windows and doors, fire lanterns illuminated the path, and the guards at the doors didn't even ask for your name as they opened them with their mouths slightly agape.
Eris was sat upon the dais, looking rather bored, and then his eyes found you and he sat upright in his seat. The act made the room turn to you, to the dress glowing in the candlelight, to your exposed skin poking from the sheer material that stuck to you.
Murmurs from the crowd were dim against the music playing from the band in the corner, and you felt all eyes on you, even the ones that were seething. Once you had sauntered to the foot of the dais, you flickered your gaze up through your long lashes and curtseyed, low, low enough for Eris to catch a glimpse at the delicious cleavage at the heart of the bodice.
From the corner of your eye you saw Cassian's mouth move, to which Azriel's head snapped in his direction in warning before it moved back to you. A smirk befell your lips and you rose, "I apologise for the lateness, My Lord," your words were seductive and you skin glittered in the light due to the shimmering oil you had placed on your hands and arms, on the calves that Azriel loved to trail kisses upward.
"Perfection takes time," Eris drawled, his whisky amber eyes fixated on you, you were by far the most radiant thing he had ever seen, and the most vicious, it made his senses sing, "I appreciate the time you spent readying yourself for me."
With a smirk, you walked from the foot of the dais, in the opposite direction of your family, and toward a table adorned with various flutes of sparkling wine, plucking one from the surface and drinking the sweet liquid as the room resumed its previous activities.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
Feigning innocence, you peered up at him, doing your best not to grin at the redness of his face. Azriel looked oh so handsome, dressed in all black, the top two buttons of his silk shirt undone to give you a glimpse of his tattoos, "I'm drinking my sparkling wine."
"Y/N." Azriel's voice was low and demanding, it made your hairs stand on end and a sinful shudder crawl down your spine.
"I don't know what you're talking about. Sorry, Azzie," you suck out your bottom lip and turned around, facing the crowd who were stealing the odd glance in your direction.
Azriel moved behind you, his breath hot on the curve where your neck and shoulder connected, "I've never seen this dress," his fingers brushed against the chain-like material.
The look on his face was not one you wanted to miss when the words fell from your mouth, so you craned your head, turning your beautiful face over your shoulder, "I had it made for our anniversary," his eyes darkened, "Thought why it should be wasted in Velaris when it would be so appreciated here."
Light glittered over your face, making the shimmering powder on your cheekbones glow.
Azriel's nostrils flared and his fingers gripped your hip, no doubt leaving bruises swelling on your skin, "Our anniversary."
An innocent hum vibrated against your lips, "Yes. Seventy-four years this week. We were going to make it special. Shame."
Then you turned away from him as a familiar presence entered your consciousness. Eris stood before you, eyes low and darkened with desire, a sight that Azriel lowly growled at, "May I?" Eris offered his hand as the floor reset, and you didn't hesitate to take it, ripping yourself from Azriel's grasp and allowing Eris to lead you onto the dancefloor.
No one else dared to join you.
Surely, where fire met fury, people would burn.
Eris' hand stayed locked in yours whilst his other rested low on your hip, barely grazing the bare skin at your thigh, his lips brushed the shell of your ear as the music started, "Don't let anyone take away your shine."
The High Lord whisked you into a waltz, his steps perfectly matching and harmonising with your own, looking deep into your eyes the whole time. You had to admit it, Eris was beautiful, not as beautiful as Azriel, but still. For a moment, your forgot about the world as you waltzed in his arms, his fire colliding with the flame burning within you, and the entire room held a breath and could only watch the magnificence of it whilst wishing it was them.
The music slowed as did your steps, and one more twirl later, Eris bowed to you, your hand still in his, and kissed the marriage band on your ring finger, smirking against it slowly before rising and taking another step toward you, "I like your games, y/n," your heart began to race, "Do let me know if you'd like your fantasies fulfilled," his finger twirled your hair around it and he hummed in approval.
Then, Eris moved, taking your arm and leading you back to where he had taken you from, which was away from Azriel as he stood between Feyre and Rhys on the other side of the room, eyes wide and shadows dancing.
It should have been menacing, the look on his face, the crooked, unhinged grin and dark eyes that peered at you. All it did was make your cunt burn with need.
Perhaps you had pushed him too far.
For another hour, Azriel stalked you from the opposite side of the room, he was the predator toying with its prey, and he fucking knew it. The constant intensity of his gaze filled you with excitement and dread, until it had gotten too much altogether.
The halls of the Forest House held a chill, and your heels against the floor echoed about the vast halls and tunnels. You weren't sure how far you had walked, up a few staircases and down so many hallways that you were sure you had gotten lost.
That intensity still lingered.
Exhaling shakily, you stopped your walking and you spoke, "I know you're here," you turned on your heels as another pair of steps prowled down the candlelit hallway.
There he was, hair messy from raking his hands through it too much, eyes zoning in on you, his shadows poking up from his shoulders at the feeling of having you so close.
"As observant as ever," he purred, taking another step, and then another, "Did you really think you could wear that, a beautiful gift for our anniversary, to remember all the time that we have spent loving and fucking one another, for another male. Our enemy. And think you'd get away with it?" Another step, and your breath became caught in your throat, another step, and he was on you, his breath fanning over your face.
Backing into the wall, your heart lurched at the lethal speckles in his eyes, "Perhaps you should stop trying to take away my shine," you tried to speak as calmly as possible, but he saw right through it, and Azriel grinned.
Raising his hands, he caged you between them, then one of them moved to graze against your cheek, then the line of your collarbone, then down your arm and hip, until they lingered where your dress and thigh met, "Shine all you want, my mate, I won't stop you," his fingers dipped under the hem of the skirt, caressing your thigh, "But what I will not tolerate, is you wearing a thing meant for solely my eyes alone before others, and bathe in the sinful thoughts of them."
He was beyond pissed. It was hard to see anything but the Spymaster of the Night Court in those eyes.
Gulping hard, you had no choice but to shrink a little, like a bunny caught in the jaws of a wolf, from the lethal promise in his eyes, "I wanted, for once, to do what I wanted to do."
Azriel tilted his head and leaned down, a feathers touch away from your lips, "And what do you want now?" His voice was rough and low, a hush above a whisper, his fingers continued to rub soft circles into the skin beneath that golden hem.
"I want..." you looked into his eyes, into the eyes that engulfed every piece of you, "I want..." your back slid down the wall an inch or so just to put some space between you.
"I need your words, Angel," he cooed as his other hand moved from the wall to run down the side of your face and neck.
"I want you," the submissive tone in your voice made him melt, he grasped your wrist and pulled you down the hall, wind sifting through your hair at the speed of his steps, until he opened a door and pushed you inside.
The room was humming with the last of a simmering fire, the last licks of flame flickering across the room. Hands roamed your waist before he murmured, "I think I'd like you to keep it on."
Spice and cinnamon faintly clung to the air, mulled wide and ash. Then it dawned you, you were in Eris' room, you were about to be used in Eris' own bed. A sickly tempting realisation.
Azriel rounded your figure and smirked, he was enjoying toying with you, if you wanted to play, then he'd play.
The Shadowsinger moved across the room, sitting on a chair you knew Eris would have spent his nights reading in, and sat down, legs spread and slouched into the cushion. Tapping his foot against the wood in waiting, you stood there, you weren't sure for what, but your chest panted.
"Well? Come to me, Angel," he purred, smirking at you, you moved to take a single step but he tutted, "On your knees."
Fire spread through your entire body and you sank to the ground, dancing your palms along the wood as he watched on with that predatory glare, "You look so good crawling for me," his praise made your core pulse, and you knew that you were already glistening for him.
Kneeling before him, in the middle of his open legs, you felt the world shift, and you knew he was about to devour you. Azriel motioned to the best of his trousers and commanded, "Take them off," your fingers reached for the belt, unbuckling the clasp before untethering the buttons to his satin briefs and pulling them down to see his cock already hard and throbbing for you, your fingers delicately curled around him and he groaned at your touch, "With your mouth, Angel."
Azriel shifted his position, unbuttoning his shirt to expose his chest, to make himself more accessible for you.
Taking him between your lips, you swirled your tongue around the head, flickering the tip of you tongue over him. Deeper he went, and you hallowed your cheeks as you bobbed your head, Azriel's head was thrown back, his hand curled in your hair as he guided your movements, "You're so perfect, aren't you? Look at how pretty you look," a soft whine moved through you and you rubbed your thighs together, begging to relieve some of that pressure building between your legs.
Azriel continued to guide your head, meeting every movement to the lazy thrusts of his lips, both of his hands were in your hair now, he moaned, a breathless sonnet that made you moan, making your lips vibrate around his cock.
Within a moment, Azriel had removed himself from your mouth and scooped you up from the floor, not breaking his stare as your thighs pressed around his waist and he moved to the bed, "Do you know whose room this is?" Azriel grinned against you neck, he moved back, his face hovering before your own as his fingers moved between your folds, you jolted at the contact, "It's Eris'."
So he did know.
Azriel pressed his lips to yours and you gasped, his finger entering you, and he took the opportunity to nip your bottom lip between his teeth, "He thinks he can touch you like that, think of you like this?"
He was going to fuck your scents into the foundations of the castle, so that Eris would never to able to escape it, escape the untouchable state of your mating bond.
His lips were on you again, and he shifted his position, resting between your legs as his fingers continued to draw soft moans from your lips. Azriel pulled away, taking his time in removing the satin shirt from his body, unlacing the cuffs and drawing the garment over his shoulders, his wings flexed behind him the entire time to make you remember who exactly your mate was.
Azriel positioned himself and pushed into you, capturing your lips on his to silence your soft groan whilst he stretched you, until he was fully hilted inside of you. Then he began moving, rolling his hips back and forth, mumbling against your lips, "You're mine. All mine."
The skin on your neck was clouded in marks from his mouth, sucking and biting every part of you he could see as he rocked into you, slow and deep, trying to stay in control.
Whimpering beneath him, you took his face in your hands and looked into his eyes; his hair fell over your face and you brushed it away, caressing his cheekbone with your thumb, "Let go."
It was all he needed.
Azriel pulled out of you, flipping you onto your front, and positioning you so that your back was arching in a perfect crescent moon, he wasted no time in pushing into you again, smirking against the walls that were already quivering around him.
This time, he wasn't gentle.
Your mate fucked you relentlessly, you were blubbering beneath him, feeling your walls spasm as he hit that perfect spot inside of you, moaning so loud that you were surprised no one had come in to investigate who exactly was getting fucked in the High Lords bedroom.
"Az, please, I'm going to-"
A familiar flutter passed over your clit, coiling around it and you clawed yourself right through Eris' feather pillows at the touch. The others flowed through your hair and down your sides, licking and caressing your skin.
Crying out, that white light blinded your senses as you came all over Azriel's cock that was slamming into you whilst his shadows took you to a whole other world entirely.
"That's my girl," his fingers trailed down the curve of you spine, furling in your hair and pulling you up so that your spine met his chest, burying his head into the nape of your neck, "Such a pretty dress, hm?"
Azriel didn't slow down, thrusting up into you, his fist curled in your hair and tugging on it to give him access to your neck and earlobes, "Mother above," you muttered through breaths, clutching onto the arm he had wrapped around your waist.
Smirking against your skin, Azriel coaxed another orgasm from your body, commanding his best shadows to stay focused on that bundle of nerves that craved attention, "Eris won't ever be able to escape this, us."
"Azriel," the possessive primal instinct had consumed him, the need to mark what was his, right in the heart of his enemies den, "Please."
"Tell me what you want, Angel."
"I want you. Please."
"How could I deny you when you're being so good?"
This time, Azriel fingers moved over your clit, sending electric white heat through your body, raw and euphoric, and he slammed into you, moving with unwavering pace until you quivered around him tighter than you ever had before and he felt himself slip.
His movements had you begging as he fucked himself deeper inside of you, through his high that had him moaning your name. Then his movements slowed to a stop, and you stayed sat on his still throbbing cock, "I hope that Eris enjoys your message."
Chuckling, he pressed his lips to your neck, allowing his hands to float down the bodice of the dress that had got you to where you were, nestled on your mates cock in the room of his enemy, "I'm sure he will," his fingers drifted to your stomach, halting there with a smile, "We may have done it."
Looking down, your hands moved to the same position, slithering beneath his, "Do you think so?"
Azriel hummed against your skin, "I do," It was no secret that you and Azriel had been trying for a child for years, you knew it wasn't ever going to be instant, but you had hoped for at least two perfect glimmers of your love for one another in the entire seventy-four years you had spent together.
"I hope so."
"Me too, Angel. Me too."
Smirking, you pulled away and turned to face your beautiful mate who was still kneeling atop the bedspread, "Are we going to talk about that little scene in the hallway, and on that chair?"
Azriel mirrored your smirk, "What can I say?" he moved to you, connecting his lips to yours, his other half, his everything, Azriel looked to your swollen full lips, to your hair, to your eyes that were glowing in the dying light, he shrugged, "It's the dress."
Author's Note
👀
#acotar imagine#acotar fanfiction#acotar#maasverse#fanfiction#imagine#azriel x reader#azriel x you#rhysand#cassian#eris imagine#eris vanserra#eris acotar#eris x reader#azriel fanfic#azriel#azriel shadowsinger#azriel spymaster#azriel acotar#azriel x y/n#azriel angst#azriel fluff#azriel fic#azriel smut#acotar azriel#acotar smut#acotar fanfic#acotar x reader
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お米 Okome - Inumaki Toge x Reader
Pairing: Inumaki Toge x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used)
Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff
Word Count: 4 532
Warnings: mentions of blood and injury
Summary: Inumaki hates that he can’t use his voice to express his feelings towards you
Masterlist
Inumaki Toge doesn’t usually struggle with his fate. If there’s a situation he doesn’t like, he prefers action over lament and puts his mind to work to find a way to change it. Sure, there are situations he can’t change, his cursed speech for example, then he works around those things, finds a way to deal with it somehow. He talks in onigiri ingredients, occasionally uses a notebook or his phone’s note app to communicate more difficult matters. Inumaki Toge doesn’t usually struggle with his fate.
Except now he does. His eyes fall on Yuuta and you, sitting on a bench underneath the Momiji, red leaves sparkling in the autumn sun. Even from the distance where Toge just stepped out of the building across the yard, he can tell how hard you’re laughing, can tell that Yuuta has the biggest grin on his face. He stops, several different thoughts shooting through his head all at once. He loves your laugh. He wants to make you laugh too. He can’t, because of his cursed speech. He envies Yuuta for being able to tell you joke and making you laugh like that. And suddenly he remembers this thing he read in a magazine, that said that girls like boys who can make them laugh, and his stomach sinks.
Toge already knows you like Yuuta. Its’s obvious. Do you like him because he can make you laugh? Toge stops in his steps where he was about to walk over to join the two of you, his heart suddenly thrumming almost painfully in his chest. Do you like Yuuta? He watches his black-haired friend, watches as he lifts his hand and leans a little closer to you. You stop laughing and lean in too. For a terrifying moment Toge thinks he’s about to witness you, the classmate he may or may not have had the biggest crush on since your first one-on-one training session, kiss his friend. But you don’t. Instead, you listen to something Yuuta says that Toge can’t make out over the distance and burst into another fit of laughter.
Suddenly Toge feels like crying. He could never make you laugh like that. Not by whispering a few words into the narrow space between you, not by letting words roll over his tongue. He can write them down, or pantomime them, or fool around to make you laugh, but he can never whisper them.
He wants to talk to you about normal things too, about the stupid weather, or how pretty you look with that new hoodie, or how clever your answers in class were, or how annoying Gojo and this new homework is. He doesn’t want to have to use his notebook for every slightly more complicated conversation, but he can’t be sure you would understand him if he didn’t. It doesn’t stop him from wishing he could use his voice to talk to you. Ever since he really, truly understood his cursed technique, he’s realized just how powerful and yet intimate voice is.
It’s something he’ll never be able to use to communicate his feelings.
Once, not long after Yuuta had joined the school, they, together with Panda, had talked about it. Or rather Yuuta and Panda had talked about his cursed technique, and he had listened. Panda had joked that if he ever wanted someone to kiss him, he could just use his cursed technique, which Yuuta had disagreed on, saying he’d need the other person’s permission to use his technique on them, otherwise it’d be harassment. Panda, who hadn’t thought about that, had quickly agreed, and the two had joked around a bit longer about the possibilities this offered. Toge thought about their words a lot. But there was something inside him, that wholly refused to use his technique for these purposes. It just wouldn’t feel right. Even if the other person agreed, or even asked him to do it, it would be like he’d take their will from them. He’d never do that for his own pleasure.
Toge gets pulled back into the moment by your voice calling for him. He blinks and looks up, finding you and Yuuta had turned to face him, waving him over. As much as he appreciates Yuuta, and as much as he likes you, he doesn’t feel like going over. He doesn’t want to hear the way your voice probably rises in pitch when talking to the special grade sorcerer, doesn’t want to watch Yuuta subtly touch you, doesn’t want to feel like he’s intruding on this moment between you, doesn’t want to burden himself with more heartbreak than he already signed up for.
He swallows thickly before he crosses his arm like an X in front of his chest.
“Okaka,” he denies, continuing his way as if he had planned on moving towards the dojo, instead of towards his friends.
He doesn’t dare to glance over to see your reaction. Are you disappointed? If you were, he’d feel guilty. If you weren’t, he’d be disappointed. If he’s being honest, he can understand that you like Yuuta. The guy is sensitive, and quiet, a good listener, great at giving advice. He’s funny and overall great company. And he’s crazy powerful. Otherwise he wouldn’t be a special grade sorcerer. And he saved your life when Toge himself was of absolutely no help whatsoever, instead almost throwing up from the taste of his own blood.
Toge is nothing in comparison to Yuuta. Sure, he has a strong technique. A strong technique he can use two to three times before his throat is bleeding. And he can be funny, or at least he’s good at making a fool of himself. And he can listen, but he never knows what to answer, worried that whichever advice he gives, it might not actually be helpful, or only make everything worse. So, if you like Yuuta, he gets it. If he were in your place, he’d also prefer Yuuta over himself. Not that you have to choose between the two of them, you could also be interested in neither of them. But the point stands: Yuuta is the better fit for you, and as much as Toge wants you to be happy, it breaks his heart.
-
“What was that,” asks Yuuta, tearing his eyes away from his retreating friend and looking at you instead.
You’re still watching Inumaki leave, his posture somewhat sunken in, hands buried in his pockets. He looks defeated and somehow you want to run after him, ask him what’s wrong. But that would be too pushy, too clingy, wouldn’t it? So instead, you swallow and turn back to Yuuta.
“I don’t know,” you sigh. “He’s been… weird lately.”
Yuuta nodded. “I know, right? And ever since that last mission…”
That last mission, on which Gojo sent the three of you. That last mission where Inumaki’s voice gave out before he could finish the command, which lead to the curse injuring you. That last mission where Yuuta had been the one who had finished the short fight in just a single blow. You knew better than to assume that Inumaki was jealous of Yuuta’s power. You knew he wasn’t. But still something seemed to have dimmed his formerly good relationship with Yuuta. And with you too. He avoided you, texted you less throughout the day, reduced his already limited vocabulary to the equivalents of agreement and disagreement. You feel like you’ve made a mistake somehow, said or done something that hurt him.
“Do you think he’d talk to me about it,” you wonder, your voice small, nothing left of the breathless laughter from a moment ago.
Yuuta chews on his lip as he considers your question, and you know he’s considering a few things he officially doesn’t even know about. For example that you like Inumaki, that you make an active effort to spend time with him, have conversations with him. You’re the one who understands him the best, understands his language the best, even without the notebook.
What you don’t know, is that Yuuta also knows the other side of the story. He knows that Inumaki uses his notebook with you the most, because he wants you to understand his mind. He knows that Inumaki spends a lot of time considering each and every conversation he’s had with you. Sometimes, it’s late at night, and Yuuta gets a text from Inumaki, telling him about a conversation he’s had with you and if he should have replied something else. It’s not hard to tell that Inumaki is absolutely enamoured with you, and you with him. At least it’s not hard to tell from Yuuta’s perspective. But the way Inumaki and you never seem to understand the affection the other is harbouring, Yuuta begins to think that it’s actually very hard to tell from either of your perspectives. Or you’re both just idiots. Which, honestly, as much as he likes the two of you, is more likely.
“I’m not sure,” Yuuta eventually answers your question. There’s a lot Inumaki is bottling up, a lot he doesn’t even tell Yuuta about, stuff Yuuta can only assume. “But I think he’d probably appreciate it if you asked. Maybe he won’t tell you what’s going on, but I think he’d be glad to know you care.” This is as much as he can do to be honest without giving his friend’s secret away to you. A secret, Yuuta doesn’t even know officially.
“Don’t you think he’d get annoyed? He looked pretty upset just now,” you ask. You’re torn between wanting to show Inumaki that you cared, and scared of getting sent away or even worse, him getting angry at you.
“I mean, if you’re worried about it, you can always give him an hour or two. But I don’t think he’d mind if it were you, checking up on him.”
You don’t question Yuuta’s phrasing. Everyone knows you and Inumaki understand each other on a different level, the speed at which you sometimes communicate in single words thrown back and forth leaving the others out of their wits and completely clueless what the conversation was about.
“I’ll give him five,” you decide, leaning your back against the wooden table and glancing up at the red leaves overhead. “If he gets mad at me, it’s on you.”
Yuuta laughs, knowing you’re not serious. You’re not the kind of person who blames others for the outcome of your actions.
“He’d never get mad at you.”
“He looked pretty mad at me for getting injured on that last mission,” you disagree with Yuuta.
“He wasn’t mad at you. He was mad at himself. He blamed your injury on himself, when he couldn’t stop that curse because his voice gave out.”
You winced at the memory of blood trickling down from the corner of Inumaki’s mouth. He had once told you that he sometimes got sick from the taste, and after the curse was taken care of by Yuuta, it had been easier to focus on Inumaki than your own state. You remembered how awful the bright red blood had looked against his unusually pale skin.
“It wasn’t his fault, and he knows that.”
“Rationally yes,” Yuuta agreed. “But he still blames himself.”
“I’m surprised he talked to you about that,” you admit, closing your eyes in the sun. Behind your eyelids the picture of Inumaki’s bloody and scared face haunts your memory. You open your eyes again. “He never mentioned anything like that to me.”
“He didn’t, but it’s obvious,” Yuuta said.
“Is it?”
He just hummed in agreement.
“What else is obvious?”
“A lot. But that’s not mine to talk about.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you and Inumaki really should talk about some stuff,” Yuuta answers, “Like for example that you like him.” He almost feels bad at the way you freeze up beside him.
“I don’t,” you deny, but there is no force in your voice.
“Just saying,” Yuuta shrugs. “A lot of stuff is obvious. Just not to you and him.”
There’s a moment of silence and you have a feeling Yuuta knows what you’re about to ask, your cheeks burning with shame, but you ask anyway.
“Does he like me too?”
Yuuta turns to you then, his big eyes studying you for a moment intensely. “You don’t have to ask me that. You have to ask him.”
You exhale with a sigh a glance at your wristwatch: “Fine… maybe not today, tho.”
Yuuta chuckles, knowing that that’s going to be your response for every day to come, but he doesn’t call you out for it. He doesn’t know if he’d have the courage to confess his feelings if he were in your position either.
“Welp, his five minutes are up. I’m gonna see if he’s okay,” you declare, and stand up from the bench you had been lounging on. “Just-” you glance down at your classmate. “Just don’t tell him about this conversation, will you?”
Yuuta nods. “I can keep a secret,” he smiles, and you’re satisfied, before you head into the same direction Inumaki ran off to a few minutes prior.
He wasn’t in the dojo where you expected him to be after he had wandered off there, so left a little helpless, you began searching for him. After checking all the usual places, you finally spied him sitting hunched over on a bench next to the koi pond in one of the small, traditional gardens squeezed between the buildings. He looked lost in thought, so you made an effort to not walk too quietly as not to startle him. But when you reached the bench and he still hadn’t turned to look up you, you furrowed your brows in confusion. Was he mad at you?
“Inumaki-san,” you asked quietly, sitting down next to him with a safe distance. He wasn’t wearing his full uniform, instead of the black jacket he had pulled a warm, green vest over the white shirt sleeved shirt with the high collar that hid his curse marks. “Toge?”
At the use of his given name, he finally looked up at you.
Your breath stopped when you saw the sadness in his purple eyes. He quickly blinked it away, but you knew what you had seen, your heart hurting at the way he had seemed so lost. Maybe even worse was that he didn’t want to show his feelings to you, instead masking them up.
“What’s wrong.”
“Okaka.” Nothing. Why?
“Don’t,” you warned him, “Don’t lie to me. Please don’t.”
“Okaka, okaka!” I’m not lying! He said it with amusement in his voice, but when you failed to smile, his eyes grew serious again. “Okaka.” Nothing’s wrong.
“You know you can talk to me, right?”
“Shake, shake.” Yeah, yeah, I know.
“Do you want to talk to me?”
This time his answer took longer, and it was only quietly spoke when he answered with another “Shake.”
Instead of saying anything else, he began reaching for the notebook he always carried with him, but before his fingertips had even grazed the cover, you caught his hand.
“You can talk to me. I’ll understand you. No notebook needed.”
Toge looked up at you then, his eyes widened. What did you mean, you didn’t need the notebook? Would you really understand him?
“Tuna,” he mumbled, averting his gaze from yours, but from the corner of his eyes he saw you tilt your head. How the hell was he supposed to communicate his feelings with onigiri ingredients? He had words to agree and disagree, words to catch attention and swear, but how was he supposed to tell you his greatest wish was to talk to you without having to use this damn notebook, that he wanted to just use normal language, like everyone else? How was he supposed to tell you how much it hurt to see you liking Yuuta? “Okaka.” It won’t work.
“You can try. And if it doesn’t work, you can still write it down, okay?”
“Shake.” Okay. He reached his hand up, absentmindedly running his fingers over his curse marks peeking out from under his high collar. “Ikura.” I hate them.
He had more mumbled that to himself, but you nodded. “They don’t make life very easy, do they?”
“Shake.” No, they don’t. Toge focused on what he wanted you to know, that he wished he could talk to you without risking cursing you. “Furikake… saamon.”
Okay, this was new. Not just one, but two new ingredients. Rice spice and the other word for salmon. You furrowed your brows. “Can you say that again?”
“Furikake saamon,” Toge repeated, slowly, trying to convey his feelings through just these two words. This was never gonna work.
“You want to talk about your thoughts?”
His eyes widened at your correct interpretation of his words.
“Shake, shake!” Enthusiastically he nodded his head. “Furikake saamon! Nori nai!”
“Nori nai, nori na- you don’t want to use…”
“Nori!” He motioned to his mouth, then to the notebook in his pocket.
“Onigiri ingredients and the notebook? You don’t want to use them?”
“Shake, shake!”
He nodded again, and you could see how excited he was, his eyes shining with disbelief that he had managed to communicate something so out of context to you. Quickly he reached up and pulled the zipper of his collar down, so he could additionally use his mimic to tell you what he was thinking.
“Tarago Furikake.” His lilac eyes were widened expectantly, as he waited for you to decipher his words.
“You want to talk?”
He nodded, then pointed at you. “Tarago furikake,” he repeated, underlining his words with stabbing his finger into your direction.
“You want to talk to me?”
“Shake. Nori nai furikake tamago. Okaka.”
“I know. I know it’s difficult without the notebook,” you sighed. “But we’re managing. Right? It might take me a while to get used to it, but I we’re having a normal conversation right now, right? A bit like talking with someone in a foreign language, but not much different than that.”
Toge smiled, the sight making your breath hitch. You were used to seeing his eyes squeeze together when he smiled, but his mouth usually was covered by his collar. You couldn’t help but think that he was one of the most beautiful people you knew.
“Furikake nai, tamago, maguro, nori” he continued.
“Maguro,” you repeated the second last word, thinking what he might have meant. Quietly you mumbled the phrase he had just uttered, your eyes skipping away from his face and over the koi pond instead, as if the translation were written in the ripples on the water surface. Without talking, having to write everything down, he felt bad… like an outsider. Your eyes widened. Was this really what he had wanted to say? That he felt like an outsider? You looked back at him, seeing the shock on his face as he took in your expression.
“We’re making you feel like an outsider because you can’t talk to us? Toge-“
“Okaka, Okaka!” He quickly waved his hands around, signalling you had misunderstood. “Tamago. Maguro.” He pointed to himself.
“You feel like an outsider?”
“Shake!”
“Because you can’t talk to us?”
“Shake.” This time his voice was quieter, and he averted his gaze.
You exhaled quietly. You knew there was not much you could do to change the way he felt, nothing you weren’t doing already anyway. But to deny his feelings wouldn’t be right, even if you wanted to convince him that he wasn’t an outsider.
“I’m sorry,” you started. “I promise you, to us, you’re an integral part of the group, even if you don’t feel like you always are. Do you… do you have any ideas how we could help you feel more included?”
Toge shook his head. “Okaka,” he denied, and then pointing at himself: “Tamago.” It’s my negative feeling. “Tanaka-zuku mentaiko.” You’re doing everything right. There’s nothing you can do to change that. He hesitated for a moment before he added: “Furikake.”HHe hesitated for a moment before he added.
“Of course, we’ll keep talking to you. And you see that you can talk to us too. If I can learn to understand you, so can the others.”
Toge seriously doubted that, but he didn’t voice his thought, instead focusing back on what you had been talking about. “Tarago furikake mayo. Tuna-mayo furikake, saamon tamago, shiisamu. Takana-zuke tarago tuna-mayo shiisamu.”
You stared at him intensely, making his heart race. There was no way you had understood what he had just said. Was there? He was using words he had never used with you, or anyone at jujutsu high, before. He had sometimes used them when he had been younger, when he had talked to his toys as a little kid, finding ingredients for almost anything he could think of. That he still remembered them was a surprise. But there was no way you’d understand him like this, not even when he tried to embed the sentimental meaning of each word into his voice. Your eyes skipped over his face, as you were thinking hard, and Toge waited for the “Sorry, I don’t know what you mean, please write it down.” But it didn’t come. Instead, you answered him.
“I want you to be able to talk openly too. And I’d love to hear about the bad things you think and feel as much as about the good things. Because they’re part of you. Even when they’re hard, even when they’re painful and difficult to admit. But that’s why we have each other, right? So we’re not alone, so the difficult times aren’t quite as difficult. And you already make me laugh, you already make me feel happy. I’m always the happiest when I’m with you.”
You hadn’t used the word friend. The thought rang in Toge’s mind, and together with your last sentence it accumulated to the next words that spilled over his lips, words he had been certain he’d never actually say out loud. Words, which’s meaning he had thought he’d never communicate to you in any form or way.
“Tarago tuna-mayo furikake okome. Tarago tanaka-zuke okome.”I want to use my voice to tell you that I’m in love with you. I want you to be in love with me too.
The moment the words had left his lips, he wanted to make it all undone. What if you had understood him and didn’t feel the same way? All this time he wished you’d understand him, and now he hoped you hadn’t understood a word of what he had just uttered. The way you stared at him wide eyed was a good sign that you really hadn’t.
“Okome,” you asked, your heart beating in your throat. If you had thought rationally about the way he was listing food, you wouldn’t have had the faintest idea of what he had wanted to express, but somehow his emotions were swinging in his words, like the sounds accumulated to a meaning that wasn’t transported by words.
“Mentaiko,” he began, wanting to lift his hands to wave it off, to tell you that it wasn’t important.
But before he had completed the gesture, you caught his wrist with your dominant hand, raising the other between you, pointing at him.
“Okome,” you asked before pointing to yourself. Your voice was shaky, and you could see the moment Toge realized you had understood him.
His eyes widened and he paled a little, swallowing hard. You could see the fear in his eyes. He was afraid you’d turn him down, you realized, and your heart broke a little.
So, what did you do, when your best friend, who you had liked for far too long without acting on it, accidentally confessed his love to you? Using the word for “rice” nonetheless, the base ingredient for onigiri. Because just like one couldn’t make rice balls without rice, humans couldn’t live without love.
You repeated the gesture towards yourself, pointing at you again. “Okome,” you said, voice just as shaky as before, before pointing at Toge.
His eyes followed your finger, the way it was pointing right at his chest, where his heart was stuttering in excitement, and then doing cartwheels, as the realization began settling in.
“Okome,” he asked in disbelieve.
But you just nodded. “Okome.”
He acted quicker than you could really perceive. Your one hand was still holding onto his wrist, to stop him from gesticulating, his skin warm underneath yours, but with the other he grabbed the hand with which you had pointed between you and him. His fingers wrapped around yours tightly, pulling you towards him, pressing your hand right over his heart, while he leant in at the same time, connecting his lips to yours.
A shiver went through you, at the feeling of his warm body underneath his clothes, at his soft lips pressed to yours, at the strange tingling of cursed energy that radiated from his cursed mark. And then you abandoned all thoughts, and just acted on instinct, moving closer to him, wrapping your hand into the fabric of his vest, and kissing him like you had wanted to kiss him for such a long time already.
A sound of appreciative surprise erupted from Toge’s throat and you could feel him smile as he met your kiss with equal fervour, running the tip of his tongue over the seam of your lips. When you parted them just the smallest fraction, he didn’t hesitate to slip his tongue past them, exploring your mouth until both of you had to pull away for breath. You were breathing heavily, your mind foggy, fingers wrapped into his vest, holding on to something, otherwise it felt like the world would just slip away.
When you opened your eyes, you found he was already looking at you. His beautiful eyes were scanning over your face as if searching for any sign of discomfort, as if he expected you to scold him for kissing you. Honestly, at this point the only scolding he’d get was that he had stopped kissing you.
Unwrapping one of your hands from where you had clung to him, you brushed a strand of his bright hair out of his forehead, the curl soft against your fingertips. With a smile you leant forward, and pressed your lips to his left cheek, then the curse mark there, feeling the cursed energy sizzle through them. You moved on to his right cheek, then his forehead, the tip of his nose, his chin, peppering small kisses all over his face until he was full on laughing and took hold of your face with both of his hands, pulling you only far enough away from him to be able to look into your eyes. His were still crinkled in joy, but his voice was serious and heavy with how much he meant this single word phrase that left his lips without hesitation.
“Okome.” And then he kissed you again, slower this time, just to make sure you understood each little detail of what he felt for you. Inumaki Toge sometimes struggled with his fate, but as long as he had you to understand him, what else could he really ask for?
Tags: @nnasv @ashy-akuma @delzinrowe
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You Might Think It's Foolish
prompt: meeting your boyfriend's family for the first time creates anxiety, so, you stick to his side. at dinner, his mother calls out your clinginess - and Aemond doesn't defend you.
or when someone else calls you clingy and he doesn't defend you / agrees with them.
pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen x female!reader
fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon
word count: 3.1k+
warnings: short and to the point, angst, hurt and no comfort, drama, relationship angst, stand alone, cursing, toxic family, toxic relationship...? barely edited, author's tired of her drafts.
browse Clingy Baby collection masterlist here
Fall. Autumn. A time of shedding the old and preparing for the new. Perhaps that was why this happened - the universe was trying to shed what was unwelcome in your life. Yet you wouldn't see it this way for several long months.
The trees grew over the winding backroads in a curved canopy; creating a golden tunnel for visitors to pass through on their way to remote destinations. You were no exception, cruising at a leisure speed while taking slow, deep breaths to attempt to soak in the beauty autumn in the Northern Hemisphere brought. It was impossible not to feel enraptured by the serenity of the country roads, music set so you could hear it but still have a conversation if you wanted.
Your passenger princess told you it was the next right.
"I can't believe we're late," you whispered, sighing in strained stress. "This is a horrible first impression, Aemond."
"We won't even be the latest," he smirked.
"Doesn't matter, it's still rude to show up when the party's already started."
"We were busy."
"You were getting a new tattoo," you deadpanned.
"Exactly as I said - busy. And you got your third ear piercing, so, I don't want t'hear it."
You swallowed, making the right turn. "That's the house?" You gawked.
"Mhm," he gazed out his window, "welcome to the Targaryen Manor, princess."
"I forget you're from old money," you muttered, finding a suitable parking space and pulling in. You gathered your belongings, including the flowers from the backseat you insisted on bringing for his mother, and vacate the car.
"You're gonna be fine," Aemond smirked, tossing his arm around your neck as you moved up the walkway. "Just be yourself, laugh at their jokes - you'll fit right in."
"I feel like I can't even afford to be here," you whispered, approaching the front door. He chuckled and took your hand, letting you squeeze it tight as he opened the door and lead you inward. "Jesus, Mary Mother, and Joseph," you gaped, eyes bugging wide as the interior.
The term "fancy" didn't even begin to cover it.
And Aemond just smirked at you, amused by your response; knowing your family grew up without money and the nicest thing you owned for years was a Wii that had been purchased from a family-friend for a third of the price. So to see you here, amongst luxury and money, was an absolute treasure to him.
However, that was short lived, because the next thing you noticed was the amount of people milling around. There was at least 13 different people in sight, and for some reason, you knew there was likely many, many more. Aemond lead you into the kitchen, and from there, you could barely keep up.
First, you met his mother, Alicent. She was a kind woman, but stoic and calculating; observant with a quick wit. She intimidated you, made you feel small, burned you under her stare; and since you were dating her favorite child, you knew she was scrutinizing you. You felt desperate for her approval, and when you offered her the large bouquet of flowers, she actually let her lips twitch in a small smile. She thanked your generosity and consideration, making you feel like you had some kind of breakthrough with her.
When Alicent went to put the flowers in water, Aemond assured he thought his mother "adored" you before introducing you to his father - the birthday boy. He was sweet; soft spoken and bright-eyed; all too happy to have a conversation with you. He asked how you and Aemond met, then what you were studying in university, if you liked it, what you wanted to do with your degree. He asked what food was your favorite, if you played sports, about your family, and if you had any hobbies. Viserys Targaryen had a kind soul, making you wonder how he and Alicent remained married.
Though they say opposites attract.
Aemond showed you around the house, stopping to introduce family members; then heading to the backyard where you were drug around to meet the hundred other family members. You were close to tears the whole time, knowing it was his father's birthday, but not knowing how bloody big his fucking family was - and that they'd all show up today. You felt blindsided, it felt like a deliberate withholding of information to convince you to come. You were under the impression it was a family dinner, but now, you understood, it was an actual celebration.
There was people everywhere you looked, everywhere you turned. Voices spoke over one another, children ran around playing tag or jumping on a trampoline; babies cried and screamed, the grill was loud with sizzling meats, and a radio played through intermittent static. Multiple dogs ran around, trailing mud everywhere, even going as far as to shake their coats out to shower bystanders. The smell of charcoal, smoke, and chlorine mingled with that tangy-good scent of BBQ; but it made your eyes sting.
It was a sensory overload.
It was a miracle you hadn't burst into tears yet, but you remained anchored to reality by maintaining a close proximity to Aemond.
You held his hand in a vice grip. You held his bicep with a curled-grip that left fingernail indentations in his skin through the fabric. You held his waist, belt loops, anything you could grab onto in a possessive grip. You constantly touched him to reassure yourself he was still with you; being your anchor to reality, tangible and real since your anxiety drowned you in a sea.
You didn't think it was an issue. Didn't think anyone would notice, so you obviously didn't think anyone would care if they DID notice. You liked touching Aemond, it kept you grounded; if someone had an issue with that, it was 100% just a personal problem. However, plenty of people did notice, and when you sat down for dinner, you were unprepared for the ambush.
Conversation was flowing; food passed around and utensils scraped plates. Drinks sweat into the table cloth, citronella candles twinkled, and laughter was in an abundance as each person found merriment in their family. You were feeling more relaxed, but the truth was, there was so many people here that you felt nauseous enough to only take a few small bites from your plate.
Aemond noticed and met your eyes, subtly opening his hand to you in an offer for comfort. You all but snatched his hand into yours, smiling in thanks as he only smirked broadly and continued eating. You tried to sample what you could, but it was impossible to stomach much of anything. You reached for your water, took a sip, and heard Alicent question your name.
When she had your attention, Alicent asked, "Have you had many boyfriends, dear?"
"Oh, no," you answered honestly, "no, I've gone on dates but Aemond's," you laid your free hand to his bicep, sliding down to take his hand with yours, "my first boyfriend."
She hummed and stabbed her fork into the salad set in front of her, muttering in a lower tone, "Then I guess I can overlook it all."
You cocked your head, setting your glass down, wondering, "Overlook what?"
"The clinginess," she shrugged, reaching for her wine glass. "You've been stuck to his side all day - never even parting to go to the restroom, it seems. So, because he's your first, I can overlook all this... For now."
Your head began to spin like in a bad cartoon. You felt your heart cement and drop to your stomach; throat swelling to suppress either sobs, vomit, or both. The entire table was quiet. "I-I'm sorry, Mrs. Targaryen," you offered in confusion. "I'm sorry if I've offended you, but it's not with malicious intent."
"No?" She mocked.
"No," your head shook vehemently. "I did not realize my actions could be interpreted negatively, and I assume you, it was not my intention to create tension."
"Oh, spare me. You haven't let go of Aemond once all night, and even now, as we all sit for family dinner, you hold his hand hostage; preventing you both from eating. Don't you think he'd like to spend time with his family without needing to make you feel included in every single thing he does or says today?"
You gulped, "I did not mean to offend you nor your family."
"It's not offensive," Helaena Targaryen, Aemond's only sister, tried to intervene. "If you feel uncomfortable in any situation, why not seek out that in which you already know helps comfort you?"
How had it come to this?
"I am not offended," Viserys croaked, "I find young love refreshing."
But this made Alicent rage, "It is offensive when you prevent Aemond from actually visiting with his family. It's his father's birthday for God's sake! We don't have an infinite number of them left! If you want to hang all over him when you're at university, fine, but when you're here? In public? Around family or elders? It's not acceptable behavior, especially when you prevent my son from participating as a member of this family."
Your mouth went dry as you remembered your parents did not raise you to ever tolerate disrespect. If someone offered insult, sure, walk away, but they also taught you to stand up for yourself in particular fights. This felt like one of those fights.
There were also vivid memories long since repressed that flashed you back to your own parents telling you, you were clingy. They didn't want you hanging off them, distracting anyone, being an overall nuisance; so they started fighting your fire with their own. They became verbally aggressive, constantly ridiculing and belittling you; attempting to keep you humble by insulting your character - saying nobody (be it man or woman) would want someone like you. Your baggage was too heavy and you knew it, your parents telling you it was why you felt the need to cling in the first place.
If you held on tight enough, the weight of your trauma would eventually anchor your person in place. It'd be too late to swim away once that anchor sunk.
You looked at Aemond, thinking he'd tell his mother to quiet down, but he never did. He just stared at the table, so, you tossed his hand into his lap - feeling disgusting by his physical touch right now.
It was evident he wasn't going to defend you, so, you defended yourself, "I know you might think it foolish, but the reason I was 'all over' your son was because I was caught off-guard by the number of family members who attended today. I was lead to believe this would be a small, intimate affair so I could properly meet his nuclear family, and when I realized that was not the case, yes, I held onto Aemond because I felt incredibly anxious. I cannot control what makes me uncomfortable, but I was expecting under ten people - not close to a hundred. So, truly, if me seeking solace with my boyfriend upsets you, I am sorry, but I will not apologize for feeling blindsided and misdirected - I will not apologize for feeling anxious and nervous amongst such a large family that I've never met before, and - "
Aemond snapped your name, silencing you instantly out of sheer shock; your eyes widening a fraction. He growled, "That's enough, do not speak to my mother like that."
"So, she's allowed to call me clingy, but I can't - "
"I told you to watch your mouth," he seethed, "and not speak to her like you just were. She made an observation - an accurate one - not out of spite, like you want to do in retaliation."
You scoffed, while glancing between mother and son, nodding slowly. You mutely used your cloth napkin to blot around your lips, swipe your tongue over your teeth as you pushed your chair back and slowly stood. "You know what? I don't need this shit. I refuse to sit here and let you speak to me as if you're holier than thou," you told Alicent, then looking to Aemond, "nor will some mama's boy gaslight me."
Helaena giggled behind her hand as you swiped your purse and phone, turned on your heel, and walked away. Aemond sighed and called your name, standing from his own chair, still trying to slow you down by calling out to you. "Aemond," Alicent snapped when he meant to move after you.
"You've done enough," he told her, jogging after your retreating form while calling your name.
"Nice one, Mum," Aegon scoffed. "That's one way to make sure he doesn't knock her up - just break them up."
"Aegon," Daeron groaned.
"What? Isn't that what she was afraid of? Aemond getting too serious with her?" Aegon snapped. "He's finally happy, and you what? Had to implode that?"
Aegon's words sunk into his mother's heart as Aemond rushed after you, nobody untouched by the things he said.
Outside, you rushed for your car while fumbling with your purse and keys. Aemond followed, still. He finally caught up when you made it to the car, his hand whipping you around to face him.
"I didn't fucking mean it," he rushed, holding you securely in his grasp. "Hear me? I didn't fucking mean it, I-I just wanted the arguing to stop, I know how Mum can get and I didn't want it to escalate. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, my love, I didn't mean it at you - I just - I panicked - I don't know why. Perhaps we're both still very green to this whole relationship thing."
"Oh! Fuck you," you snapped, pushing him off you.
"Listen to me - "
"No, you're done talking," you raged with your manicured pointer finger jabbing the air between you in a dramatic fashion. "Your mother fully insulted me in front of everyone - your entire family, whom I wasn't even aware I was meeting, nor was I even ready to meet!"
"What?"
"I was willing to meet your parents and siblings. Not your entire extended family! You meet the nuclear family first and when ready to level-up, you bring your significant other around your aunties, uncles, cousins - whatever. You ambushed me," you snapped. "You totally caught me off guard - but instead of apologizing and acknowledging my discomfort, you just carried on on your high horse. You let me hold onto you - yet there was no word about being clingy - and you even reached for my hand a few times! Yet I was the one being slandered and labeled as 'clingy'!? But you know what? That's cool, really fucking cool, that's fine. Like I said before, fuck off. I don't need to be with someone who crumples like a wet piece of paper when Mummy Dearest starts to huff and puff. I need someone who's going to tell their mother to cut it out when they're trying to wrongfully insult me - your girlfriend. Better yet? I need to be with someone whose mother doesn't start on that bullshit! That has respect! Decency! Now get the fuck away from me!"
You shoved him back a few steps to give room for you to open your car door and get in - immediately hitting the automatic locks. You started the engine, put your seatbelt on, took one last look at your first love as he tried to plea with you through the rolled up window, then shifted into gear and pulled away.
You felt your anger boil to a new height when you replayed the entire day. How dare Aemond? How dare he try to manipulate this situation? He had no right to ask you to shut the fuck up while his mother was free to run her mouth! Well, first and foremost, how fucking dare Alicent insult and challenge you in such a public setting? How in the Seven Hells had Helaena been the only one to defend you? What the hell did you even need defending against? Why did you showing affection and needing reliable support upset Alicent that much?
Your phone began to ring, and when you glanced at it, you saw Aemond's contact photo displayed on the screen. You ignored it and put your phone on airplane mode, leaving it on for now. However, after a few long moments of stressful thinking, you turned the setting off and called your sister - knowing no matter what, she'd be your rock. When she answered, you told her a simplified version of events, and at the end, your tears had been triggered and she was encouraging you to come over to her house.
You agreed, shut your phone off this time, and drove to your sister's place. When you arrived, you were shocked to find her waiting in the driveway, opening her arms with a pout when you got out of the car. "C'mere," she cooed, enveloping you in her arms when you stepped into her embrace.
"Why do boys suck?" You whimpered.
"Because that's just how they were programed," she sighed.
"Sh-She called me clingy," you managed through your tears, "his mom called me clingy, a-and Aemond d-didn't defend me. So, when I had to defend myself, he just told me to be quiet 'cause his mother wasn't wrong - or what-the-fuck-ever."
"I know, honey," she sympathized, giving you a squeeze. "What're you thinking?"
"That I can't trust someone like that," you admitted. "And if I can't trust them, why be in a relationship?"
She nodded, "I think you know what you need to do next."
"I don't want to."
"Nobody really wants to, but it's necessary," she held your phone out for you after pulling it from your back pocket. "Don't let him or his mother disrespect you - especially in front of his other family members. I mean, shit, how're you supposed to face any of them again after that?"
"Exactly, his mom didn't exactly do it in private..."
"See?" She stared at you while you sighed, shaking your head. Your sister encouraged, "Make the call. This isn't a sustainable relationship, and Aemond shouldn't have to choose his mother and his girl - so, let's just make it easy on him, and you choose. Wanna be with someone who lets his mother say shit like that to you? Who tells you to be quiet, instead of shutting down his mother's insults?"
You frowned, whispering, "I don't think this is enough to break us up. It shouldn't be, right? This shouldn't be the end-all, be-all, should it?"
"No, honey, but the disrespect cannot stand, either," she shot back. "If he felt so comfortable to say that in front of his family like that, you don't wanna know what he's gonna get comfortable doing in more private settings." Tears filled your eyes as she reminded gently, but firmly, "Make the call."
requesting rules and masterlist
HOTD masterlist
Clingy Baby masterlist
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Aziraphale sees Crowley standing next to his their car and he hesitates; this is his last chance, the last possible moment to change his mind about leaving.
Do you think he feels the sunshine on his hands, against his stomach, and remembers how warm Crowley had been in his arms? How warm he had felt beneath his palms even through several layers of fabric?
How for the first time in his existence his body had felt complete, like there was no longer something— someone missing?
Do you think he sees him standing in the sun, all shining fire-red and hidden golden eyes, and regrets not sliding his hand to the back of his neck, up into his hair? Do you think he regrets not taking the chance to feel it silken soft and familiar between his fingers?
Do you think he remembers all the times they enjoyed a warm, sunny day together and the way the star seems to remember that Crowley had put its siblings into the sky? Do you think he remembers rays of sunlight caressing his cheekbones and wishes it had been his fingertips instead?
'Anything you need?' the Metatron asks him, and he is still looking at Crowley with the sun on his skin.
I need you, he thinks, and even though his eyes are hidden away, he knows Crowley is looking at him.
Do you think Aziraphale remembers the kiss, remembers the love he could taste on his tongue, the six millennia of do that, please, kiss me, the slow, painful minute of do that again, please, right now?
(The realization that he won't.)
He almost stays. Almost. But the Metatron is already walking away, and he looks at Crowley again, looks past sunset conversations and sunrise breakfasts and the heart-shaped star in Crowley's chest, and feels his pain.
(Their pain.)
Do you think that's why he leaves anyway? Not just because heaven needs fixing but because all that pain, all the hurt they caused each other, can't have been for nothing?
I can't leave him— no, I don't want to leave him.
No.
No, I want to go back to him.
Do you think he takes his anger and holds onto it until it burns his palm because it is easier to be angry at Crowley, at himself, than to think about everything they just took from each other? Everything they just lost?
Everything they could have been?
Aziraphale takes the memory of sunshine on his skin (Crowley's lips on his) and locks it away in a golden cage made out of faith; faith that Crowley will be there when he comes back.
Once he does (because he will, he will, he has to), there will be sunshine and warmth and Crowley, and they will finally be able to love each other with the sun and the whole universe as their witness.
No more shadows or shades of grey. Just the two of them in the light where they belong.
#alex writes good omens#good omens#ineffable husbands#crowley#aziraphale#good omens season 2#go2#aziracrow#crowley x aziraphale#ineffable divorce#the final fifteen#good omens kiss#aziraphale meta#fuck the metatron#idk what to call this flavour of post#character analysis and ficlet in one with some heartbreaking screenshots#see this is what happens when i watch the kiss scene frame by frame
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We Become We | L.M.
summary: You and Lucifer were both linked by an unknown force, but Lucifer acted upon it differently, thinking it meant nothing.
pairing: Archangel!Lucifer Morningstar x Seraphim!Reader
includes: fluff, angst, Sera and Micheal being kind of mean, heartbreak, letting your heart decided what to do and not your mind. (I think that’s it, let me know if I missed any !)
a/n: i listened to this song at least 100 times the other day, it’s really good. i think it made me cry already based on how many tiktoks i’ve seen of it.
Since the Father in Heaven created you, you have always been more curious about the different angels he created. You were the second Seraphim created after Sera, so you witnessed the birth of many angels, except for the Archangels. You were introduced to one another as royalty, treating one another with such status.
However, you always caught the eyes of a certain Archangel. He was the second oldest of God’s children, much like how you were the second Seraphim. When you were introduced to one another, you instantly clicked. You always made sure to find him once a day, conversing on several topics about Earth and the Heavens.
“Luce, where’s the— Lucifer!” You grimace at the Archangel, watching him give you a teasing grin. “You’re not supposed to touch those until later tonight.”
“It’s not my fault you decided to break into the palace’s kitchens for a snack!” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. You scrunch your nose at the action. “So formal all the time, beautiful.”
You roll your eyes as a smile etches its way to your lips, grabbing the strawberries from the fridge. “Just help me, you idiot.”
“Rude.” He bit into a strawberry, humming at the taste. “I was stating a fact.”
Nudging his shoulder, your wings ruffle at the words. “We have to go, Luce.”
“You really just came in here to get strawberries—?”
You both froze when you heard Gabriel and Sera’s voices coming through the other end of the kitchens, glancing at one another. Without another thought, you both run toward the back door, entering the palace gardens. You flinched when you heard Sera’s booming voice from the garden.
Lucifer pulled you by the waist, and softly pushed your back on a willow tree, covering your mouth when the wind speeds increased from his brother and your sister’s wings. Your eyes widened at the action, scanning his face as he looked behind you. You suddenly felt warm. From his hand holding your waist to the close proximity, you swear you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.
“Sorry, they were looking for the culprit.” He chuckled as he removed his hand from your mouth, his golden eyes meeting your eyes. “Are you alright?”
You nod, face still warm from his hand still around your waist. “You still have frosting on your cheek, Luce…”
“Oh?” He swiped with his tongue, making you giggle. “Did I get it?”
“No.” You lift your hand, gently wiping the frosting off. “There.”
Lucifer smiled at you, “Thank you, beautiful.”
Seconds passed as you whispered back a response, letting the silence encapsulate the both of you. Your eyes searched his gaze while he cupped your cheek, rubbing softly.
“Lucifer—“
“SAMAEL!” Micheal yelled for his twin, making the both of you separate.
Your cheeks flare at the situation, watching him press a kiss to your cheek as he walks backward.
“I have to go, beautiful. I’ll see you later.” He winks, pushing off the ground with his six wings.
You lean against the tree, hand clutched by your heart. He had you hooked with a single action, but at what cost?
I could never choose to love another…
Months had passed and the Father created new souls on Earth. He created human souls, which fueled both you and Lucifer’s curiosity. You both visited them once in a while, but unbeknownst to you, Lucifer would visit without you, having built a blooming relationship with the human soul Lilith.
“Micheal!” You caught up with your creator’s eldest child, shifting your weight on your feet when he gave you an annoyed look. “Sorry, but uh… Do you know where Luc—Samael is? He promised we would have a picnic in the palace gardens today.”
“He went down to Earth to speak with Lilith again.” The Archangel waved you off. “If you wish to speak to him—“
“I’ll just go down to Earth.” You purse your lips, wings fluffing at his tone.
Lucifer said he was going to meet up with you by the gardens earlier that morning, he promised you. Did he just forget? Your heart ached at the thought as you soared down from the Heavens toward the Garden of Eden. You always loved visiting Earth’s garden, smiling when you saw flourishing greenery.
You slowly landed by the waterfall you added with Lucifer, his laughter ringing through the air. The wildlife followed you as you made your way over to the sound, your smile brightening when you saw Lucifer’s figure.
“Lucifer!” You shout for him, but the water from the waterfall drowns out your calls. You swiftly moved past all the growing plants before you froze, your heart beating harder with each passing second you watched.
Lilith and Lucifer were in a relationship?
Your heart broke as they parted from the kiss, Lilith tilting her head when she saw you. The animals surrounding you rubbed their heads against your legs in hopes of bringing your attention away from the couple.
Suddenly, Lucifer whipped around, eyes widening at being caught. Especially by you. “Fuck, beautiful—“
“I have to go.” You murmur, wings pushing you away from them.
Tears cascaded down your face as you made it back to Heaven, letting yourself break down when reaching your room’s balcony. The Archangels and Sera heard your curses out to the angel who took your heart and crushed it, frowning at the thought of what you saw.
They soon figured out the cause of your heartbreak, meaning the Angelic Council needed to make a crucial decision about the souls. With you swaying the final decision.
Lucifer watched you from where he stood with Lilith, knowing you would never look his way ever again.
“The Angelic Council voted unanimously,” Sera spoke with a delicate voice, hidden poison underneath. “You are both sentenced to Hell, becoming fallen to those in Heaven.”
You refused to look up from the papers in front of you, listening intently to your sister’s words. The whispers in the back of your head get louder as you hear Lucifer protest…
“ENOUGH.” Sera boomed her voice in the room, making you flinch. “It will be effective immediately.”
Lucifer looks back toward you, finally meeting your eyes. And for the first time, he saw guilt and anger emitting from you. He knew you loved him, but thought it didn’t mean anything until now.
Maybe one day I can learn to love you, too…
©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms
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We gotta talk about Rome, y'all.
So, the flashback in Rome is pretty much exclusively the only time Crowley is actively short with Aziraphale and it has always sort of itched my brain as to why. When I finally got my hands on the script book it started to make sense:
For the uninitiated, Caligula was a Roman Emperor so despicable that there's literally a wiki dedicated to his atrocities.
Some of the deplorable things he was said to have done include, but aren't limited to:
Ordering criminals to be fed to the wild animals used for Gladitorial entertainment, after having cut their tongues out
Decapitating and butchering several people
Beating a priest to death with a mallet
Crucifying, burning, and suffocating multiple people
Literally having a Senator he disliked ripped apart by a mob
With this in mind, we know that Crowley, despite his indifferent attitude toward his demonic assignments, actively works against hurting people and animals, and even though his dialogue implies that he never tempted Caligula, we don't actually know what he might have witnessed. Still, it's not at all out of the realm of possibility that he saw things that could have straight up left him scarred psychologically.
Though the filmed scene leaves this portion of the conversation out, including his failed rebuff of Aziraphale's company, it's clear that he's in some emotional distress. With this in mind, Aziraphale's appearance may have occurred at just the right time. If he saw even just a hint of the monstrosity and madness of Caligula, he'd have needed some sort of comfort, so Aziraphale's stupid question and temptation for oysters may have been the best thing that could have happened under the circumstance.
Plus, given Aziraphale's ignorance about Caligula (he was there for Nero,) he'd have no idea how badly Crowley was messed up. He never reacted to Crowley's irritation or boorish attitude with anything other than continued enthusiasm for his presence. Demonhood has likely been incredibly tragic and traumatizing for Crowley at times, and, in this scene, Aziraphale was a balm for that pain without ever knowing.
#good omens#aziraphale#crowley#ineffable husbands#good omens 2#aziracrow#aziraphale x crowley#crowley good omens#good omens rome#good omens 41#crowley trauma#caligula#roman history#crowley rome#good omens meta#abel talks meta#good omens theory
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