#it has any and everything i could want or need
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Hotch request! Please sir, can I have a Hotch request? I'm trying to follow what you said about comfort but also Hotch being angry. So I get low blood sugars cause of my diabetes and I'd love if you wrote something about them being on a case and BAU!Reader is really busy trying to get stuff done, so she has a bad low blood sugar and sits down but one of the local officers thinks she's slacking off so she tries to keep going and Hotch comes in and defends her, making sure she has everything she needs and doesn't faint. Love you <3
ty for requesting!! hope this is okay <3 fem, 1.3k
“I understand.” You frown, phone pressed to your ear hard. “I totally understand, but it’s really important that I get to talk to her.”
“She’s on heavy medication,” the nurse replies, unimpressed by your asking, “she wouldn’t be much use anyhow.”
“I understand, but–”
“Listen, I’m sorry, but we have a lot to do here. I’m sorry we can’t help. Bye.”
You groan in frustration, bringing your phone from your ear to see the Call Disconnected notification flash across your screen. How are you and the team ever supposed to get answers if nobody wants to help? Your head rushes. You kid yourself into believing it’s annoyance like a hot flash, you’ve been sweaty for ages, but then reality cuts through. What usually makes you sweaty and dizzy?
“Where’s my test kit?” you murmur to yourself.
The door opens while you’re looking through your bag.
“Agent,” Officer Debs greets, a stout, sturdy woman with sharp eyes, “any news from Georgetown Psychiatric?”
You rummage frustratedly through your things. You should know better than to misplace your test kit. Doesn’t matter. You’ll just have to eat something quickly before you get any worse. “Uh, no, nothing they could help me with.”
“Did you call them?”
Your eyelids are getting heavier. You sit down on impulse, worried you’re gonna fall if you stay standing. “Yeah, I called them.” You’ve had diabetes for long enough to know what to do, but it’s always harder than it felt the last time when your blood sugar drops. It can be so sudden.
Realising you might need help, you clear your throat, about to ask Officer Debs if she can get the glucose tablets from your bag. You should’ve grabbed them —your thoughts are starting to thicken like someone’s poured cornflour into your skull.
“Is now the best time for a break?” Officer Debs asks.
You focus very hard on bringing your attention into the present. “No, sorry,” you say, standing up. You open your phone and direct to the contacts page, clicking your favourite contact at the very top.
Don’t know m where test kit is, you text clumsily. Hotch should still be in the precinct. Do u have it ?
“I hope you’re texting someone about the case,” Officer Debs says sternly.
You shove your phone into your pocket. “Um,” you say, getting confused now, and not wanting to be shouted at. You grab for the page of phone numbers you’d been making your way through, can’t get your hands to work. “I wasn’t. But I’m getting to it.”
“We really don’t have time to waste.”
“I know, but my blood sugar–”
She talks over you. “What’s the point in all our officers working day and night when you FBI agents can’t be bothered to put in the same effort?” Her voice rises. “It’s ridiculous!”
“It’s not ridiculous, we’re trying our best just like you are.”
“Clearly not!”
“My blood sugar,” you say, more insistently. “Stop shouting at me.”
The door opens quickly, creaking hard on its hinge. Hotch doesn’t slam it open, he never slams anything, but he doesn’t hesitate either. “I have it, you left it in the car after you tested this morning,” he says, your kit in his hand. He gives Officer Debs a surprised up and down. “Who’s shouting?” he asks, unimpressed.
You wouldn’t like to be on his bad side. “Hotch, I need a tablet.”
If he’s shocked at your lethargy, he doesn’t say. He ignores the officer from that point on. “Yes, I think so, too.”
Hotch is more efficient than you were, grabbing your tube of glucose tablets and shaking one out into his hand. “Can you take it yourself?”
“You want to chew it for me?” you ask.
He tips it into your palm. “Very funny.”
He opens the test kit on the desk and starts to extract the pieces. It’s quite complicated, especially for people unfamiliar with it, but you’re pretty sure Hotch learned how to use it the day he knew you had diabetes. He wipes his hands with an alcohol wipe and presses a test strip into the meter, careful not to touch the end, before wiping your finger with a new wipe, and readying the lancing stick.
“Gonna stick you, okay?” he asks quietly.
“Mm,” you hum, the glucose tablet like chalk between your teeth.
He sticks you. Some days it feels more painful than other days, but today it’s like a pinprick in a haze. He squeezes your finger, wipes the first drop of blood with a cotton ball, and dips the test strip into the second bead of blood, careful not to jab your cut.
In the five seconds it takes for you to get a result on the meter, he kneels down, pressing another cotton ball to your finger to stem the flow of blood. “Good,” he murmurs to you. The meter flashes on the table. “Not so good. Fifty nine, huh? How’d that happen?”
You shake your head slowly from one side to another. “I’ve no idea.”
“Okay. Well, that tablet’s not gonna do it, honey. Do you have any gels?”
“No,” you say apologetically.
“That’s fine. I’ll get you a drink.”
Officer Debs clears her throat. You may be foggy, but her awkwardness is palpable. “I’ll get it.”
“It has to be full sugar. Coke, if you can,” Hotch says. She nods in understanding and leaves in record time. Hotch turns back to you, his severity melting away. “She was shouting at you?”
“Tried to tell her about my blood sugar. She told me we’re not here to waste time.” You close your mouth, licking the glucose off of your teeth.
“How did you get so low?” he asks.
“Must have done something wrong this morning. Am I okay?”
“We’ll see. I think you’ll be alright.”
“Don’t usually get so dizzy.”
“When was the last time you were below seventy?”
“Don’t know,” you mumble.
Hotch peels the cotton ball from your finger and packs your things away cleanly. “Let’s see how you feel in ten minutes. After your coke. Now… what did the Officer say to you?”
He’s getting his facts straight. Again, you wouldn’t like to be on his bad side. You relay your conversation, Officer Debs hadn’t even been that bad, just uppity, stuck on her own assumptions rather than willing to listen when you’d needed a hand. Her lack of empathy could’ve really affected you. Low blood sugar is no joke.
You tell him, savouring in the warmth of his hand on your leg, how uncaring he is to be kneeling in front of you on the precinct floor. He frowns at you long and hard.
By the time Officer Debs returns, he’s on his feet again. “A word?” he asks her.
You don’t hear all of what he’s saying through the door as you sip your coke. He doesn’t shout, but he defends you with a heavy gravity. Officer Debs speaks up and he cuts her down, something about understanding, and then a more clear telling off, “I don’t want to hear about Agent L/N’s performance from you again. She’s my agent, and if she needs a break, she’ll take one. It’s none of your concern.”
“I understand.”
You feel much peppier when he comes back in, though he appears less so. “You’re nasty,” you say, smiling, happy to be defended, and happier to know you’re not gonna pass out.
He crosses the room. Still frowning, he takes your face into his hands, and he leans down inch by inch, until he’s pressing a soft, soft kiss to your lips. You barely have time to close your eyes before he’s pulling away, thumb pressed into your soft cheek. “Nobody gets to shout at you. Especially over your blood sugar.”
“It’s usually you telling me off for letting it get low,” you mumble.
He stands up straight, leaving you wanting for another kiss you won’t get, hands stolen back from your cheeks. “You’re ageing me prematurely. Drink some more coke, please, sweetheart.”
“What do I get in return?”
He touches your face briefly, as much of a promise as you’re going to get.
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#hotch x reader#hotch#hotch x you#hotch blurb#hotch drabble
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In a Red Dress
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: Bucky has to debrief after a mission, so you decide to stop in for a visit. In a red dress.
Word Count: Over 3k
Warnings: Established relationship, explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, possessive behavior, dirty talk, flirting, teasing, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Happy FriYAY! I started this in January for @tumblin-theworldaway and finally finished it today. Love you, Aqua! I hope you can relax soon. Could be considered a follow up to With a Bang. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
Your heels clicked along the floor as you left the elevator, reminding yourself for the umpteenth time that it wasn't Bucky’s fault that his team extended their mission for another day. Unforeseen circumstances were to blame, completely out of his control. You also couldn't hold it against him that he had to debrief after he messaged you that he arrived back home safely and unharmed. It was part of the job. Still, you missed him and wanted a bit of attention.
Which was why you showed up at S.H.I.E.L.D. in a silky red dress and Bucky’s dog tags under your coat. No bra, no panties. Which he realized when you walked into the conference room, unannounced, and removed your coat.
It was fun to put the fire in his steel eyes.
“Welcome home, Bucky,” you smiled as the room went silent. “Don’t mind me. Keep doing what you’re doing.”
Your burly boyfriend was out of his seat and didn't tear his gaze away from you, the tension thick as you tossed the coat away. Today was a good day for your self confidence. You wore it like a second skin, feeling as beautiful on the outside as you did inside. You knew you looked good enough to eat and you wanted him to devour you.
And as much as you loved him in his black shirt and tactical pants, it hid the wall of muscle you wanted to trace with your hands and tongue.
“Hey, baby. Fancy seeing you here,” he said, his eyes dropping to your chest. Your nipples hardened against the fabric and you wished he’d latch his mouth to them. “And speaking of home, I thought I was going to meet you there.”
Your shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I got impatient since you were late. Plus I wanted to show you my dress,” you said, doing a happy twirl. It was reminiscent of New Years. The soft fabric hugged your body tight like your black dress did, but this one left little to the imagination. “What do you think?”
Steve, ever the good friend, averted his gaze, but a scowl crossed Bucky’s handsome face when you both realized that other agents looked your way. You hadn't expected to be the center of attention for anyone else, but it didn't matter to you if others looked. Why would you want them when Bucky had you under his spell?
At least they were smart enough to look away when Bucky’s metal hand clenched.
“Well? Do you like it? I thought the dog tags were a nice touch,” you added, running a finger along them when he remained silent. “They really do go well with everything.”
“Come here,” he said, beckoning you with a metal finger. You knew he meant business when he didn't use his dominant hand. “Now.”
You maintained an aura of innocence as you walked toward him, watching him his lips as your hips swayed.
“I can see your nipples through your dress,” he said low enough for just the two of you, but poor Steve with his enhanced hearing likely picked up on it. “And I’m pretty sure I didn’t give you permission to wear a dress like that in front of other guys.”
Any other guy who said that to you would've been smacked, but hearing it from him only made your eyes fill with amusement as you tilted your head. “I didn’t realize I needed your permission to wear this, Sergeant.”
“Baby,” he whispered. You knew what calling him by his rank did to him.
“I should be able to wear what I want and when I want to. We both know that,” you continued, sliding your finger down his chest instead of poking it like he expected. “But you have my permission to break someone's fingers if they try to touch what belongs to you. Because I do belong to you.”
Your declaration fueled the fire within. There was no hesitation on your part. No doubt. And after being apart for a short time, you wanted him to hear you say you were his girl.
“Yeah, you do. You’re mine,” he said with a raspy touch of confidence that would’ve soaked your panties had you been wearing any. “And I’m all yours, but I still need to debrief.”
You huffed, but the conviction in his tone was admirable. “Fine. I’ll just wait here,” you said when he frowned. Both of you knew the classified information wasn’t meant for your ears, yet no one spoke up for you to leave. Were they afraid of pissing your boyfriend off? “You know, I really do love that grumpy look of yours. It gets me so wet.”
Bucky’s cheek twitched when one of the men coughed. “You're being a fucking tease.”
“Is it teasing if I let you have me?” You asked, tapping your chin. “Teasing you would be letting you go to bed with blue balls.”
Wordlessly, he lifted a hand and clutched the dog tags. He yanked on them hard enough to move you closer, his eyes not leaving yours when you gasped and shivered from the heat-filled look. You considered it a win that you didn’t collapse. Because he was going to destroy you and you’d love every second of it.
“Be very careful what comes out of your mouth next, baby,” he warned.
You smiled, more than ready to give him one more push. “I’m more interested in what’s supposed to go inside my mouth.”
His nostrils flared when you opened your mouth and showed him your tongue and throat. He put a hand on the back of your neck and tilted your head back, lightly nipping at your skin below your jaw. “I should put you on your knees and fuck your throat in front of everyone. Or put you over my knee and spank you ‘til you squirm. Show ‘em that you really are mine.”
You giggled, a soft and tempting sound. “Why fuck my throat when my pussy is nice and wet for you?”
“Gentlemen. I think the Bravo Conference Room is available. Let’s finish this up there,” Steve announced, his chair scraping against the floor and pulling you out of your spell. “Told you that you should’ve just gone home, jerk.”
“Fuck off, punk,” Bucky said, keeping a firm hand on you so you couldn’t look at any of the men filing out. The smirk he gave you was nothing short of predatory once the door clicked shut, leaving the two of you alone. “Since you need my cock so badly that you can’t wait until I get home, bend over that table and let me give it to you.”
Your giggle quickly died in your throat when you realized he was serious. “You’ve never fucked me in one of the debriefing rooms. Someone could walk in,” you reminded him.
Yeah, you showed up wearing what you did. Yeah, you teased him. But it was all in good fun. He wouldn’t actually fuck you on the table.
Right?
Your cheeks grew hot at the next words out of his mouth. “You think I give a shit about if someone walks in?”
He let go of your neck and grabbed your wrist, carefully dragging you to the table. You loved every part of him, but something about his unashamed want of you made your heart soar. Maybe it was because of how much he healed and allowed himself to have a piece of happiness. That some part of him from his past, the man he used to be, surfaced and blended in with who he was now.
Heaven sent and survived the depths of Hell.
“Now, I should spank your ass raw for this little stunt you pulled. Letting them see you in this dress,” he said without any real threat behind his words. “But I won’t do that until we’re home.”
“Yes, Sergeant Barnes,” you smiled, expecting him to bend you over. But he brought a hand to your cheek instead. “Bucky?”
His gaze moved to your lips as he murmured, “Not fucking you until I kiss you.”
His mouth met yours not in a frenzy, but with a smile. The kind that told you how happy he was to be back with you. It wasn’t long before he shifted, the hand on your cheek slipping to your chin so he could deepen it. The soft slip of his tongue ignited your entire body, feeling his heart beat faster as you brought a hand to his chest. A reminder that he was alive, home, and loved you.
You loved him, too.
Your eyes stayed shut for a few seconds after he pulled away. “Missed you, Bucky,” you whispered.
“Missed you, too,” he said, his voice rougher than before. “Now bend over.”
The air rushed from your lungs at the switch from want to tenderness to need, your chest pressed against the table as he pushed your dress. Part of you wondered if he would’ve made good on his threat and fuck you in front of the other agents. He liked to toe the line of wanting to show others you were his and not wanting them to see intimate parts of you.
Which made you wonder what he’d do if someone walked in. He said he didn’t give a shit, but would he stop and try to cover your body with his own? Or would he keep fucking you?
You wouldn't mind either way.
“Spread ‘em,” he ordered, which you immediately obeyed. The low whistle made you shut your eyes before he dragged a finger along your exposed slit. “Didn’t even bother covering your pretty pussy with underwear. Probably best since you would’ve ruined them with how wet you are.”
“You’ve ruined all of my panties, Bucky,” you said, the distinct sound of his belt buckle and pants zipper making you moan. “And I’m ready for you to fuck me.”
“Yeah? Your pussy ready to stretch around my cock?” He asked, making you shriek when he unexpectedly brought his flesh hand down hard on your ass. He only used the metal when you were in real trouble. “You better not have fucked yourself with a toy before you got here.”
“I didn’t! I haven’t even touched myself,” you promised before he stretched over your back. “I just need you in me.”
“That’s what I like to hear. And though you interrupted my debriefing and I may need to stab a teammate or two, you’re still my good girl. And good girls deserve rewards,” he growled in your ear, nipping it for good measure as you moaned. The head of his cock teased your entrance, your core clenching in anticipation. “I’ll fuck you and you’ll come all over me, just like you want and just like I need. And you’ll take it ‘til I’m done with you.”
You reveled in being his good girl, even when you were bad. How no one else could take his cock the way you could. How he made you soak your sheets day and night with your essence because being fucked by Bucky Barnes made you gush like a geyser. It was obscene.
“I’m your good girl and I’ll take everything you give me,” you said sweetly, knowing he’d fuck you whether you said it or not. “So let my pussy welcome your cock home, please?”
The soft kiss to your neck was almost like an apology before he pushed into you, both of you moaning. He’d check later to make sure you weren’t sore since he didn’t stretch you at all, but the slight ache when he bottomed out always bordered more on pleasure than pain. The overwhelming sensations of him inside you made your eyes roll back and he hadn’t even started thrusting.
“So fucking warm. And wet,” he grunted in your ear when he finally moved, his pants rubbing against your bare thighs. “Jesus fuck, you’re soaking me.”
Bucky robbed you of your breath when he leaned up and gripped your hips, hammering into you. You tried to grip the table, but all you could do was let him pull you back and forth. He was relentless like this, powerful, dominant. Making you take it, just like he said you would. Funny how minutes ago you were the one confidently teasing him and now you were a whining, needy mess. All because his cock shut your brain off.
You didn’t need to think like this anyway. You could be his doll, just for him to play with and love. In your pretty red dress or nothing at all.
“Harder, Sergeant,” you begged, your moans spurring him on.
“Not hard enough for you? Needy little thing,” he groaned, the sound of him burying himself inside you over and over echoing in your ears. “Missed this cunt. Missed you.”
Your pussy gripped him tight, the heady bliss making your vision blur. “Missed you. M… Missed your cock,” you slurred.
He chuckled, not slowing his pace as he leaned back down to tickle your cheek with his scruff. “So fucking cute when you get drunk on my cock.”
You wondered some days where he learned to talk dirty before you remembered that you had a large hand in that. He loved telling you how greedy your pussy made him. How he loved watching his spend slide out of you so he could fuck it back in. How he’s shocked some days that he can fit inside you, so he must’ve turned you into a perfect cocksleeve.
His cock made your mind down, but your pussy made him run his mouth.
“Gonna make you sit on it when we get home. Fuck, gonna make you ruin the sheets when I fuck you into the mattress,” he rambled, making you moan louder. You didn’t care who heard. Let them hear what he did to you. What he turned you into: his needy slut. “Tell me you want it.”
“I want it,” you moaned, his thrusts pushing your breasts harder against the table, your nipples hard and aching for him to touch them. He would later. You could wait. But you couldn’t wait to fall over the precipice. “‘M gonna come.”
“Do it. Won’t stop you,” he encouraged. He no doubt felt how close you were with how you clenched around him, your back starting to arch. “C’mon, baby. Come all over me.”
Your eyes fluttered as your body tensed, your walls pulsing around him your orgasm surged like a tidal wave. The ripples tore through you, ebbing and flowing as you moaned his name. If you could drown in pleasure, you’d want his name to be the last word that spilled from your lips.
“That’s my girl,” he praised as your limbs went lax.
You throbbed around him until he pulled out, making you whimper since he didn't come. You wanted him to finish inside you. He had you on your back with your legs spread wide before you could beg for it, keeping your dress up as he speared you once again. He thrust fast, needing his release just as badly as you needed yours.
“Need to see your face when you milk my cock,” he grunted, licking his thumb and bringing it to your clit. You whined, jerking underneath him as he rubbed the swollen nub. “Oh, stay still. You can give me one more.”
You almost denied him before you felt the coil tighten within you again. You never thought you could have back-to-back orgasms until you started sleeping with him. But it shouldn’t have surprised you. He played you like his favorite instrument and you were his good girl.
You could give him one more.
“Come with me,” you panted, staring into his darkened eyes as his face twisted in ecstasy only you could provide him. “Please.”
He couldn’t resist that last bit of begging.
The waves crashed again, adding to your first high, as his mouth opened in a groan, filling you in hot spurts. Watching him tip over the edge was a sight to behold, his cheeks tinged as his hips stilled and both of you tried to catch your breath. He laid across you after a moment, the weight of him making you sigh.
“Welcome back,” you smiled as your breathing evened out.
He stayed inside you as he brushed his lips against yours. You were going to make a mess all over the table when he pulled out, but it was worth any grief either of you got. “Good to be back,” he whispered, his hand on your cheek again in a tender display as his eyes scanned your face. “So beautiful.”
“Me fucked out or the dress?” You smiled.
“Both,” he smiled back, your face warm.
“Thank you,” you breathed, your heart still racing fast. You suddenly wished you were in bed so he could properly hold you. But he’d have you home soon enough for that. “Hope I didn't get you into any trouble,” you added. That was the last thing you wanted to do.
“Steve gets it,” he assured you, briefly closing his eyes when you brushed your fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry we got back late. He’s right. I should've just gone right home.”
Your heart clenched a little at that. Missions were important and not easy on either of you, but it was his job. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you made it home safely,” you said, arching your back. The table wasn't exactly comfortable, but you were too fucked out to care.
You also didn't want to be apart from him since he was back.
He wrapped an arm underneath you to ease some of your strain. “Still teased me by showing up like this. I might fuck your throat and put you over my knee tonight,” he groaned, squeezing a breast through your dress before he straightened out the dog tags. “But then I’m going to hold you after and not let go.”
You smiled, looking forward to it. “Yes, Sergeant.”
And you'd be sure to thank Steve later for clearing out the room so you could welcome your man home.
Nothing to see here, lovelies. Go about your business! Hehe. 😇 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
#navybrat writes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x f!reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes fandom#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky fanfic#sebastian stan#james buchanan barnes#bucky barnes x fem!reader#the winter soldier
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late | satoru gojo drabble
satoru who falls in love with you, a non-sorcerer. when you finally confess to him about how you feel, he realizes that the feeling of love is mutual.
he’s supposed to feel ecstatic, but he can’t find it in him to feel that way. instead, he feels nothing but dread.
he feels dread because before he knows it, he freezes up and rejects your confession. “i’m sorry, y/n. i just don’t feel the same way.”
god, he was such a shit-faced liar.
his words weren’t true at all. satoru has never wanted someone so badly in his life, but he knows that things’ll be better off this way. satoru knows that you’ll be safer if you don’t associate with him anymore. after all, with the rising number of curses in japan, it’ll only be a matter of time before you’ll be used as a target. and what if he can’t be there to protect you? satoru doesn’t even want to think about what could possibly happen to you then.
he thinks back to riko and frowns. he can’t let that happen again. he promised himself he’d never let something like that happen ever again.
at first, he thinks that rejecting you was the best move he had to make, all for your safety… but satoru has never felt stupider in his life.
because as the months pass by without you in his life anymore, he slowly realizes.
“…i’m the strongest alive, so why am i letting this interfere with who i want to be with? i love y/n, and i’ll kill any damn curse that even thinks of laying a hand on her. so why should i let this stop me from being with who i love?”
before he’s even realized it, he’s teleported to your place. he just needs to talk to you. he needs a few minutes to just explain everything.
except… satoru’s a few months too late.
he sees you. you’re as beautiful as ever, and you’re leaving your house… but you’re not alone. you’re with another man, and you look at him with nothing but love and adoration as you leave to go on a date with him.
that man could’ve been him.
still, satoru won’t interfere anymore. it seems that this is life’s cruel message that’s been sent to him. you’ve moved on, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, it’s better for things to end like this after all.
but fuck, satoru still can’t help but feel hurt in the end.
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x you#gojo x reader#gojo angst#gojo x reader angst
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Don't make me choose
Gojo x fem!reader
Word count: 1.4K
Summary: it's been some time since you've started dating the infamous Satoru Gojo. But lately you feel more like the two of you are just cuddle/fuck buddies and not a real couple. You make him choose his priorities which is something the strongest doesn't like.
Warnings: bad grammar (possibly), typos, angst, very little comfort
When Gojo Satoru first asked you out you couldn't be happier. The first time he caught your eye was when he zoomed past you together with Geto on one bike. You got so startled you fell to the ground and scratched your knee. You thought at first that they will just leave you there and probably laugh at you later at a pub, talking to their friends how they knocked over a clumsy girl in a park. What completely shocked you was Gojo running up to you with Geto pushing their bike behind him asking you if you were okay and if you need any help.
The rest is history.
Now, three years later, things have been going well. Mostly.
You had the ultimate boyfriend experience. Nice dates, wholesome anniversaries, moving in together, having fun. You did everything in your power to not get boring, for him to not get bored. You cooked, cleaned, asked him how his day was, acted silly with him even when you were exhausted after a long day.
So why? Why was he spending more and more of his free time away from you?
It started out small. The first time you started noticing was like a month ago. As soon as he came home he told you he's going to the pub with Geto and Nanami. You told him to have fun of course, not wanting to seem like that girlfriend that doesn't allow their boyfriends having fun without them. Then from one weekend it became every weekend. Both of you were busy during the week, the only time you had for yourself was during the night and weekend. It soon became just nights.
Even during the week it was "babe, i have a day off tomorrow i'm going to Geto's" or "sorry we have to move the date night to sometime else, Geto is sick and has no one to take care of him" and once even "babe, remember how you told me about this place you used to love as a child? I'm going there with Geto! What a coincidence, right?". The last one hurt the most. Honestly, the last one was also what made you start noticing these in the first place. Once you looked into the past and counted all the times Gojo chose to spend his free time with his best friend instead of you you nearly slapped yourself. It was too many times. How could've you been so blind?
All off days were for Geto. All special days were once again for Geto. Weekends, holidays, his and yours birthdays, all for Geto fucking Suguru.
You needed to have a talk with him.
If he comes back that is. Lately he started to have sleepovers with Geto. As if both of them were teenage girls. You did ask to join them but they always told you off to "not disturb their boy time".
Steps echo outside your apartment. The door unlocks. And in comes...
"Babe," comes the voice of your beloved white haired guy, "I'm home."
"I can hear that," came your answer. You prayed it didn't sound too agressive. Your stomach was full of nervous butterflies, making it even worse to come up with a decent way to start the talk.
While you were thinking he came from the entrance hall to the kitchen where you were sitting and kissed you on the crown of your head. "I wanted to ask, do we have plans next wendesday? Because Suguru said he'd-"
"Listen," you interrupted him before he could even finish, "can we talk?"
Gojo chuckled. "That's a very scary sentence."
"Why? Have something to hide?"
"Nope," he put his bag down and leaned his back against the wall, "I'm listening. What is it?"
You took a deep breath. Then another. "Don't you think you're spending a little too much time with Geto?"
His playful smile loosend into a neutral line. "Elaborate?"
"It's just... you've been with him so much lately and I miss being with you-"
"I'm with you all the damn time. Every single night we-"
"Can't you let me finish?!" you said a little louder than intended but enough is enough. "Is that all you see me as? A fuck-buddy to warm your bed?"
Gojo groaned in annoyance. "No, of course not. But you're literally overreacting over here!"
"Overreacting? How? By wanting my boyfriend to be home on his off days? To spend some time with me and have fun like before?"
"Have fun times with you? What am I your babysitter?"
"Are you Geto's? All the fun stuff we used to do you're doing with him!"
"No, no darling," he stood up straight and walked towards you, backing you into the corner, "all the stuff we used to do I did with him first. He's my best friend! I've known him half my life! You have to have at least a bit of empathy to understand that."
Even cornered by a giant of a guy like him you didn't feel fear. The butterflies in your stomach died. What remained was just pain in your chest predicting what was about to come.
"Do you even see me as your girlfriend anymore, Gojo?"
"Oh, so we are on last name terms again?" he asked sarcastically and walked away to pour himself a cup of water.
"Answer me."
You watched him drink. Slowly. You've never seen a man drink this slow.
"Of course I do," he put the glass down, "what kind of a bullshit question is that?"
"It's how I feel Gojo. You're never here with me!"
"I am here now aren't I?" he poked his chest with his forefinger. "I'm here every single day and night, twentyfour fucking seven ever since we moved in together! Well excuse me I want to have some quality time with my best friend from time to time!"
You didn't want this. The yelling, the arguing. But it has to be done.
Now as a finishing touch. "Who do you value more?"
"Excuse me?" was all he said, too surprised to not hear you yell in return, just calmly asking your question.
"Who is more important to you? Your best friend or your girlfriend?"
Gojo covered his face with his palms and threw his head back. "You can't be serious right now," he groaned. "Suguru is my best friend. You can't just make me choose!"
"So I'm below a best friend. I might as well be called your friend with benefits..." you say more to yourself than him.
"There you go hating yourself again," he shook his head. "I get it, you want to hear me say how much you mean to me, how you're the most important thing in the world and other stuff I've told you a million times already and yet you still slip into this state. I might as well record myself saying those things so you could listen to them everytime you're attention starved," he pinched the bridge of his nose.
He sighed. "You know what? I'm tired of this. I still care about you, but you have to understand Suguru is-"
"I know," you interrupt his rant. "I'm tired too."
Gojo sighs. "Okay. Good. I knew we could talk this out," he said and picked up his sleepover bag again. "I hate arguing with you."
He walked past you to the bathroom to dump his pyjamas into dirty laundry. "Let's go to bed, okay?" he shouted from there.
After a quick shower he walked out the bathroom with nothing but sweatpants on and a towel around his neck.
However you weren't there. Not in the bedroom, nor living room, nor anywhere else. Confused Gojo walked around the apartment, looking for any signs where you might be hiding. Maybe you want to jumpscare him again to light up the tension?
Fine, two can play this game. He tiptoed into the bedroom to your massive closet and yanked it open.
You weren't there. But neither were your things. He quickly checked under the bed to see your beloved backpack missing.
Panicked he started calling out for you, thinking this was just a prank.
It wasn't.
You made him choose and without even realizing it he did.
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Svt with a high maintenance girlfriend, thank you <3
Ot13 seventeen : high maintenance girlfriend
Ceecee note - I literally don't know a lot about high maintenance girlies because I literally am too lazy to get stuff done even though I love doing it all and being a girlie lol so forgive me.
seungcheol : literally doesn't expect you to be any other way. if you weren't high maintenance before, he'll spoil you enough to be so eventually we all know it
jeonghan : he's equally high maintenance so the both of you better be rich or he be stealing cheol's money for you both
joshua : he is a man from LA with a J name I think he can really afford a high maintenance girlfriend. Secretly actually prefers that. Just because mindful that he's still The Bitch in the relationship you cannot take his spot.
Junhui : lowkey finds you tiring but simultaneously loves spoiling you. "Oh you want to get your nails done? AGAIN?? you just got them done! No problem tho I wired you $300 enjoy babe 😘😘"
Soonyoung : loves spoiling you in a way where he comes to all of your expensive appointments and shopping and likes yo personally pick your nail and hair and dresses
Wonwoo : I think he doesn't even notice you are high maintenance until his friends point that out. He's like "oh don't all girls like to get their things done like that?"
Woozi : on the outside he shows that he doesnt care as much about spending money on your maintenance but it secretly turns him on. To flex his money on your beauty. His black card has its first home in your wallet not his.
Minghao : this man is dressed up in Gucci and Versace all day long so I think he'd be really proud of a girlfriend who's the same. An equally high maintained couple going to get their nails and hair done together all the time that's you.
Mingyu : highkey intrigued by everything you do. He's that typa man. Would randomly show up at your saloon one day just to see how you get your manicures and pedicure and body spas done. Loves how you always get so happy after you've got it all done.
Seokmin : what's the use of him earning as much as he does if he can't spend it on you? Feels so entitled when you are by his side because of how strong your aura is with your luxurious looks.
Seungkwan : complains and pouts about you spending more time in the saloon than you do in his arms. Starts insisting you book home appointments just so he could cuddle by your side as you get all of your shit done and successfully make the aesthetician uncomfortable with the strong couple energy.
Vernon : I think he secretly knows a lot about manicures and pedicures and nails and hair and spas because of how close he seems with his sister so he just loves spoiling you like that and see you be all fresh and happy afterwards.
Dino : I feel you're gonna have to explain him why you need to get so many things done and why you gotta buy so many skincare and then he has that invisible question mark on his head everytime you go on and on talking about why you need it and all the other beauty details and why you love it ykwim
#svt#seventeen#ceecee sees#svt x reader#scoups x reader#jeonghan x reader#joshua x reader#jun x reader#hoshi x reader#wonwoo x reader#woozi x reader#mingyu x reader#the8 x reader#dk x reader#seungkwan x reader#vernon x reader#dino x reader#seventeen x reader
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Core, what about a bit of competition with ps! Gaz? Some new girl who think's she's already the darling of the studio takes a liking to Gaz, but finds out about his ties with reader.
The one time she gets to film with Gaz, she overplays her role and absolutely covers his neck, collar, shoulder, everything with hickeys, hoping it will deter the reader.
So imagine her shock when the next day, she pops into his dressing room and finds the reader in there as well, applying foundation over the marks and littered with dozens from Gaz himself. ❤️
(I realize how dumb this sounds as an ask but it's been rotting my brain for days and I desperately need it gone so I can focus on my college classes 😭)
thanks this has also been rotting my brain because i just love putting people in their place (: more ps!gaz here <3
The crux of your ass sits in perfect place on Kyle's thighs while your legs straddle the expanse of his hips. Warm hands rest on your waist as you manhandle his jaw, tilting his head side to side to get better access to his neck. Thick, round hickeys litter the delicate skin around his throat and down to his shoulders in angry, red pinpoint marks that break the beautiful and even tone of his skin with something revolting. They look like proper bruises rather than the after effects of a... wild video shoot. As if someone had tried to strangle him rather than make love to him.
You remember the video well, along with that new model with her fake blonde hair and even faker tan that they had paired Kyle with to shoot the other day. You had only seen her in person one time, and you vividly recall the way her blue eyes rolled over your body, assessing every inch of you before ultimately deciding you were worth very little time. Confidence was a must when you worked in the porn industry, but her attitude borders on an arrogance you haven't seen since your teenage years in public school.
As you apply yellow color corrector onto the dark marks on his skin, you nearly shiver as the images of her stained lips suckling on Kyle's neck flood your mind. There was little room to feel jealousy about her ravaging your favorite co-star when you were too busy cringing. So childish. Over zealous. You nearly cried tears of laughter when you noticed Kyle's expression, grimacing at the wet tongue and annoying teeth that nipped at him, yet still having to pretend to enjoy it. Even the comments on the video joked about it.
Put him back with the other model.
"If I didn't know any better, I would have thought someone tried to strangle you," you tease.
"She might as well have," Kyle sighs. He adjusts his shoulders against the back of the chair, bare pecs flexing with the movement, bringing your attention to the uncovered marks that line his collarbone. "Haven't been able to go out in public without a goddamn turtleneck 'cause of her."
You chuckle as you finish applying and buffing out the rest of the color corrector along his skin. It leaves him looking sickly and discolored, which oddly enough is an improvement to what it looked like before. Setting the corrector to the side, you grab foundation next, hips swaying as you attempt to get some movement in your aching knees. Holding that position for so long without moving had them burning with fatigue.
"Need a break, doll?" Kyle prompts, hands sliding from your waist to your thighs.
"Don't know if we have time for a break. Got a lot of ground to cover before we start," you humor.
Kyle sits forward, throwing you off balance, yet he doesn't let you sway very far before his arms wrap around you, hands supporting your back. Adoring eyes crease as a grin floods his face. Even without the aid of studio lights he glows like a god as he leans closer and places a kiss on your neck.
"Show can't start without us," he says, teeth grazing your skin as he wanders down to your collarbone. "Could always give you a few hickeys to match, if you want."
He doesn't wait for you to answer before his tongue glides across your clavicles just for his teeth to follow right after. A chuckle rumbles in his chest at the tightening of your legs around his hips, and his hands only pull you closer. It doesn't take much for you to give in. Head rolling back, muscles melting as his lips conquer everything you're willing to give him. It's a delicate softness mixed with a brutal bite, something that leaves you gasping as he pulls the very air from your lungs and feeds on the sounds.
Kyle is more starved for you than usual. Sick of the fake, over dramatic screeching he got last week with that other model, he's hungry for the real thing. Hungry for you.
The unopened foundation falls free from your loose fingers and rolls along the floor into some forgotten corner when his hands wander underneath your shirt. It's a dance he has memorized; unclasping your bra without a second thought and tearing both it and your shirt off in a single, swift motion. He gives you little time to recover before his mouth is on your tits, kissing a sparse trail until he's rolling a perky nipple between his lips.
His bare skin feels like heaven underneath the palm of your hands as you grip his shoulders for stability. He'd take you on the cold, dressing room floors, you knew he would. A part of you wanted him to. Fuck the shoot, they should've learned well enough to put cameras in the dressing rooms by that point with how handsy Kyle Garrick always was with you.
"Can't wait until we get on set to try and undo me?" you ask breathlessly.
"Doll, I'll undo you right here and then again on set if you asked me to," he mumbles into your skin.
A quiet squeak interrupts your moment and the ambiance of the room shifts when the door to Kyle's dressing room opens. His hands grow stiff against your spine as you look over your shoulder at the figure in the doorway. You smell her perfume before you recognize her. Something drowning and floral, like a mall department store. It burns your nose, yet you're too distracted by the slack-mouth surprise etched onto the features of the new blood's face.
It's cute; her confusion. How her eyes flicker over your bare back and Kyle's hands pressed against your skin like he's cradling the only thing he cares for in the world. The dots just can't quite connect in her mind as to why he hasn't completely fallen for her yet, as if the only way she knows how to lure men is by butchering their neck with discolored marks. She can't comprehend why he'd rather have you in his lap than her.
Kyle draws a shocked groan from you when his teeth nip at your shoulder, and your eyes have no choice but to fall away from the woman in the doorway as he pulls you closer to him. His chin gently rests on your shoulder as he stares at the model, hands moving to rest on your hips.
"Need somethin?" he asks, bored.
There is very little you wouldn't have given to see the look on her face, but the small huff followed by the door slamming shut is good enough. Small giggles rattle your body as you lean back to get a better look at Kyle, as if your body would throw a fit if he wasn't within your sight. There's an inexplicable relief that floods his face as he looks up at you, and he mirrors your smile.
"What?" he defends. "Only asked her if she needed somethin."
"I think you broke her heart," you patronize.
"She'll live," he mumbles, lips falling against the crook of your neck again. "Your heart is the only one I care about, anyway."
#pornstar!gaz#gaz x reader#kyle garrick x reader#gaz x reader smut#cod smut#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle garrick x reader smut#f!reader
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I can't help but think of...
A Foreign Yandere that's transferred schools, to your school, only to kidnap you for his dark desires.
A Foreign Yandere that takes you back to his country after deciding you're his darling.
A Foreign Yandere that has a family encouraging him to wed you then impregnate you right away.
A Foreign Yandere that shushes you to sleep while wiping your tears away. He always whispers sweet nothings into your ear.
A Foreign Yandere that makes sweet love to you when you're a good girl and treats you like trash when you try to escape.
A Foreign Yandere that keeps abusing your pretty pussy with his fingers in the mornings.
A Foreign Yandere that smiles at your adorable confused face when his family and himself speak in their mother tongue. He can't help but want to place you on his lap and feed you.
A Foreign Yandere that keeps you by his side constantly, and when you're not, he has his dogs watching you.
A Foreign Yandere that has three beaucerons or dobermans he's been training to trail his beloved wife and uses your clothes to have them identify you as said wife.
A Foreign Yandere that ends up having to physically remove his own dogs from his own bed to sleep next to his own wife. He's all ready been working all day, and now he has more hard labor to do?! Oh, you better be ready to give him something in return!
A Foreign Yandere that eats you while you sleep, listening to the cute moans that send pleasurable tingles down his spine.
A Foreign Yandere that comes home one day and discovers you getting along with his mother and sisters.
A Foreign Yandere that can't wait to spoil you senseless once knowing you won't run away from him.
A Foreign Yandere that buys you everything you never needed and then some. He even splurges when buying food.
A Foreign Yandere that is very possessive. So much so, it takes your hand on his thigh and a sincere promise of spending quality time in the hot tub to quell his anger.
A Foreign Yandere that reinforces your promise and has you skinny dip instead.
A Foreign Yandere that refuses to stop fucking you, even when his older siblings walk by.
A Foreign Yandere that doesn't take no for an answer when it comes to your pleasure.
A Foreign Yandere that likes watching you play with his nieces and nephews.
A Foreign Yandere that's waiting to see you glow from pregnancy and to see you hold his child in your arms.
A Foreign Yandere that would spoil you and his child silly. He wouldn't just let you have all the fun with your newborn.
A Foreign Yandere that makes a great son, brother, uncle, husband and now father since you and your child have been added to the family.
A Foreign Yandere that smirks in satisfaction when you walk down the aisle, pregnant again, on your wedding day. He just can't take his eyes off you! And how could he when he has you as his beautiful bride and the wonderful mother of his children?
A Foreign Yandere that knows you won't try escaping him any longer when you've had his children and became his wife.
A Foreign Yandere that whispers his dream of having a house full of children that only his lovely little foreign wife can give him.
*sigh*
I just can't stop daydreaming about a Foreign Yandere.
#yandere#yandere smut#yandere x female reader#male yandere#obsessive love#obsessive yandere#yandere imagines#yandere aesthetic#yandere x darling#yandere male#foreign yandere
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Enchanting Lullaby - Insomniac Alastor x Sea Siren Reader
❥Summary: Everyone in the hotel knows that Alastor does not sleep, but what happens when he seeks you out and makes a request only you can provide for him.
❥Tags: Alastor x reader, sea siren, siren reader, insomniac, insomniac alastor, alastor does not sleep, fem reader
❥Notes: I am OBSESSED with siren songs. I find them so hypnotic and beautiful, so I wanted to write a story with a siren reader with Alastor. Wanted to give a shoutout to my friend ValerieWinks777 for helping me with this story. I recommend checking her out on Wattpad, she does amazing Alastor x reader stories.
Spending years in hell, forming unbreakable deals and ripping apart demons in his broadcasts have harden Alastor to put aside certain feelings and tasks, including sleep. Well, he used to sleep during the time when he was alive, honestly he is surprised he even could after all the horrible murders he committed. He didn't just decide one day that he wasn't going to slumber anymore, this change started slowly. Indulging gleefully in the wrath he enjoyed created new enemies, enemies he knew posed no threat, but the longer that list got, the less often he slept, as he rather stay awake and attack them head on if any of them even considered wanting to mess with the radio demon.
A couple days after the extermination war and rebuilding the hotel, it had gotten surprisingly more busy with new demons arriving to gander at the hotel, and possibly consider joining. Charlie had been working like a mad women, tending to make sure everything was perfect for the guests and also trying to lessen some of the workload on the others. She greatly appreciate everything that happened before, so she didn't want them lifting a finger with anything. Alastor, however, was not one to just stand there and not offer his assistance. He may still consider the hotel a bunch of wack-a-doo nonsense, but he has grown fond of Charlie and her beliefs, also considering how much of a gentleman he was, he wasn't going to let poor Charlie do everything herself. Charlie waved her hands in the air, saying profusely that it was okay and Alastor didn't need to help, but Alastor was persistent. "Ah ah ah. Charlie, my dear. As the facility manager of the hotel, it is substantial for me to offer my assistance. Now then! What humble tasks need to be dealt with?" Alastor said with a smile, as he bent down, putting his face closer to Charlie's. Charlie gave a sigh and small smile back to Alastor and told him of the assignments that needed to be done for today.
Alastor went about and began completing each task, stockpiling the drinks for the bar, making sure the rooms were all spick and span, obtain groceries for the kitchen and also prepare dinner for later tonight. Alastor had finally reach the end of the tasks and softly heaved a sigh. Performing small things like this was nothing to him, as he preferred to finish the job quickly and properly and not dwindle on it, but he had used a great amount of his powers to fulfill each one of them, causing him to feel more drained then usual. Alastor, for the first time, felt the need to take a good due rest, but he knew it wasn't going to be easy since it has been a millennium since he last slept. Pondering through his thoughts, he came up with an idea that could help him, as he made his way upstairs.
Knocking on your door, Alastor patiently waited, as the door to your room opened, with you standing on the other side of it, wearing your cozy pajamas. You looked up at Alastor with a smile, head tilted to the side. "Oh good evening, Al. Is there something you needed?" Alastor smiled down at you, showcasing more of his teeth. "Yes, my dear! I have encountered a bit of a dilemma and I need your assistance with the matter. Would it be alright if you could come to my chambers?" He observed your eyes glaze with confusion before you nodded your head, and walked out of your room, closing the door behind you. Alastor had hooked his arm with yours, as the both of you walked towards his hotel room.
Upon entering his room, you glanced around his room, admiring the pocket dimension he had created. It gave a calm tranquil vibe in the room, along with the static music playing from the radio in his room. Al had said nothing when the both of you had entered his chambers, and you wondered if he was displeased with something. "Um.... Am I in trouble?" You question him, twiddling your fingers together. Alastor quickly turned back around to face you, eyes widen before going back to normal, while a soft smile was placed on his face. "Heavens no! You are no form of trouble my dear, I can assure you. There is just something I need from you however." He walk closer into his room, removing his coat jacket and setting it on the chair next to his desk, revealing his red striped shirt that was hidden. He ventured closer to his bed, removing his black shoes before taking a seat on it while crossing his legs. His eyes went back up to look at you, extending his hand out, inviting you to join him.
Your face flushed for a bit, as you made your way over to where Alastor resided, taking a seat on his bed, facing him. The both of you sat in silence, before Alastor broke it. "If my memory serves me correctly, your demon form is similar to that of a sea siren. Am I correct, my dear?" He turned to face you, peering down at you while you looked at him. Your answer to his question was a small nod. "Splendid! That will be quite useful for me!" Alastor seemed almost giddy with joy, making you feel a bit confused. "Can I ask a question?" You asked Alastor. Alastor continued to stare at you, telling you to go ahead. "Why is my nature going to be beneficial for you?" Alastor eyes gazed into yours, as they were filled with confusion. Heaving a sigh, Alastor slowly grabbed your hand, giving it a soft squeeze. "As much as it pains me to say this, but I need your help, darling. I am aware of the soothing hypnotic voices of sirens, how there gorgeous songs allure sailors. I am asking you if you could sing for me, my dear." Alastor smile almost dropped a bit, his face holding a slight melancholic look as he continued to stare at you. You continued to look at him, before you asked him why you needed to sing to him.
Alastor heaved another sigh, rubbing his hair with his other hand. "It has been a drastically long time, since I have enjoyed the comforts of my own bed. However, falling asleep has not been an easy task for me, and along with the chores that I have completed for sweet Charlie. I crave a good rest now more then ever." Upon observing his face, you noticed the dark circles that appeared underneath his eyes. His smile as well seemed a bit forced, almost as if he was having a hard time keeping it up. Your heart ached for him, as you placed you squeezed his hand that was still holding yours. "I will help you Alastor, but there is something you have to do for me." Alastor raised an eyebrow at you, asking what it was that you needed. "Well, could you use your powers to soundproof the room? My siren voice may reach the others, and cause them to fall asleep as well." SNAP! Within an instant, Alastor had snapped his fingers, preventing any sound from reaching out the room.
With a nod of your head, you moved further back on the bed, waiting to make room for your transformation. A dark light enveloped your form, as your body became covered in black and white scales, and your legs had morphed together into a long mermaid tail, causing your pajama pants to slide off. Alastor continued to gaze at you in amazement, finding your form truly haunting while incredibly beautiful. Once you had completed your transformation, you leaned back against the pillow, raising both your hands up towards Alastor. Alastor stood stiff, confused at your actions. "Come here." you said, keeping your arms stretched out. Alastor realized what you meant, his cheeks become a tad flushed. "M-my dear, there is no need-" His words were cut off, as you pulled him down. His head had landed on your chest, as his whole body was placed on top of you, with his legs rested on your lower tail. Your arms wrapped around him, placing one against his hair, giving it a rub. "Shh its alright Alastor. I just want you to be comfortable okay?" Alastor hadn't moved when he was on top of you, apparently not use to actions like this. His body soon began to relax, as he nuzzled closer into your chest, moving his arms to wrap them around your back. His actions caused a soft smile to appear on your face, as you continued to play with his hair. "I'm going to start singing now, are you ready?" You looked down, waiting for his answer. Alastor peaked one of his eyes out from your chest, giving you a small nod. Giggling at his cuteness, you moved the hand from his hand to rub at his cheek, before placing it back on his red locks.
Taking a few deep breaths, you leaned your head back against the pillow. Soon, you opened your mouth, and began to sing.
youtube
(THIS SONG IS SO SOOTHING, I LOVE IT!!)
𝄞 Upon one summer's morning, I carefully did stray
Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay
Conversing with a bouncing lass, who seemed to be in pain
Saying William, when you go, I fear you will never return again
My heart is pierced by Cupid
I disdain all glittering gold
There is nothing can console me
But my jolly sailor bold
His hair it hangs in ringlets, his eye as black as coal
My happiness attend him wherever he may go
From Tower Hill to Blackwell, I'll wander, weep and moan
All for my jolly sailor, until he sails home
My heart is pierced by Cupid
I disdain all glittering gold
There is nothing can console me
But my jolly sailor bold
My name it is Maria, a merchant's daughter fair
And I have left my parents and three thousands pounds a year
Come all you pretty fair maids, whoever you may be
Who love a jolly sailor that ploughs the raging sea
While up aloft in storm, from me his absence mourn
And firmly pray, arrive the day, he's never more to roam
My heart is pierced by Cupid
I disdain all glittering gold
There is nothing can console me
But my jolly sailor bold
My heart is pierced by Cupid
I disdain all glittering gold
There is nothing can console me
But my jolly sailor bold 𝄞
Your beautiful song had ended, leaving the room in a calming silence. Looking down, you motioned your head to look at Alastor. His head was still nuzzled on your chest, the one eye that had peaked to look at you had closed. His breathing was slowed and he was letting out small static-like snores and a few purrs. Smiling warmly, you leaned closer to his head, giving it a soft kiss. Your hand left his head, and began to reach for the blanket nearby on the bed, motioning it to have it lay over both you and Alastor. You placed your hand back on his hair, giving it a comforting rub, as you leaned back against the pillow, whispering, "Good night Alastor."
Tag List:
@alastorsgoldie @91062854-ka , @delectableworm , @iiotic
@cookiekyo , @demoarah , @danveration , @beebsbea ,
@veethewriter , @forbidden-sunlight , @pinkcrystal44 , @luujjvi ,
@unholycheesesnack , @saturnhas82moons , @jyoongim ,
@aceofcards0-0 , @ghostdoodlen , @yourdoorisunlocked ,
@starshipcookie , @ainsliemac , @aria-tempest , @nobuharashinyao
, @sweet06tart , @blakedbeanss , @ihyperfixatedagain , @ktssstuff ,
@yakultt-art , @mooniee123 , @nightmarenaya , @darischerry ,
@sadnessiscoldtea , @alastorssimp , @imacollasaltitan ,
@dilucragnvindr-my-beloved , @batmanmonstarr , @felice-jaganshi ,
@justchillaine , @crazed-flower , @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog ,
@akiooshizuka , @lokis-imaginary-friend ,
@themysteriousslenderman , @huntlowfan , @futureittomainn ,
@christinaatyourservice92 , , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it ,
@angelinevalentine89 , @yunimimii , @staryosh1 ,
@mihawksdemoness , @crystalreads , @blahblahbruhmeow ,
@madam-strawberryrose , @inkslayer , @azazel-nyx , @lixanjewel ,
@artemisandhunters , @thereeallink , @ask-theradio-demon ,
@lousypotatoes
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#sea siren#siren#sleeping with sirens#siren song#ASMR#my jolly sailor bold#insominac#alastor x reader#alastor x female reader#alastor x siren reader#x reader#Youtube#youtube music#pirates of the caribbean#mermaid song#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor hazbin hotel#the radio demon x reader#alastor the radio demon#sea siren reader#sea creatures#hazbin hotel fanfiction#new fanfic#fanfiction#insomniac alastor#soft alastor#alastor hazbin#alastor
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Goldfish
Summary: Matt has a chronic illness that the nurses at his local clinic are all too familiar with. The new nurse in town hasn't had a chance to meet him yet, but what happens when she does?
Pairing: Matt x nursefem!reader
Warnings: Mentions of needles and blood, chronic illness, use of medical steroids, flirty nurse!reader (this is all fiction!), Matt is 20/reader is 23, Matt has a service dog!!
Word Count: Just over 2k
A/N: This is lowkey inspired by the experience I had a few days ago with a flirty nurse while I was in the ER (I'm still thinking about him--had me giggling n kicking my feet n shit like I was in a rom com [this is definitely a story time]). ANYWAY, Matt has PFAPA (my chronic illness!) here. It's usually a childhood thing, but some rare cases like myself don't grow out of it. You can read more about it here, if you'd like. Enjoy!!
Matt Sturniolo is all too familiar with his local pediatric emergency room. In fact, he’s been there so many times that the nurses have started to treat him as less of a patient, and more of a friend. “Hey Matt!”, “How’s YouTube going, Matt?”, “I remember you!”, “I saw you last time!”, and the list went on. Some might ask why he still went there at almost 21, but when you had a chronic illness, it was best to see the people who had been caring for you for years if you could. These nurses had been caring for him at least once a month, ever since he was 12, and were usually quite skilled in how to manage the brunette’s comfort.
Matt had PFAPA, which left him with high fevers and extremely sore, almost strep like sore throats every month. It was a miserable thing to live, and it really impacted his happiness, especially on days like today when he was having one of the worst flare ups he’d had in a long time and both Nick and Chris were unable to come along with him to the doctor. Luckily for Matt, he had his service dog, Emily, with him, but he still longed for a human companion as well. While some people wondered why he ‘needed’ a service dog, Matt’s disability was invisible. Emily would let him know when his flare ups were starting as well as laying on him to soothe his body aches and chills and helping with his anxiety at doctor visits.
The nurse tech took him into the back rather quickly, running their usual tests of strep, the flu, and COVID. About 98% of the time, they would all come back negative, but the hospital staff liked to do all they could to make Matt more comfortable. Sure enough, the nurse practitioner stepped in about 30 minutes later, a sad look on her face.
“How are you feeling, Matt?”
Matt shrugged, grimacing as his throat ached when he swallowed. “‘M not great.” he murmured, petting his pup’s head softly as the anxiety welled in his chest.
“Well, everything came back negative,” she told, a sad look on her face. “We can test you for mono, though. You have a lot of the symptoms for that. That one is a blood test. We’re also going to give you an IV since you’re dehydrated.”
That sentence alone made him want to cry. Despite the tattoos and piercings he had, Matt hated medical needles. They hurt and they freaked him out. Sensing his anxiety, Emily scooted closer to Matt, whining softly and butting his leg with her head. Matt pet the dog’s head softly, steadying himself to get his breath. “Okay…” he breathed, steadying himself.
The nurse practitioner patted his leg gently, hurrying out of the room to attend to her other patients. Matt began to panic, his breathing rapidly increasing as tears welled in his eyes. He didn’t want any of this. He just wanted them to tell him what was wrong so he could get some meds, go home, and sleep. Patting the bed he was laying on gently, Emily hopped up, curling into Matt’s side. The pooch rested her head on her owner’s chest, subconsciously working to slow the brunette’s heart rate.
A few minutes later, another nurse and a lab tech stepped into the small room he was in, holding a tray full of supplies. Matt squeezed his eyes shut tightly at the sight, already dreading the feeling of getting blood drawn. Both healthcare workers were very kind, of course, whispering soft nothings to him as they patted his leg and prepared to draw his blood. They promised him that the procedure would be quick and easy, but those words never mixed well with a chronic illness.
“Your vein rolled because you’re dehydrated. We’re going to have to draw from your other arm.” the lab tech informed him.
“O…kay.” Matt whispered shakily, trying to get his breath and the feeling in his hand back.
The brunette knew that it was okay to cry, but that didn’t make it any less embarrassing. He was a grown man, laying here in a kid’s hospital room, trying not to cry while they tried to draw his blood again in his right arm. Unfortunately for Matt, the dehydration he was experiencing from his extremely sore throat caused his vein to roll again.
“Oh sweetheart,” the nurse said sympathetically, patting his leg. “We’re going to give you a minute, okay? Let’s get some water and Gatorade in you before we try again.”
Matt just nodded as he was passed a mini water bottle and a cherry Gatorade. He was hearing their words, but honestly, he didn’t care. All he knew was that he was going to be poked and prodded again, and he didn’t like it. Emily snuggled into his side, whining softly and brushing her sandpaper tongue against her owner’s arm, trying desperately to get Matt to feel better.
“Alright, honey,” the sweet, older nurse stepped into Matt’s room again, holding a fresh tub of supplies to draw his blood. “Let’s try it in your left hand, okay?”
Because chronic illness never made things easy, the third time was still a failure, leaving Matt with an already bruising hand and tears pricking his eyes. Before he knew it, he was being shoved a packet of goldfish crackers, a popsicle, and more water, being informed that he had to eat before they could try again. The snacks felt like swallowing shrapnel, making the boy cringe every time he had to swallow.
“Hello, oldest patient of the day!” You cheered, practically walking into Matt’s room on a cloud of glitter.
Matt jumped in shock, petting his dog’s head to calm his racing heart. “...hi…” he mumbled.
“They called me in for backup,” You explained, a smile on your face. You absolutely loved nursing, and every day at your job truly felt like a gift. You’d graduated from nursing school last year at the top of your class and had been working in the pediatric emergency room ever since. It wasn’t every day that you had a patient who was 20, but you didn’t mind. “We’re getting this blood draw this time so you can get the fuck out of here,” You slapped a hand over your mouth. “Shit, I’m sorry. I hope you don’t mind if I curse.”
For the first time all day, a small giggled made its way out of Matt’s mouth. “No, I’m okay.”
“I see you have a buddy,” You commented. “That’s nice.”
“She helps my…anxiety.” Matt seemingly chose his words carefully, but they still made you smile. It was clear that the boy had a bond with his pup.
“I’m gonna look at your tonsils first so we can get you some medicine to help you swallow and then we’ll draw your blood, okay?” You asked, wanting to make sure your patient was comfortable with everything.
At the mention of a blood draw, Matt’s blue eyes widened with anxiety, his body becoming visibly tense. You had become in tune with this, sliding on a pair of pink latex gloves and patting the soft material of the pajama pants on his knee.
“Hey, look at me,” You murmured softly, waiting for his response. Once Matt had looked at you, you chugged on. “We’re just chilling, okay? I’m not going to do anything yet.”
Matt nodded, letting out an anxious breath he’d been holding. “Okay.” he whispered.
You grabbed the flashlight to look in his throat off the wall. “Alright, I’m pretty sure you know the drill,” You chuckled. “Open and say ‘ahhh!’...oh yeah, you’ve got an icky throat. That looks like it hurts. Although…did you have a blue popsicle? You’ve got blue tonsils. It’s rather endearing.”
Matt flushed, his ears going red as he nodded. You smiled softly, throwing away the cap and hanging the flashlight back on the wall. You gave the boy the steroidal liquid the nurse practitioner had drawn up for him to ease the swelling in his throat, a blush creeping onto your face as Matt scrunched his eyes up at the disgusting taste, quite literally making grabby hands for his Gatorade.
“Fuck, that’s gross.” he whined.
“At least you got it over with!” You hummed cheerfully, in a small aim to make him feel better. “Unfortunately, it’s time for the bad part, but we can make it a little less shitty if you want? Maybe you could play me some music? Something you like, okay?”
Matt fiddled with his phone for a moment before landing on Dominic Fike’s latest release. You smiled at the lyrics, releasing this was one of your favorite songs at the moment. You prepped the materials needed to finally get Matt’s blood drawn for the mono test, patting his knee gently in an effort to calm his trembling frame as he rubbed his pup’s head.
“Hey, can I tell you something?” You whispered shyly, setting him up for the procedure. “You’ve got goldfish in your teeth–it’s really cute.” You giggled, your own cheeks becoming red.
The brunette whined, breathing deeply as you began to draw his blood. “That’s embarrassing.” he grunted.
A few deep breaths and small, sad noises later, you had finally gotten the sample needed. “We got it!” You told Matt excitedly, placing a Barney band aid across the site. “All done!”
You bustled around the room, making sure Matt was comfortable, throwing away your supplies, and making notes on your clipboard. You helped the boy drink water and got him (and Emily) a blanket, before taking his samples down to the lab to get checked out. By the time everything was said and done, an hour had passed and Matt was asleep against the small bed when you knocked on his door.
“Hey sleepyhead,” You giggled, stepping into the room. “Nice nap?” Matt fisted his eyes, nodding as you went over his discharge instructions. You always hated releasing patients with no explanations or answers as to why they felt so bad, but in cases like Matt’s, that wasn’t always possible. Your best bet was to make him as comfortable as possible here. “Do you have any questions?”
The brunette shook his head, finally able to speak now that the steroids were beginning to work their magic on his throat. “No, but thank you. You’ve been the best nurse I’ve had all day…maybe even ever.”
You blushed at the compliment, helping the boy stand since you knew he was already exhausted, dehydrated, and lightheaded from having his blood drawn. “Do you need help getting to your car? I actually just got off.” You murmured shyly, glancing at the clock on the wall.
Despite Matt’s steadiness on his feet and his grip on Emily’s leash, the blue-eyed boy nodded all the same, a quietly flustered look crossing his face. You smiled yourself, maneuvering Matt out to his car with a firm, yet gentle hand on his lower back. Thankfully, the waiting room had quieted down quite a bit now that it was nearing the evening, so no one questioned or pulled you away from walking Matt out. It was a slow trek with your patient being a bit unsteady on his feet, but you didn’t mind. Matt’s presence made you happy in an odd sort of way; you hated that he wasn’t well and that this would continue to happen for him, but you couldn’t stop your mind from thinking about seeing him again.
“I um…I hope this isn’t weird, but I would really like to see you again. Maybe another time? When you’re not in pain?” You coughed and chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck.
He smiled as he slid into the driver’s seat, rubbing his aching head that was seemingly getting better just by being around you. “I’d like that,” he offered. “I’d like that a lot, actually.”
Matt didn’t end up leaving his trip to the hospital with many answers beside the usual ‘It’s your chronic illness’, but what he did end up leaving with was your phone number scribbled onto a pink sticky note that he had been given in the parking lot.
tags ♡: @jake-and-johnnies-slut @chrissfavwh3re @suyqa @chrissturnswife @mbsbaby @herxysc-blog @lovingchrissposts @caffeinatedscorpio @spencereidenthusiast @crazychrisl0v3r @sturnioloxlver @whicked-hazlatwhore @blahbel668 @sturncakez @junnniiieee07 @biggesthat3r @sturniolowhore @patscorner @julesgrl @0strawberrysorbet0 @strombolilovr @matt444nixi @remussbitch @devthepoet1221 @mattyblover07 @loisnotaa @mollyquinnxoxo @graysturns @pepsicolapussy333 @ginswife @emmagirouard @athaliahxoxo @bitchydragonparadise @ilydeaky @soggyslugg169 @m00n-0n-paws @books0fever @stingerayyy2 @sunsetsturniolos @mimi-luvzyu @raysmayhem-72 @faygo-frog @oobleoob @billsslutt @aemrsy
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#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo#matthew sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo fanfic#matthew sturniolo imagine#matthew bernard sturniolo#matthew sturniolo x reader#the sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo imagines#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo x reader#nick sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#christopher sturniolo#christopher owen sturniolo#chris sturniolo smut#sturniolo#sturniolo triplets smut#sturniolo fanfic#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo smut#sturniolo triplets x reader#sturniolo triplets fanfic
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@ sungchan — i just miss you so much baby, i can't help it . . cws : phone sex . masturbation (f + m) . oral (m) . wc : 1.0k+ . genre : smut
BOYFRIEND! SUNGCHAN who, when he goes on a week long family vacation, starts missing you a little too much by the middle of it.
he knows you're only a phone call away, so that's what he does, call you, a sweet conversation that started out about how much your boyfriend missed you quickly going south, becoming more devious without either of you even noticing it.
“i just miss you so, so much” sungchan mumbles, his voice sounding almost whiny, and that's when you realize what he wants at that moment. you're direct with it, ask him if he's hard, and when he only lets out a small moan you know he already has his hands down his shorts, probably palming himself through the fabric of his underwear. it was like he was going through withdrawal, a withdrawal of you, so needy for you he was willing to go through any lengths just to get a bit of release.
“are you alone?” you ask, your own hand moving towards your middle, fingers pressing against your clit through the fabric of your bottoms. sungchan gives you a positive hum, letting out another small groan, then telling you that he can't make too much noise though.
that's when you know there's no turning back, that now you're gonna see the end of this.
without missing a beat, and while applying a bit more strength as you touch yourself, you ask sungchan what he’s thinking, his reply more shameless than you’d expected.
“of you, laying on your bed, playing with yourself and making those pretty noises you always make for me… i wish i could just walk in and fuck you, strip you out of every single piece of clothing you’re wearing and fuck you until all you can say is my name” he told you, tone hushed but loud enough for you to catch every single word, a soft whine slipping past your lips as you finally pushed your underwear to the side, touching your clit directly, circling your fingers over it in a languid pace, hearing as lewd, wet noises spread through your room, your low whimpers mixing well with the sounds of your slick while you touched yourself.
“and what are you thinking about, pretty girl?” sungchan asked after hearing your reaction to his words, that enough for him to know he had you exactly where he needed you.
“of how much i want your cock in my mouth right now, how good it always feels when you pull at my hair and make me swallow it all even if i can barely handle it. just thinking about it drives me crazy channie, how sensitive you always get when i lick your tip, and how messy it always is when you let me play with you” sungchan groaned as you spoke, throwing his head back and pulling his hard cock out of his shorts, stroking it at a fastening pace — your filthy words, how you used the nickname you always reserved for your more intimate moments, everything about the whole situation driving his crazier than he had expected it to.
“tell me how you’re touching yourself right now baby, please” sungchan said breathlessly, his eyes closed and his mind running a million miles per hour, his fingers gripping harder around the base of his dick before moving up to his tip, spreading his pre-cum down the entire length, groaning as lowly as he could, so only you could hear him through the phone.
“i’m playing with myself like how you always do before you fuck me” you replied, sungchan immediately answering back with another question.
“does it feel as good as when it’s me?”
“no, your fingers feel so much better” you spoke through a low moan, moving to stuff two fingers inside yourself, letting out another mewl as you felt them push into you, moving them slowly, almost as if you were teasing yourself.
“i wish i was fucking your pussy right now, i’m driving myself crazy just thinking about it” sungchan said, holding back just how loudly he actually wanted to moan, moving his hand faster, desperate for more. “i want you to make yourself cum to my voice, you can do that, right?”
you hummed at sungchan’s request, bending your fingers and pressing them against that spongy spot inside your hole, biting at your bottom lip hard, pressing your lids close together and imagining sungchan was right next to you — much like how he was doing, just that he was instead thinking of you on top of him, fucking yourself on his cock, while you imagined him pushing his fingers in and out of you.
“‘m close” you mumbled, feeling warm pleasure bubble up around your lower stomach, moving your fingers faster, seeking more of that sweet sensation.
“me too, fuck-” sungchan groaned, his voice fading as you only heard him let out a low, dragged out moan, then only his breath being hearable through the phone, it’s pace quickening until he cursed one more time, his voice now strained. “i’m cumming” he grunted, his hands moving faster until strings of milky cum were dripping down his fingers, staining them and running down until it dripped to his shorts.
almost as a chain reaction, you too felt your orgasm burst inside you right after, your high crashing into you hard, making you let out a louder than expected moan before also going silent, only your ragged breath left as you slowed down the pace in which you moved your fingers.
eventually, you two calmed down, taking you a few moments before you spoke again.
“i really wish you were here” sungchan said through a laugh, looking at the mess he had made of himself.
“me too” you replied through a pout, your eyes also focused on the mess you had made.
“i miss you too much already”
“you’re going through withdrawal or something” you laughed, giving yourself a second before getting up and heading to the bathroom to clean yourself up, much like what sungchan was doing at the same time as you.
“feels like it” your boyfriend replied through a chuckle, your conversation after that going back to being lighthearted, his need for you still alive, but at least a bit tamer now.
#! . . 📝#sungchan#jung sungchan#riize sungchan#sungchan riize#sungchan smut#jung sungchan smut#riize sungchan smut#riize#riize smut#sungchan x reader#sungchan x you#jung sungchan x reader#riize sungchan x reader#riize x reader#riize x you#riize x imagine#riize x y/n#sungchan drabbles#sungchan imagines#sungchan scenarios#sungchan fanfic#sungchan fic#sungchan hard hours#sungchan hard thoughts#jung sungchan imagines#jung sungchan fanfic#riize hard thoughts#riize hard hours#riize drabbles
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Panic - Part Four
Series Title : Younger Sister
Summary : Carlos is out ill and while Lando worries about him Ollie appears at your hotel room stressing because he now has to race
Pairing/s : Oliver Bearman x Norris!Reader
Word Count : 2.1k
Masterlist
Series Masterlist
Oliver Bearman Masterlist
Lando Norris Masterlist
Previous
It had been a couple of months since the British Grand Prix, and it was now the Hungary Grand Prix. Staying in a hotel room with Lando had become normal, and you stopped bothering about it because, actually, it was nice. Having someone to talk to at all times but also knew that quiet was a good thing. Not only that, but both you and Lando had the same energy levels, which meant there was always something chaotic going on in that room.
Lando had left a little early so that he could go to the gym before coming back to get you before finally going to the paddock so you were sat scrolling on social media waiting for Lando to get back when there was a knock on the door making you wander over to it as whoever was waiting on the other side kept knocking. Looking through the peephole, Ollie was standing on the other side, so obviously, you opened the door
“Ollie are you okay?” You asked, looking him up and down for any visible injuries as he walked past you into the hotel room, obviously finding it extremely hard to stay still
“My parents' flight is delayed. I flew out with Ferrari cause I can but it’s delayed and I’m racing and there’s no one in the garage for me and I don’t know what to do cause its my first ever F1 race and I’ve only ever done practice and help” He rushed out and you looked at him taking everything in that he’d previously just flew at you
“Y/N say something” He whispered, rubbing his face as he paced the room
“Your parent’s flights are delayed, well that’s okay cause they’ll be here. Flights get delayed all the time. You race all the time without your parents there you qualified on pole yesterday” You rubbed his arm, looking up at him. Why did he have to be so tall? It made comforting him so much harder.
“Yeah but that’s F2 Y/N. This is F1” He whispered, and you looked up at him
“Wait what? You’re racing in Formula One?” You exclaimed, taking a step back as he nodded “Okay well today's practice and quali. Wait who’s out?” You asked, confused
“Carlos. Something about his appendix. He hadn’t been well all week” He explained, and you nodded
“I’ve never raced in his car, and I’ve never raced with his wheel, and I don’t know what to do Y/N” He whispered, and you wrapped your arms around him
“Well lucky for you, my brother just so happens to be a Formula One driver on the weekends” you joked, and he laughed. You smiled up at him.
“I’ll come stand in the Ferrari garage, Ollie. Please don’t worry about it. The more you worry about it, the more you stress, which leads to bad racing and crashes. Ollie, they have so many drivers they could have put you in that seat, but they picked you, which means they trust you, so you need to enjoy the fact that you’re racing in Formula One!” You smiled, and he nodded
“I’m racing in Formula One” He mumbled and you smiled watching him now enjoy the fact that he’s actually racing and he’s reached his dream even if it’s not the way he wanted to. Ollie hugged you back with a smile
“What’s going on here?” Lando’s voice came as you turned to look at him
“Ollie’s racing in Formula One” you cheered, bouncing over to Lando, who caught you very much used to the energy you have
“Hey, that's a great man. You’ll do great, just remember to breathe because I forgot to do that the first time” Lando chuckled, placing you back on the ground
“I’m gonna go shower, then we can get to the paddock” Lando walked into the bathroom, and you hugged Ollie again
“You should go get ready for the day, but if you want me there, then just give me a text, okay?” You smiled, and he nodded
“Thank you for that. I needed someone to rationalise my thoughts” You nodded, holding his hand
“Don’t worry about it. If you’ve not already had a shower today, then go take a nice cold one, drink a bottle of water, and remember to enjoy yourself” You smiled, and he nodded, walking over to the door. You followed behind him with a smile
“You’re great at the calming down thing” He smiled, and you chuckled
“I do my best” Ollie walked back to his hotel room as you sat on the bed on your phone, going back to waiting on Lando. When Lando finally walked out the bathroom dressed in his Mclaren uniform, you jumped over to him with a smile
“You’re so happy today? What have I missed?” He asked, confused
“Can’t I be happy?” You asked following him out of the hotel room
“You’re normally hyper, but you seem more hyper than normal” he shrugged
“Maybe I’m a little happy that Ollie is racing today” You shrugged
“You like him” He teased poking you in the side
“He’s just a friend” You shrugged
“We’re the same age it’s nice to hang out with someone my own age while following you about the world”
“Mhm whatever you say. I like him, by the way” He shrugged, pressing the button in the elevator, leaning against the bannister in the elevator as it moved
“I’m glad you like him” You rolled your eyes, stepping out the elevator and following him out to the Mclaren car awaiting his arrival. Oscar already sat inside, waiting for you both. Getting in the car, Lando forced you to sit in the middle of them, so with a huff, you complied.
“Y/N has a boyfriend” Lando hummed, wiggling his eyebrows
“He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friends” you whined, shoving him away
“Ohh who?” Oscar asked
“Ollie. He showed up at our room this morning” Lando hummed
“He showed up because his parents were in England, and Ferrari just called him up” You rolled your eyes
“Wait, who's not racing, by the way?” Lando asked
“Carlos. Something to do with his appendix” you shrugged, and Lando instantly pulled his phone out of his pocket, panicking.
“Oh forgot about your boyfriend” You rolled his eyes, and he ignored your comment as Oscar laughed.
Standing in the Ferrari garage felt wrong. Surrounded by red instead of papaya, but it was for Ollie, who was pacing about the place stressed before FP3. Everyone’s eyes were on him after the announcement that he was now driving. Ollie had taken to pacing three small steps slightly in front of you as he spoke to some members of the team.
Walking over to him gently wrapping your arms around his waist as your cheek rested against his back he tensed up for a second before his hands rested on top of yours and he relaxed now standing in the one place as he spoke to the team member causing you to smile that he was no longer burning a hole in the floor.
You missed the cameras outside as you kept your arms around Ollie’s waist, but you certainly didn’t miss your phone exploding in your pocket. Charles smiled at you as he walked past back to his driver's room.
“Hey why don’t you go into the drivers room and relax Ollie” one of the trainers said, joining the small group as Ollie nodded, taking you to the drivers room with him. Sitting on the small beanbag, you smiled at him.
“You didn’t have to do that” He sat next to you, and you shrugged
“You were burning a hole in the floor, and I know that you don’t make enough to pay for that” you joked, and he chuckled.
“Thank you, though. I’m so stressed about today” You smiled softly, turning to him
“I’ll make a deal with you” you hummed, and he nodded
“Okay?” He frowned
“If you get P15 or above in Quali I’ll go on a date with you. If you get P10 or above in the actual race, then I’ll go on two” You hummed, and he turned to you
“Can I change that deal?” He asked, and you nodded slightly
“Depends on what you want to change it to” You hummed
“P15 or above in Quali a date tonight. P10 or above in the race and you become my girlfriend” You quickly turned to look at him
“What?” You asked, confused. It wasn’t that you didn’t find yourself attractive or other people didn't. It was just that you’d never had a proper boyfriend before. Just teenage boys who wanted to one up their friends in their relationships.
“Well obviously if I get that high, then I’ll ask you properly and take you on that second date, but obviously, if you don’t want to agree to my deal, then that’s okay. I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to and I’d hate for you to feel uncomfortable while you’re here making me feel like I’ve been racing in Formula one forever” He blurted going off on whatever he was saying with. Gently placing a hand on the side of his face to pull him back into the drivers room, he looked at you.
“Olls. Please take a deep breath with me. I’d love to agree to your deal. I just didn’t want you to feel like I was forcing you into anything and we all know that I’m not just with you for money or anything like that cause that’s what older brothers are for” You joked and he chuckled
“Well I guess I’ll be taking you on a couple of dates then” He hummed, and you chuckled
“Cocky much” you joked, and he smiled
“I’ll see you after FP3, right?” He asked, and you nodded
“Of course you will and after FP3. We’re going to get lunch together” You smiled, and he walked out of the drivers room after pressing a kiss to your head. Finally checking your phone just to see a billion texts.
Before you knew it, you were watching Quali, and it was the most stressful thing you’d ever watched. Not only was your older brother racing, but Ollie was doing his first ever F1 race and Quali. Ollie’s dad had arrived at the garage just as Ollie went out for Q1, so now he was standing next to you.
David was stressing more than Ollie was this morning. Ollie got slightly close to the wall just as the cameras turned into the Ferrari garage catching David's face as it happened although you were just as stressed except you had a lot more practice at hiding it after watching races with people from school. David, on the other hand, was new to close family members racing in formula one.
Ollie got himself through Q1 in P9 and into Q2. David walked over to Ollie’s car to say that he was here and to just focus on the race. You could see Oliver’s eyes as he pushed the visor on his helmet up. The stress that previously showed was no longer there. He looked like a kid in a sweet shop, and you couldn’t be prouder.
Q2 started, and David took his place standing at the back next to you. The fifteen minutes of Q2 was soon over and Ollie was unfortunately knocked out in P11 but he was a few hundredths of a second away from knocking Sir Lewis Hamilton out of qualifying that was something to be proud of.
Racing drivers had this thing where even when they drove exceptionally well they’d still beat themselves up even if there was nothing else they could have done and you knew by the look in Oliver’s eyes he was going to do exactly that except you now had practice and a deal you could cheer him up with.
You smiled, giving Ollie a hug as he walked over after he got out of the car. He was sweaty, but it made you happy to see the happiness on his face. Like seeing Lando doing something he loved.
“You did so well, Olls. You almost knocked Hamilton out. If you had another flying lap, you would have!” You exclaimed, and he smiled
“You should go along to Mclaren while I do post Quali interviews. I know Lando would love to have you there, and Max is here today isn’t he?” He asked, and you nodded
“The whole of Quadrant is here today. Something about Hungary being a good place for a new video? I don’t know. They tried to get me in it, but I refused” You chuckled, and he smiled
“Be ready for seven?” He asked, and you nodded
“You know where my room is” You walked along to the Mclaren garage with a smile hugging Max as you stood in hospitality with him and the rest of Quadrant. Ria smiled at you as everyone else was far too focused on Q3 that had just started.
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#f1 x reader#f1 smau#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 imagine#f1#oliver bearman#oliver bearman x reader#oliver bearman x y/n#oliver bearman x you#ollie bearman#ollie bearman x you#ollie bearman x reader#ollie bearman x y/n#ob38 x reader#ob38#lando norris x sister!reader#lando norris x reader#lando norris fanfic#lando norris imagine#lando norris#lando norris x#lnlightning81#ln4 fluff#ln4 imagine#ln4 fic#ln4 x reader#ln4 x#ln4 x y/n#ln4 x you
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Focus II
Salma Paralluelo x Reader
focus I
summary~ You move on, she doesn’t. spoiler, you don’t really move on.
your new normal was everything but fulfilling. This pointlessness cycle of living was eating you alive.
Driving to training, kicking a ball for a few hours and eating with teammates that didn’t even trust you with the ball. You didn’t have a place in the starting line-up anymore and everyone ignored you. You were becoming invisible, a nobody.
Days were especially hard when you were free. You didn’t go outside and no one was contacting you. You felt loneliness on a whole new level. When you had broken up with Salma, there were still people around you but now you’d scared them off. They didn’t know what to do with you anymore.
Real Madrid has been your home for far too long, and somewhere you knew that. Deep down knew you needed an extreme change. But you held on to this ideal idea with a firm grip.
Real Madrid wasn’t your home anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time now. And the team made that clear when they sat you down.
“Look, we just think you need a different challenge, a fresh start.” Olga said, a warm smile on her lips. “It’ll be better for you.” Misa rubbed your back soothingly.
You rolled you eyes at that and scoffed. “It’ll be better for us all.” Misa corrected herself this time. You heard agreement across the room. Clearly they had wanted this for a while now.
You were already out of their lives in their heads, they just needed you completely gone. Out of sight out of mind.
So you moved, it wasn’t like you had a choice in this. Man City was running low on defenders and payed the biggest transfer fee. From your sunny Spain to the rainy Manchester weather.
Stepping out of that warm sticky plane you felt your warm sweat turning your heated body cold. Refreshing. You needed to see this new chapter as a new beginning, another chance.
When Salma heard you left Real she was puzzled. No way you would’ve left your dream club just like that, with no fight. And what she had expected was confirmed.
The striker heard Lucy and Ona talk about the transfer. “Why did she leave? She loved Real with her whole heart, that was her home.” Lucy asked.
Ona sighed, “We all know it wasn’t going her way there, she was stuck. I think she might’ve just left because there wasn’t anyone to keep her here anymore, in Spain.” she explained.
It was silent for a moment before Lucy spoke again. “She was head over heals for her, wasn’t she.”
“I know, she still is. I spoke to Olga earlier, she said that she just wasn’t functioning anymore. She had to leave Spain.” the Spaniard said quietly.
Salma wasn’t aware of this. Why would you break up with her if you still loved her?
She wanted to talk to you. Tell you that she had wanted to keep your relationship more private, out of the spotlights. That she wanted you just for herself. But then you cut her off, you told her it was over. That you were done.
The days in Manchester went by just the same. It was hard and tough. Atleast you knew your team back in Spain, you barely know anyone here.
Salma kept being on your mind, it was hard to forget her. How could anyone forget her. She had a sparkle you hadn’t seen in anyone before. She lit up any room when she walked in and brought out the best in you.
So instead of hurting and torturing yourself any more you focused. Your mind was set. Football was it. Manchester City had an amazing season and you were ready to destroy the Champions League. This was your year.
And you held yourself onto that. You got through the groupstages. Ajax, Wolfsburg and Juventus were all beaten.
The first leg of the Quarter-Finals away had ended up in a 1-2 for your team. And at home you won with 3-0 against Bayern.
This meant a Semi Final against the prize holders, FC Barcelona Femení.
And somehow Salma was still wondering through your mind. She was still there and you were giving up on forgetting her, so you ignored her. Every single sign of her.
Salma wasn’t though. She had you in her mind for the last few weeks. The striker wanted to know what was going on. Why did you leave her. What did you see. What did you think. She just wanted to know.
Salma knew you weren’t going to answer if she called, so she didn’t. She wanted you to see her, to hear her.
That’s how you found her, drenched infront of your doorstep. A cocky smirk finding it’s place on her face.
“Couldn’t you just move to a warmer country.” she laughed.
The smile you had on before you opened the door had dropped. “Or just don’t go to England.” you said, tone flat. When Salma didn’t respond you sighed and rolled your eyes. “Well, see you tomorrow i guess.” you told her before closing your door.
“-wait. Mi amor, wait.” Salma reacted.
“Don’t call me ‘mi amor’. I’m not your love, Ona is.” you said coldly.
Salma’s face fell. “Wait.. what- she isn’t.” Your eyebrows furrowed at that. “Ona isn’t my girlfriend. Where did you hear th- no..” your lovers face was puzzled, she was thinking. “Mi vida, is that why you broke this off. You thought i cheated on you?” she asked you with a broken voice.
“Salma, it was all over the news. You texted me, you wanted to break up.” you told her.
“Amor i didn’t want to break up. I just wanted you. I wanted to keep our relationship out of the spotlight, to keep it to ourselves. I just wanted you.” Her voice had completely broken down to a soft whisper. “I wanted you just to myself.” she stepped towards you.
“Salma, i- i don’t know.” you sighed.
“Please, i just want to see you.” Salma breathed.
You let her in. There wasn’t much you had to say to her. She said she didn’t cheat and you had to take her on her word.
Maybe it was the hope in you. Or the desperation. But you believed her. You wanted to believe her, so so badly.
And when the game came around the next day, Salma had already disappeared. The morning flew by and you were sat in the dressingroom. The music was playing through the room and there were players dancing, singing, braiding hair and drawing, whatever kept them cool.
You checked your shoes, like always. Put your hair in a bun, like normal. You walked through the tunnel, like you had done all of your games. You looked at your opponent, as usual. You were playing a game against Barcelona, against the best, against Salma, like you had done a million times.
The game was hard, honestly any game was at this level. But the feelings were your biggest concern. This didn’t end well last time.
You got your confidence back when you passed a ball to Casparij, who gave a deep one back. You made a run for goal and shot. The ball flew through the air, and even with the best efforts of Paños, it went in. In the corner of your eye you saw the ball crossing the white line.
Your teammates ran towards you and you were attacked from all sides. It was chaos and it was the most at home you’ve felt since you joined the blue club.
But the game wasn’t over, Barça wasn’t done.
Aitana made a dangerous tackle, passed to ball to Graham. Caroline was unstoppable, everyone knew it. When she dribbled past a City defender and made a cross it was over. The ball landed perfectly onto the right foot of Paralluelo and into Keating’s goal.
She celebrated like she had done many times before, but only on El Clásico’s. She kissed her wrist, for you.
“Nunca hemos terminado, mi vida.” Salma winked.
A/N my next fic will be domestic because i love little love families 🤭 who should i write for?
#woso fanfics#woso community#woso x reader#barca femeni#man city women#salma paralluelo x reader#salma paralluelo#ona batlle#barca women#barca femini x reader
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We can all agree that our little gremlin boy Lan has a big head, don't we? Like we love him, he's cute(hot af too), but boy was blessed with a big head 😅 so I just had the funniest scene of his wife complaining to him about his big head while drowned in hormones when she's pregnant with Tilly. Like really complaining, but laughing at the same time, and maybe his sisters or max and P are cackling while he tries not to laugh too much not to hurt her feelings,but they all end up having a laughing fit together 😆
Note: when I was a baby, my head was so big that I had to get a series of tests and scans to rule out any problems! In the doctor's words, fortunately, the only problem I would have was finding a hat that fits! So I relate to this very much - also, absolutely agree with all you've said!
Cw: reader is pregnant
The annual Norris family summer vacation was well underway by the time you decided which days you wanted to spend on the boat, Oliver and Savannah staying inside with the girls along with Adam and Cisca who decided they would make lunch for everyone.
"Do you know what I have just realised?", you spoke to Flo as you both watched Lando and Cisca's boyfriend jump into the water, "your brother has a massive head - like, it's really big, specially when you compare to Max's", you pointed to your husband's best friend.
That morning, you cried about the fact that your bikini dug on your hips only for Lando to tell you that you hadn't tired the sides properly and that you had more than enough room to accommodate your growing body, so right now this was a way better way to deal with the rush of hormones you were having.
"I think we all do, to be fair - Cisca has the smalled one I guess", Flo squinted as she looked at her sister who walked closer to you.
"Why are you looking at me like that?", Cisca wondered.
"I've just realised how big your brother's head is and how I'm probably going to be split apart when this little girl - little body but surely a big head - joins us", you rubbed your bump as tears formed in your eyes.
"Oh, Y/N, my friends have had babies with big heads and they're fine", Pietra offered, "they were just fine", she said before waving at Max so him and Lando could come to the rescue.
"I don't know why I'm crying, which makes this even worse - Goodness", you wiped your eyes and chuckled, "I can feel her head, it's about here from what I remember from the scans - and it's big, like, really big! How is that going to work?", you blurted.
"What's the matter? Is everything alright? Y/N, are you good? Is it Tilly?", Lando asked worriedly as he saw you break into a fit of giggles and seeing the girls fight their laughter a bit before joining.
"The matter is that you have a big head and Tilly's will also be big", you explained, "I'm not the tiniest person ever, so there's definitely room but can you imagine? I have to ask your mother how big your head was when you were born because I feel like I need to do prep work for it", you mused, "it's all natural until you decide to have a kid with the guy who has a big head".
"Oh, Y/N has gone dark", Max muttered, earning himself a swat on his forehead from Pietra, "what? Did I lie?", he hissed, containing his laughter.
"I'm not sure what you'd like me to do here, my love", Lando admitted, sitting next to you and attempting to squeeze your thigh lovingly, knowing the affectionate gesture could go both ways.
"Our baby is making me feel like I have the emotional and cognitive skills of a toddler", you mumbled as you cuddled your husband, supporting your bump with a pillow Flo got for you as you both layed down.
"It's okay, Y/N, I don't mind having to reason with you - we'll consider this practice for when we have our little one, okay beautiful?", Lando kissed your forehead.
(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)
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king of my heart | pt. 2
pairings: lando norris x fem!reader | pato o'ward x fem!reader
warnings: love triangle? kinda.
author's note: go get some popcorn cause we have some drama here🍿... and it's a long part, so enjoy!!
part 1 | part 2
------------------------------------------------------
yourusername
liked by charles_leclerc, isahernaez, frosenqvist, and 79,121 others!
yourusername Miami GP over and out ✅🏁 No words could ever explain just how grateful I am for all of you and for the opportunity that I get to cover this amazing sport with such incredible people by my side. Thank you for everything Miami, I hope to see you again soon! 🌴💖
user1 the power she holds 🙌
user2 she's really living my dream 🥹
lissiemackintosh so happy to be able to share this with you!! love u❤️
yourusername we really need to do this more often😘 love u too!
user3 y/n and lissie hosting track tv together is my new roman empire fr
user4 SLAY QUEENS!!
user5 the queens are thriving
user6 i wanna be friends with them so bad 😫
user7 omg girl you're STUNNING
user8 BEST F1 WAG
user9 facts facts facts
user10 she's not even a wag lol it's so obvious lando just keeps this nobody around for when he's bored and horny
user11 user10 this "nobody" has done SO much in terms of women representation in motorsport, she's hardworking and a lovely woman. meanwhile, you're just a sad little person who's jealous of her because she's successful and close to your crush, who doesn't even know who you are. so get a life and stop embarrassing yourself.
user12 user11 SAY IT LOUDER 👏
user13 user11 PREACH!!!
user14 i don't know if i wanna be her or be with her😩
user15 this is such a mood tbh
landonorris so proud of you, boo😍
yourusername 🥰🧡
user16 YNLANDO NATION WE WON
user17 we love a supporting boyfriend 🤩
user18 i want what they have, your honor
user19 is this considered a soft launch or what?
user20 y'all are delulu😂 it's so obvious they're just friends
user21 user20 girl being delulu is the solulu 🙌
user22 so when are we gonna talk about felix liking the post?
user23 i'm lost sorry, who's felix?
user24 user23 he's pato's teammate in indycar and one of his besties
user25 if felix liked then WHERE'S PATO
user26 user25 doing more important things than being focused on this girl.
lilymhe such a pretty girl 💗
alex_albon should i be jealous?
yourusername you should indeed. can u fight?
user24 the friendship i didn't know i needed 🥹
user25 MY FAV WAGS INTERACTING YAY
user26 f1 is so lucky to have you!!!
user27 LOOOL why would they be lucky to have her?😂😂😂 she's nothing special
user28 user27 and yet she's still rising 💅
user29 user27 then why are you even on her post? lol obsessed much?
user30 my role model ❤️🩹
📞 incoming call
[y/n; normal] [pato; cursive]
"...Hello? Did you butt-dialed me or something?"
"Uhm, hi. It's not a butt-dial. I-I actually just wanted to talk to you. Hear your voice, y'know. I've been kinda missing you."
"Oh really? And here I was thinking that your cold behavior toward me over the past three weeks meant that you didn't want anything to do with me. Silly me, I guess."
"I-I'm... [sighs]. That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. About the way I've been treating you. I'm sorry, y/n. I really am sorry. I know I've been a total jerk-"
"Yeah, you can put it that way."
"...I've been a total jerk and I regret it very much. You didn't deserve it at all. I just- I'm not trying to excuse my awful behavior but I just think I got- Uhm..."
"You got what?"
"Well... I saw Lando's instagram story when you went back to Monaco, as you've probably already figured it out. And I think- Well... I got jealous. And I know it probably sounds stupid now but at the time it felt like a punch in the face."
"Pato..."
"I know I didn't and still have absolutely no business to be jealous about you and Lando, cause you and I are not dating or anything and you don't owe me any kind of explanation about the type of relationship you have with him. But after the great time we spend together in Long Beach... I don't know, it just hurted seeing you with him. But that doesn't excuse anything and I just regret so much the way I've been treating you since then, it hasn't been fair to you at all."
"And it didn't cross your mind that we could have had this conversation way before now? I mean, you waited three weeks to finally talk to me like a decent human being, how-"
"I know and I'm so-"
"Let me finish."
"Sorry, go on."
"However, I do appreciate that you're finally acknowledging all of this and communicating with me like an actual adult. I know it's not always easy to do. And although I don't owe you any kind of explanation, I just want you to know that there's nothing going on between Lando and me."
"So you and him...?"
"We're friends and that's it. We care for each other but there's nothing going on."
"Oh... well, thanks for clarifying that for me."
"Yeah, yeah. You'll have to work harder for my forgiveness, anyway. I appreciate the call but it won't be that easy for you."
"Is that so?"
"You've heard me."
"In that case, what would you say if I invite you for a few days to come here to Punta Mita? Maybe that'll help me a little to earn your forgiveness."
"... I'm sorry, what!?"
"You've heard me."
"You're joking. You have to be joking."
"I'm not joking. You're still in Miami, right?"
"I am..."
"Great! My brother in law is in Miami too and he'll take the jet tomorrow morning. If you want to, you can join him and come here with him! We'd be thrilled to have you here too."
"Oh my God... Pato, I don't know what to say!"
"Say yes and you'd make this birthday boy the happiest man in the world. You'd even make my sister happy, I've been telling her a lot about you and now she's eager to meet you."
"I hope you've been telling her good things about me, then."
"Only the best. She's even on your side, y'know. Said I was being a giant cabrón and needed to make things right. She wasn't wrong tho."
"[giggles] Fine. I'll go, but I'm only doing this for your sister."
"I'll take that anyway! I'll let Brett know you'll join him and I'll send you the details, okay?"
"Okay!"
"Now go and pack your bags for tomorrow."
"Hey! Don't get bosy with me, mister!"
"[Laughs] Fine. Take care, I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you, birthday boy!"
patriciooward posted to his story!
[caption 1; 🦈] [caption 2; beautiful views]
yourusername posted to their story!
[caption 1; para-para-paradise 🌞] [caption 2; in his sharkboy era] [caption 3; 🐶❤️]
paddockgossips
liked by magui_corceiro and 84,091 others!
paddockgossips Among the alleged "breakup" between y/n and Lando, the McLaren driver was photographed last night having fun in a Monaco club in the company of Max Fewtrell and other friends. Some sources have said that Lando seemed very cozy with a blonde woman at the party, whom he later left with. However, we cannot verify this information in any way, so it remains a rumor.
user1 I HAVE A CHANCE AGAIN (i'm delulu)
user2 so this confirms ynlando is over?? 😭
user3 girl i'm devastated 😭😭😭
user4 i'm still in denial
user5 well they were never together to begin with
user6 user5 THIS!! people act like they were a couple when they NEVER confirmed anything 😂
user7 "blonde woman at the party" "it remains a rumor" and magui goes and like the post LOL
user8 she's so desperate for attention🙄
user9 who's magui???
user10 user9 she's kika's friend and she was dating football player João Félix not so long ago (in fact, i thought they were still together lol)
user11 user10 and don't forget she's a cheater.
user12 user9 she's trouble
user13 yn >>>>>>>> magui
user14 user13 no need to compare them
user15 sorry but single lando it's so hot 🥵
user16 SO TRUE
user17 FACTS he looks so good omfg
user18 in his heartbreaker era 😎
user19 in his reputation era 😎
user20 in his idgaf era 😎
user21 i'm a child of divorce fr
user22 i know y'all love y/n for some reason but i'm SO glad lando finally got away from her.
user23 SAME. and if magui makes him happy then great for him
user24 stfu i'm mourning here
user25 y/n this magui that but max was, is and will forever be lando's true wag💅
user26 the one and only indeed
elbaoward posted to her story!
[caption1; off to dinner] [caption2; my love🤍] [caption 3; lovebirds!]
patriciooward
liked by landonorris, yourusername, brettkimbro, and 86,382 others!
patriciooward BDAY WKND DUMP 📸 thank y'all for all the love❤️🔥
user1 THE HARD LAUNCH IT'S HARD LAUNCHING
user2 OMG IT'S HAPPENING EVERYBODY STAY CAAAAALM
user3 he really said i'll give you what you want: thrist traps and y/n... and he's so real for that
user4 he really knows his audience
user5 king behavior if u ask me
user6 everybody say thank you Pato 🙏
user7 YNPATO NATION HOW ARE WE FEELING??
user8 I'M STILL SPEECHLESS
user9 they're so perfect i wanna cry😭
user10 LOVE TO SEE🔥
user11 as a ynlando shipper i have to admit they're cute but ngl this still hurts 😩
user12 MOOD
user13 ynlando will always be in our hearts 🥺
user14 ynlando >>>>>>>>>> ynpato
user15 user13 girl grow up.
user16 THAT SHOULD BE ME
elbaoward where are my credits for the last pic? cuties🤍
user17 u literally gave us the cutest pic ever
user18 elba thank you so much for your service🫡
user19 elba is ynpato's #1 fan and you can't tell me otherwise
user20 elba is just like us fr
user21 LOVE YOU ELBAAAAA 🩷
user22 MOM AND DAD
user23 can't believe how fast she moved on and got together with this dude lol lando really dodged a bullet with her
user24 how fast she moved on?? girl y/n and lando were never even together so stfu
user25 ???? why are you even on pato's ig post? go away
user26 user23 y/n is such an attention seeker and yet everyone loves her, i'll never understand it 🥱
user27 not to be that person but i would KILL to be that piñata😏
user28 MOOD
frosenqvist oh to be tanned, young and in love
patriciooward 😜
user29 IN LOVE??? FELIX BESTIE TELL US MORE
user30 i don't know about y'all but this is all the confirmation i need about ynpato being real, bye
user31 i think i can hear the wedding bells
user32 user31 yesss and felix as pato's best man
user33 bestie don't be shy and drop more y/n pics 🫶
user34 i second the motion !!!
user35 NOT LANDO LIKING THE POST LOOOOL
user36 he is so unserious i love him
user37 ICONIC BEHAVIOR TBH
user38 yeah but i just know he's crying inside
user39 user38 for what? lol lando knows he's so much better than this cheaper version of him.
user40 user39 i'm so done with people like you who insult pato just because you cannot defend lando with good arguments.
yourusername magical weekend 💖
patriciooward with you there? always
user41 STOP THEY'RE SO CUTE OMG
user42 this is such an upgrade tbh
user43 SO HAPPY FOR THEM 🥹
user44 what a bitch.
yourusername posted to their story!
[caption 1; back to reality✈️] [caption 2; I'm a high performance athlete. Athletes sweat. Sweat, baby] [caption 3; cutest model🧡]
paddockgossips
liked by magui_corceiro and 53,237 other people!
paddockgossips NEW WAG ALERT? 🚨 Magui Corceiro, the Portuguese model and actress, attended the Monaco GP after being seen a few days ago having lunch with Lando. It has been rumored that they could be in a relationship, especially since Lando and y/n apparently went different ways, and Corceiro's presence in the paddock has not gone unnoticed by anyone. Still, neither Lando nor Magui have confirmed or denied these rumors.
user1 A TRIGGER WARNING WOULD BE NICE NEXT TIME
user2 um let's hope there isn't a next time
user3 user2 let's pray girl, let's pray 🙏
user4 "neither lando nor magui have confirmed or denied these rumors" well that's bs cause she just liked the post
user5 istg she's trying so hard to get attention
user6 lando was asked about magui and he said she was just a friend... and then she goes and does this lol what a clout chaser
user7 and people used to say that y/n was after lando's fame and yet she NEVER did anything like this
user8 she's such a pick me girl
user9 everything i know of this girl has been against my will istg
user10 SAME
user11 oh good luck lando
user12 oh be prepared for the y/n fans and little girls that'll come attack magui when she hasn't even done anything wrong
user13 literally they're just mad at magui cause she's dating their fav driver loool
user14 they're only jealous cause magui is a gorgeous woman
user15 user14 she's gorgeous but she's still a snake
user16 i'd ask why lando would be with someone like her, but then i remember he's an adult and if he wants someone like her by his side then that's up to him. let's not treat him like a baby please
user17 say👏 it👏 louder👏
user18 weeeeell if this is the kind of people lando likes to have around then i guess y/n really dodged a bullet with him
user19 FACTS
user20 i mean at the end of the day he's just another privileged white boy, so🤷♀️
user21 i really don't get all the hate that she's getting, is she really that problematic?
user22 user21 girl google it yourself but yeah, she is
user23 I MISS MY GIRL Y/N WHERE IS SHEEEEEEEE??
user24 what is she even doing there?
user25 must be cause lando wanted her to be there
user26 why y'all never asked the same thing about y/n? y'all are such hypocrites istg
user27 user26 cause y/n was actually doing her job?????
user28 user26 oh you're stupid 😂😂
user29 magui in the paddock, pato not being able to finish Indy 500... it really is a shitty day huh
user30 DON'T EVEN REMIND ME WHAT HAPPENED WITH PATO OMFG
user31 I'M STILL SO MAD ABOUT PATO
user32 the only good part is that y/n and his family were there for him ❤️🩹
see y'all in part 3!
taglist: @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @evie-119 @evans-dejong @minkyungseokie @noneofyourfbusinessworld @bernelflo @eiaaasamantha @ijustgomessitupx @honethatty12 @daemyratwst @f1fan65
(if you'd like to be tagged in the next part, just let me know in the comments!🧡)
#lando norris#lando norris x y/n#lando norris x you#lando norris f1#lando norris imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 social media au#lando norris fanfic#lando norris fic#f1 fanfiction#pato o'ward#pato o'ward x reader#pato o'ward x y/n#pato o'ward x you#pato o'ward imagine#indycar social media au#indycar#f1#formulaone#pato o'ward fanfic#indycar fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction#female!reader#f1 content creator
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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 15
Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader
a/n: I became suddenly ill about three days ago and my brain is still quite mushy so I think this has been proofread but there might be some errors here and there I’ll try to iron out once I’m better!! Sorry for any scruples and I hope you enjoy!! 🧡💛
warnings: angst, general depression, violence (self-attempted)
word count: 16,175
——————————————————————————————————————————————
Azriel catches her eye from across the room, weary hazel locking with bright amber that swirls in the faelight of the living room.
His tension is more palpable than usual, the conversation from yesterday with the golden-eyed male only further contributing to the death knell gonging quietly at the back of his mind, creaking through his knees, echoing in each footstep—each breath he takes. Time seems to be dripping by faster, even more so than usual. In the cobwebbed chambers of his mind he’s able to recall a time where days were his chosen measurement, where a twenty-four hour period contained beginning, middle, and end. But as he’d grown older, those chunks had grown with him, his perception of time shifting the more of it he lived through. Soon enough weeks were his days, calculating how much could be done over the period, sleep a small break to be indulged in between work. Then it had shifted to months—twelve to fit everything into, nights morphing into short naps.
Now years feel like days once had, time no longer a steady drip of water from the roof of a dark cell ceiling where he’d been kept locked away from the light, but a steady trickle as it carves its way through stone.
Shadows conceal his absence from the laughter-filled room, removing himself from the uncomfortably bright corner to a place of familiarity, shifting into the darker hallways as he sighs, feet positioned instinctively equidistant, weight spread evenly, fearing one lapse in discipline might bring him back to those days where he knew nothing of fighting, nothing of how to defend himself. To those days where he had to learn relentlessly, practice until his body couldn’t move in desperate attempts to cover the ground he’d lost years to.
Mor enters into the darkness, coming from the yellow-orange light that’s spilling into the blue-purple hallway, heels effortlessly silent upon the floorboards as her nocturnal eyes seek him out. Her features are already serious, easily picking up on his mood despite his efforts to conceal it. The depths of it, at least.
“Az?” Mor asks quietly, expression curious but solemn.
“She’s gone,” he murmurs shortly. Mor’s eyes flash with alarm at the revelation, before her brows tuck together. “What do you mean she’s gone? Where?”
“I don’t know,” he admits grimly. “I paid a visit to one of her friends afternoon yesterday, but he refused to answer anything.”
“What do you mean, she’s gone, Az?” Mor hisses, disbelief sharpening her muffled tone. Azriel grinds his jaw, but relents—this is more important. “I mean, she isn’t at the House of Wind. She left a note saying she would be at Bas’, and would be back but she wasn’t. When I went to get her, she wasn’t there either,” he summarises, expression sombre.
“What else?” Mor asks sternly, the brightness about her having faded faster than a flame extinguished. Azriel licks his lips, bracing himself, before explaining: she has magic but it’s been giving her trouble, she’d wanted to try using it without anyone else knowing and he’d let her, Elain’s vision prophesying his death at her hand.
To Mor’s credit, her features don’t drain entirely of colour, and it takes her no more than a few seconds of heavy silence for her to muster up a response. “What magic?” Mor asks first, keeping her tone quiet but clipped, judgement clear enough she doesn’t need to voice it. And Azriel won’t address it, either. “Her hands could glow a little around the fingertips. We didn’t know what it did, though.”
“And the trouble?”
“It dried her skin out, among other things.” Mor’s lips part, eyes closing briefly as she sighs. “The gloves.” Azriel doesn’t need to provide confirmation for her to have connected the dots.
But then her eyes open, slowly sliding to his, an edge of viciousness underlying their amber cut, one he withstands reluctantly. Mor swallows, jaw tense, watching him. “How long have you known about this?” She asks, lethally softly. Not how long has she had magic, how long has he known. And not told them. “About a fortnight.”
Mor’s eyes gleam with hostility, and his features become stony, walls raising up as she watches him silently. Judgement falling heavy on his shoulders. “Why tell me now?” She asks shortly. She isn’t chewing him out, nor is she outwardly rancorous. Not good a good sign. “Bas won’t tell me where she is,” he replies neutrally, Mor’s eyes flaring as she puts it together. “You want me to ask him.” Azriel nods, despite her already knowing.
She glances at him reproachfully, another look he withstands passively, and then she’s turning sharply on her heel, making back toward the light, back toward the laughter. Silent as a shadow, Azriel catches her upper arm, having to exert surprising force to keep her still. “Where are you going?” He asks coldly.
“Where do you think?” She counters sharply.
“They have enough on their plates,” Azriel mutters. As if on queue, Nyx’s laugher giggles through the halls, a stark contrast to the gloom lurking just beyond the light’s end. Mor snatches her arm away. “You have enough on your plate,” she says lowly, eyes glinting as they cut through him, “we could have made room. You should have told us.” But Azriel stands his ground, not giving an inch. “It was the right call.”
“You have no idea where she is,” Mor counters. “No idea where she is, or what state she might be in. What makes you think that was the right call?”
“You’re questioning my judgement?”
“Yes, I’m fucking questioning your judgement,” she hisses back lowly.
“She told me she didn’t want any of you to know,” he counters coldly, “she’s reclusive anyway, suddenly outing her wouldn’t have done anything helpful.”
The wording seems to strike something in Mor, ire banking, eyes shuttering briefly, before she’s gritting her jaw again. “You should have told us.”
“She barely managed to tell me,” Azriel states, “Elain didn’t even know until the vision that her sister had magic.”
“You know you should have told us.”
“And betrayed her trust when she chose to tell me?” Azriel asks cooly. “You didn’t see how scared she was.”
“Maybe she wasn’t scared of us finding out but of speaking with you.”
Azriel blinks, the only sign of his falter he’ll allow, caught off guard by the accusation. She’s never shown any fear of him before… “She has no reason to be scared of me.” He says finally.
A look of frustration flits through Mor’s amber eyes. “She’s young. This is probably the first time she’s experiencing strong feelings toward someone else,” she says lowly, “surely you can remember what that’s like.” Azriel bristles at the pointed look, the insulting comparison between his past love for Mor and the affection being unwelcomely pushed his way. “She’s infatuated. It happens,” he replies tersely, not taking kindly to the manipulation. “And she went through the war too—she isn’t that unaware. You’re doing her a disservice.”
“The disservice here is you not affording her the care she needs—to the point she’s chosen to run away,” Mor practically spits.
Terse silence stretches between them, sour and resentful.
“We aren’t going to come to an agreement,” Azriel says at last, tone clipped, but both of them know it’s better to move on for now. They can fight it out later, once things are resolved and taken care of. “You speak to Bas first, then we can find out who she’s gone to. She could be anywhere in the Night Court, knowing him.”
“We tell Rhys and Feyre first,” Mor demands lowly. But Azriel shakes his head, “if you want to be the one to tell Feyre her sister is missing and we don’t know where she is, be my guest.”
Silence stretches further, growing tauter by the second, until Mor sighs sharply. “Fine,” she grits out. “Bas first.”
Azriel nods, making to turn around, heading for the door.
“But you are telling Feyre,” Mor hisses lowly. “Whether we find out or not. Tonight.”
Azriel pauses, jaw tightening. But gives a sharp nod.
————
Once again he slinks back to the male’s house, the bright sun lost to winter’s oncoming grip, dark clouds shielding the stars from view.
Despite the silence between them, he can feel Mor’s judgement pressing into him, but he has no time to argue or persuade. After the…discussion, with the male the other day, he’d needed time to plan, regroup his thoughts. Time. Seemingly so sparse, as of late. He could afford little more than twenty-four hours of inaction before a decision would have to be made—he hadn’t come this far by sitting around aimlessly when faced with a hard choice. It seemed the only reasonably way forward would be to acquiesce to the male’s demand, as much as Azriel despised so. It was the smarter option.
The other would have been to lay hands on him, and no matter how urgent the matter was, the male was still a civilian, and untrained for war, at that. Violence was entirely out of the question.
He knocks thrice on the door, sharp and punctuated hits to alert the male of company, before stepping back to allow space for Mor.
Gleaming golden eyes pierce out into the darkness, and Azriel knows he doesn’t miss the hint of smugness in their gilded depths as he marks the presence of another, as he’d requested. To verify his claim that there were indeed urgent matters afoot. Azriel refuses to show even a hint of irritation, keeping his face cold and passive—Bas won’t get the satisfaction of seeing him riled. He’d have to work much harder for that.
“You’re back late,” Bas drawls from the warm glow of his house, once again leaning cockily against the broad wooden frame, ankles crossed, one foot keeping the door held to—away from prying eyes. “And you’ve brought company,” he muses, glancing to Mor at his side. The female steps forward, the yellowy-orange light from inside making her glow as she offers a tight smile. “Bas, correct?” Golden eyes sweep over her analytically, before he nods, shifting slightly. “Mor,” he acknowledges, “she mentioned you, too.” No signs of surprise mar her open expression, kept sealed beneath that deceptive mask she can wear to charm at any time.
“That’s why we came to see you, actually,” Mor begins calmly, straightforward. “I’m of the understanding you know her whereabouts, but are unwilling to disclose them for various reasons.”
“That’s right,” he replies slowly, expression shifting to something more wary. His provocative nature shying away from perceived earnestness. “She doesn’t want any visitors.”
Mor nods her head gently, understanding shimmering faintly in amber eyes, threads of her hair catching the golden glow of inner light, glinting with the motion. “I can understand that, but this is very important,” she says sincerely, worry shining in her face Azriel know she doesn’t have to fake. Still the male remains cautious in the doorway. “Azriel wasn’t lying when he told you this conflicts with Court matters,” Mor begins slowly, and the shadowsinger tamps down on the urge to glance at her warily. Though he knows she won’t reveal anything, there’s no need to offer scraps. “I’m afraid there’s little I can honestly tell you due to their private nature, but nonetheless I would like to speak with you about her. She is a part of our family, and we are deeply concerned about her. I’m sure you can understand our worry.”
Quiet pauses long enough to take a deep breath, before resuming to its consistent noise.
Eventually, Bas nods his head, standing straighter. A grain of tension is released from his shoulders as the male opens his door, yielding to a conversation. He makes to step forward, but sharp golden eyes flick to him, piercing and accusing in their nature. “I’ll speak with Mor, and Mor alone,” he states clearly, an edge of provocation creeping back into his features, though the Shadowsinger doubts its sincerity.
But Mor nods her head, “that’s fine,” she answers, brushing past his side, pulling the cold night air with her, a whisper of icy breath grazing his side as she moves forward, leaving him out in the dark. “Don’t move from here until we’re done,” Mor instructs from over her shoulder once Bas has disappeared from the entrance hall. Azriel nods, understanding the implication.
Listen in from outside.
————
The room she follows Bas into is cozy, well-kept. Clearly lived in.
The pillows of the sofas are slightly worn, slightly faded in colour, waned down to more earthy tones that compliment the pale terracotta of the walls. Fire crackles from the hearth, dried rosemary hung from the ceiling beams, as well as other dried herbs and plants. On the wall are some paintings, mostly stills, but they’re watery around their edges, faded colour bleeding over fine, distinct ink lines.
Bas takes a seat that seems to fit him comfortably, likely one he usually chooses, while Mor opts for one nearby, a quilt thrown over its back, squares of purple, blue, turquoise, and magenta knitted together, and she can make out small patches in the yarn where its been run thin and had to be darned with slightly mismatched thread.
“So,” Bas starts, quieter than she had expected, sitting forward in her chair, attentive. “You’re worried about her. Why?” It’s hard to conceal her frown at such a strange question, but she doesn’t really try to. She doubts she’ll get anywhere through masking her reactions. “She’s part of our family,” Mor replies, “why wouldn’t we be worried about her.” Bas settles deeper into his chair, hands braced on arms, head tilted back into the pillow as he watches her intently. It’s not an expression she’s unfamiliar with, but not one she had expected to encounter here—something wary and deeply protective.
“She doesn’t speak much about any of you,” he hedges slowly, keeping his posture relaxed. “But it’s enough. You aren’t as close knitted as family.” Mor opens her mouth to speak, but he continues. “Even if you try to be,” he says, nodding, “she isn’t easy to get to.” Mor closes her mouth, lips pursing in a tight line. He sighs, shifting in his seat, pushing a thick loc of hair from his face, hooking it over a thoroughly pierced ear. “I believe that you’re concerned about her, and that you truly want to help,” he says heavily, attitude shifted from how he’d been outside, and Mor wonders what Bas might have been told about the Shadowsinger to warrant such ice.
“We do,” she urges sincerely, and Bas nods again, hearing her.
“What I…worry about,” he starts hesitantly, forming the words carefully, considering each one. “I worry you don’t understand her enough to make an informed call,” he settles on, and Mor bristles a little. How long has Bas known her for? Does he know her more than Mor does? “What leads you to that way of thinking?” She asks, keeping the stiffness from her tone.
“I know you don’t see her much,” he replies simply, and again Mor’s lips purse. “She doesn’t enjoy…full, settings. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t care, though.” He sighs, eyes briefly closing, before reopening with a fresh intensity, sitting upright in his chair, forearms braced on his thighs. “Do you know how we met? Me and her?”
Mor’s brow dips, but she answers anyway, curious where he’s going with this. “Through Nesta, right?” Bas nods, something passing through his eyes at the right answer. “Right,” he confirms, “making time to visit those stuffy inns, filled with groping hands—she hates places like that.” Bas sighs again, hand rubbing one side of his face. “I don’t even know if it helped at all, but I know she felt it was all she could do. Even if it was just company, and nothing material. Even if it might not’ve had an overall impact, that was her way of trying to help.”
Mor remains quiet, not seeing what he’s trying to say.
Bas shakes his head, as if telling her to forget about it, again rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, I don’t even know if I can speak on her behalf, and I like to think we’re fairly close with one another,” he admits, sighing heavily. “I don’t want to mislead you.”
“So you’ll let me where she’s gone?” Mor asks, concern heavy in her voice, making no effort to conceal her worry. She watches as the pads of his fingers rub over his eyes wearily, as she wonders if this is straining on him more than he’s letting on. “Try to understand her, when she talks,” he requests quietly, eyes still shut, fingers rubbing faintly. “She still confuses me sometimes, and she never shows if it bothers her, but I can’t imagine someone being okay with being misunderstood.”
“Bas,” Mor urges gently, sensing he’s on the verge of telling her whereabouts. “Please tell us where she’s gone. We don’t want her to feel alone.”
Bas doesn’t look up, face still covered by his hands, but Mor can make out the tightness of his brows, torn between his decisions. So close to cracking open.
“I don’t know,” he whispers.
Mor blinks, eyes locking with gold as he looks at her through his fingers, fatigue obvious beneath his gaze, the lines more pronounced as the flame casts the shadows of his digits across his features, deepening the half circles that have appeared.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mor asks, biting down on shock, clearing it entirely from her voice. “She didn’t tell me,” he answers quietly.
Silence stretches, and even in the haze and confusion that’s been stirred up she has enough clarity to feel the piercing weight of a glare through a window, heavy and accusing. Tension crackles in her spine, flipping her golden hair over a shoulder, a subtle message to piss off to the shadows that are watching from outside.
She sighs heavily, meeting the golden eyes of the male opposite her, now sat back in his chair as he was before, but his back is slumped, as if containing all that worry had been stretching him taut. Relieved to no longer be the sole barer of her secrets. “Do you—…” Mor eases in a sharp breath, settling the worry and gradually increasing panic that’s tightening around her throat. She swallows, pulling herself together. Recomposing herself. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” She asks calmly. “Anything could help.”
But Bas shakes his head, guilt clear in his golden eyes. “She didn’t give me any hints. But she had a bag with her, so I’m guessing she had somewhere in mind and didn’t just aimlessly wander off.”
Mor nods, getting to her feet, golden eyes tracking her movements. “Thank you for telling me,” she says sincerely, before turning for the door.
“I know that leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone where you’re going seems rash—maybe even a bit stupid,” Bas says after her, voice a little clearer to catch her attention. “But she’s smart. I’d wager it was probably something she’d had in the back of her mind for a while.”
Mor swallows thickly, the possibility not sitting well with her, but nods nonetheless.
“I’ll let you know when we find her.”
————
Azriel waits sullenly in the front garden for Mor to exit the male’s house, darkening the doorstep he’d been instructed to remain in until she was done.
He watches the door open and close, Mor stepping out into the night air, latch clicking softly as it locks behind her, and the two make their way silently at first down the garden path, back into the street before they begin communicating. “That certainly didn’t take long,” he muses lowly, glancing at her sidelong. “I take it you heard everything?” She asks quietly, tension clear in the cold bite of her usually honeyed voice. Azriel gives a brisk nod, and Mor sighs. “What now?”
“There are only so many places she could have gone to,” Azriel replies smoothly, mind already running through the possibilities. Honestly, Bas not knowing almost helps more—it has to be someone she knows. There are only two places she could have possibly run off to, though neither of them seem particularly believable. That being thought, he knows where he’ll check first.
“You have an idea?” Mor asks tightly, a bit of a bite to her question. Azriel nods grimly, “Elain mentioned a fox in her vision,” he explains, “apparently they grow close—enough to make a bargain of some sort, anyway.”
“Elain saw the bargain in her vision?” Mor questions. Azriel nods. “We don’t know if that’s symbolism or not,” she mutters, “we have no idea how accurate they are, either. Nor how soon they’ll come to pass.” Her tone softens toward the end a little, but Azriel isn’t willing to speak about that part of the prophecy yet. That he will be dying. Probably soon, going off how vivid Elain’s descriptions were—as if it were urgent. Impending.
“And you’re sure Elain doesn’t know where she’s gone?” Mor asks, keeping her gaze ahead, brows pulled together in concentration, a glint in her warrior’s eyes. “She might do,” Azriel sighs, “they are close, after all. And the fox…”
“Could be Lucien,” Mor finishes heavily. “You think she’s run to the mortal lands. Back to her home.” Azriel remains silent, keeping pace as they return silently to the River House.
Piercing amber eyes dig into the side of his skull, the intensity of her attention almost startling if he hadn’t had centuries to grow accustomed to it. He senses the question, just as she could sense he was holding something back.
Azriel doesn’t look at her as he speaks, “there’s only one other person the fox might represent.”
Even without visuals, he can hear how her pace nearly falters, then comes to a stop. He pauses with her, at last turning to face the golden haired female. Her skin is paler, even taking the silver of the moon into account. “You think she might have gone to Eris?” She asks, voice thick, but quiet. No more than a breath of wind. “I think it’s one of the two. There’s no one else it could be.”
“She’s only met him once,” Mor snaps lowly, nails digging into her palms. Azriel makes a show of shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s one or the other,” he says calmly, “if she isn’t in the Mortal lands…”
Mor stares at him, amber eyes drained a little. “You really think there’s a chance he could have…taken her?” She practically spits, unable to keep the hiss out of her voice. Because when it comes to that long ago trauma, her only responses to fall back on are fear, or anger. He doubt she’ll allow the vulnerability of fear right now. Not with the tension between them. “I think it’s better to question Elain first to see if she knows anything. If she doesn’t, I’ll make my way down Prythian.”
Mor blinks, realising the situation. She had demanded Azriel be the one to tell Feyre, regardless of whether they find anything or not. But with the new possibility of her having somehow found herself in the Autumn Court…Mor’s throat rolls heavily. She can’t bring herself to go there. Even now, the thought alone…she pushes against the urge to settle her palm over her abdomen. “We question Elain first,” she manages quietly, and Azriel can see how she’s gathering herself back together.
Instinct is the closest it comes to, that feeling she’s somehow run off to the Autumn Court, like a tug toward the unfamiliar land. Surely Elain would have mentioned something to him about a plan for her sister to leave when she’d been telling him about the vision. It’s the option that makes the most sense, for her to have spoken with Elain, and used a tunnel to reach the border quickly. With all the books she’s read in the library…the kind of things they contain, he doesn’t doubt she’d be more than capable of figuring a way to sneak out of the Night Court. To sneak out of Prythian if she set her mind to it.
Mor nods, and Azriel redirects his attention to the street, continuing the pace. “Question Elain,” she murmurs, “then head to Autumn first. If she isn’t there, go to the Lower Lands. Be as quick as possible.” He nods, admittedly relieved he won’t have to yet face Rhys for the mess he’s inadvertently caused.
————
“Eris, I’m tired,” you sigh, hands aching, sitting dejectedly on a tree stump.
As much as you’d protested, he’d dragged you back out into the forest, where everything feels encased in a glass bubble. It’s hard to explain when you think about it, but it’s like being in another world, how easily the trees sweep away and redirect noise. Hairs prickle at the back of your neck as you remember the giant, boar-like creature that had rampaged upon you mere days ago. The sight and smell of steaming blood as skin slid from flesh, melted apart.
“You haven’t even done anything,” he mutters, watching. “Get back up.”
You sigh heavily, reluctantly getting to your feet, then blinking heavily, suddenly crouching down as you press your palms to your eyes, trying to steady yourself from the abrupt dizziness that had ballooned into your head. Lips part as you try to concentrate on your breathing, wishing away the sudden feeling of unevenness beneath your feet. Eventually it passes, a few extra moments spent crouched for good measure, before you slowly stand back up, hand pressing to the side of your head. Cutting whiskey and amber eyes are piercing into you from across the clearing. You scowl back.
“What was that?” He asks, disapprovingly, your scowl deepening at the tone.
“I told you: I’m tired,” you snap, but it lacks the bite you’d wished for, fatigue building into a slow but heavy pulse inside your head, just above and behind your brows. A yawn rises from your chest, and you cover your mouth as it stretches you open, eyes squeezing shut, watering a little before you slump back into your usual posture, no longer pulled taut by your muscles.
His sharp eyes narrow accusingly, and you bristle at the look, trying to summon up the energy to glare at him. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” He asks sharply, and you grimace, knowing he won’t approve of the answer. But you really don’t have the energy to lie, either. “No, I didn’t,” you sigh, “I was feel sick.” Something flickers behind his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly for you to even attempt to recognise. “You were probably feeling sick from hunger,” he mutters, as if it’s obvious, arms folding over his chest, leaning back against a tree. “Using magic can take up a lot of energy, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You should have—”
“I know the difference,” you hiss, lip twitching up in the beginnings of a snarl, before once again flattening out, and you sit back on the stump, uncaring if it pisses him off. You hope it does.
“Do you?” He muses, a bladed edge to his tone that has your stomach tightening, glancing at him warily from across the clearing. You tense as he pushes off from the tree, then vanishes, and you jump as he appears on your other side, peering down at you, unimpressed. “You know how to tell when your magic is draining you? Because those are some pretty big steps to have made seemingly overnight.” Your lips purse, averting your gaze, sullenly looking away. “That’s what I thought.”
“I know the difference between hungry sickness and—” you falter, but manage to finish the sentence, “…and being unwell.”
Eris pauses, and you want to meet his gaze and glare at him, but your head just feels too heavy on your shoulders, and the general fatigue hasn’t been aided by the light sheen of sweat that’s been layering your body each morning, before you’ve wobbly stumbled to the washroom, clutching your stomach. You’ve yet to actually regurgitate anything though—your one blessing. It’s like those initial months after the Cauldron all over again.
“Look at me,” he instructs, and you glare at the ground, irritation growing in your chest. It wouldn’t hurt him to be a little more gentle with his attitude. His demeanour, in general. A curse sits, unspoken, at the tip of your tongue when he grips your jaw, angling your chin upward so he can examine you. Again your lips twitch in a slight snarl, but the energy fails quickly. Amber eyes sweep over your features, and you avert your gaze when his own settle intensely on yours. He releases you after a too-long moment, allowing you your space again, and you glare at him. “What was that for?”
“You look worse than usual,” he answers flatly.
You glare at him resentfully, unable to muster up the laugh you usually would whenever he makes a comment like that. Instead you just feel irritated. His brows narrow further, “how much have you been sleeping recently?” He pushes. You shrug, briefly glancing away.
“A normal amount. I’m fine, just let me sit down, it’s not that big of an issue if I’m not standing, right?”
“Are you coming up for your cycle?”
The bones in your hands creak, groaning with strain and you hiss as pain flares weakly beneath your gloves at your fingertips. You tuck your hands under your arms, trying to soothe their sting as you glare at him. “Do not ask me that,” you snap, legs crossing on the tree stump. You half expect his lips to quirk at the easily given reaction, but his brow dips a little. “You don’t have to give me a direct answer,” he says at last, a touch gentler than before, but still stern. “Just answer if it could be related.”
You hesitate at the tone, jaw still tight with tension, but you swallow thickly. “No,” you manage quietly, “not for another few months, at least.”
“Then as much as you disagree, it would be a good idea to eat first, then see if you improve,” he replies, back to his usual drawl, laced with distaste. Enough to almost have your lips curving a little at their edges. “So we’ll be going back to have lunch right this second,” you muse, glancing up at him, “and you aren’t going to set some stupid challenge for me to fulfil beforehand. Right? Because that would be very impractical.”
His amber eyes glint with something you’ve decided is the closest he’ll get to open amusement, brow raising slightly. “Why waste a good motive?” He counters, “looks like you’re catching on.” You force a groan, if only in attempts to lighten the mood from whatever dark grave it had settled into, and you reluctantly get to your feet, taking it slow incase your head starts swimming again. “What is it this time?” Eris nods to the tree that looks to have been recently cut down, the counterpart to the trunk you’re sat upon. “I want you to try touching the bark,” he instructs, and you look at him quizzically. Seems easy enough.
You watch him questioningly as you stand and make your way over to the tree, putting your hands down.
“Done?” You say slowly, confusion blatant in the furrow of your brows as you stare at him.
Eris stares at you blankly, before raising his palm to cover the lower portion of his features, concealing his mouth. “Using your magic,” he adds disbelievingly, mouth still covered.
You blink, then flush with embarrassment, hand covering your own mouth as laughter bubbles up from your chest. “Oh,” you manage, shoulders shaking lightly, not helped by the matching amusement reflecting in his amber eyes—amusement he’s struggling to conceal. “I thought—” you break off, a smile stretching wide behind your palm, chest stuttering with mirth. “I thought you meant I just had to touch it.” He shakes his head, seemingly beyond speech. “You want to see how the bark reacts when I touch it with my magic,” you clarify, nodding your head, still trying to tamp down the laughter that’s heating your eyes faintly. He confirms with a slight nod of his head, and you take a deep breath, trying to sober up. “I see,” you nod again, at last recovered enough to lower your hands to remove your gloves, a smile still faintly curving your lips. “I’ll give it a go.”
“Why would I ask you to touch a tree?” Eris asks from somewhere at your back, tone almost settled back to his usual drawl, dripping of disapproval. “I’m tired,” you reply, not nearly as practiced as he is at keeping your tone neutral as you glance at him over your shoulder, “you should have clarified better.” Eris shakes his head, before nodding to the tree trunk.
You take in a breath, returning to look at the bark—what would happen if you touched it?
Closing your eyes briefly, you steady out your breaths, inhaling slow and deep, feeling your shoulders lose their tension before reopening your eyes. Focusing on the bark again now that you’re settled. “What should I do?” You ask, not taking your gaze from the tree or your hands.
“Try thinking about different things, exploring how they make you feel,” he replies steadily. How helpful, you think, but leave the comment unvoiced—you’re trying to concentrate. You think about how the light had appeared before, when he’d gotten you to briefly sustain it. It had hurt at first, you’d had the chance to realise, but after the initial rush of pain, the creak of bones and your groaning carpals, it had faded more into a slight tingle, like your fingers had fallen asleep, wrapped in a vague warmth.
You swallow thickly, thinking about the flat-topped ring in your pocket, the absence of weight in your ears, how they correlate. You don’t regret the decision to sell them off, to your slight surprise. More indifferent to the change, if not slightly excited at your choice. Doing something for yourself, on your own, that nobody knew about. It’s nice, having secrets.
“Now press them to the bark,” Eris instructs, and you look down in surprise to spot the faint greenish-gold glow weaving between your fingers—almost like fish slowly weaving throughout water as they struggle upstream, but less frenetic. Slowly, keeping your breathing steady, you press your palms against the bark, palms shaking slightly as the light flickers, almost flinching slightly as it hesitantly makes contact with the new surface.
You jerk away when something lances up your wrist, stinging pain spearing beneath your skin as the tang of copper bursts in the air. The magic extinguishes in an instant, snuffed out with a single recoiling thought, and your breathing loses its pattern as you glance down at your right palm. What looks like a popped blister sits on the heel of your hand, except the liquid that gleams had a red tint to it, mixed with blood. You sigh heavily, left hand holding your right wrist lightly, thumb pressing the flesh just below the blister, watching as blood rises to the surface. The skin around it is flakier than before, a little discoloured, and you spot a mole at the knuckle of your little finger, poking meekly out from the skin, as if worried over being spotted and pulled away.
Eris walks up to your side, glancing down at the bark, the absence of any sort of change. It looks exactly the same. “I guess nothing happened,” you hedge, glancing warily down at the tree, searching for some kind of change.
Eris is quiet, and you at last turn to peer up at him, wondering what he’s thinking. His silence is waring. Amber eyes latch with your own, narrowed and slightly impatient, before the emotion is swiftly wrapped away. “I had hoped to make more progress,” he muses lowly, and you regard him with caution at the hushed tone. His eyes gleam with something you can’t figure out, wariness intensifying as he pulls something from his pocket—a small silk pouch.
You tilt your head, brows furrowed, “what is that?”
His lips sharpen at the edges, and tension coils beneath your skin—that type of expression is never good. “Open it,” he instructs simply, and you cautiously take it from his fingers, eyeing him again before carefully pulling the strings open, tipping the contents out into your palm. You blink as you take in the smooth band of metal, silver and gleaming against the flaws of your skin. “A…ring?” You ask, peering up at him questioningly. He nods, and you suppress your jolt when his fingers brush over your knuckles, plucking the band up and watching you intently as he smoothly slides it down to the base of the pointer finger on your left hand.
His demeanour has noticeably shifted, and your brows narrow further, suspicion roiling in your gut.
“It’ll help with keeping your magic calmer,” he explains lowly, secretively, and you manage a nod, confusion running rampant in your blood stream. “How so?” You ask, glancing down at the band, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist to keep you from moving. “You have a habit of straining yourself to keep the full force of your power from coming out,” he answers, thumb brushing your knuckle, and this time you glare up at him. His mouth only sharpens, amber eyes glinting with something that has the hairs raising at the nape of your neck. “I’m sure you’re familiar with how the Illyrians use siphons—so their raw type of magic doesn’t destroy everything around them?” You nod, tension lessening, again glancing down to the band. “Think of it like that—now you don’t have to waste concentration on keeping it all in check.”
He releases your hand, and you pull it closer to look at the silver, angling your head a little, understanding this must have been what that exchange had been about, when he’d gone down that dim, dark alleyway into the hidden chamber. “So it’s…a magic ring?” You ask, brows scrunched together as you look up at him. He raises a brow, “how astute of you.” You glare, lips curving faintly at the familiar intonation.
You swallow, stepping back a little, nodding your head. “I guess…” you breathe deeply, “as good a time as any.” You pull the flat-topped ring from your own pocket, and extend it toward him. “I saw this the other day in the market,” you say honestly, watching as his expression shifts, brow raising as he opens his palm. “It reminded me of you a little, and I probably won’t see you over the solstice anyway, so might as well give it to you now.”
Eris takes the ring, examining it, the small carving of the fox set in sterling silver. “A rather unique gift,” he muses, making the edges of your mouth curve.
“If you hate it, you don’t have to wear it,” you say, smiling lightly, “I just wanted to get it.” Though to your surprise, he doesn’t seem to despise it, sliding it over the thumb of his right hand—it seems to actually fit.
That viper’s smile returns to his sharpened mouth, eyes glinting again. “I don’t think your family would approve of a gift like this,” he drawls, more clearly than before, causing you to cock your head in question.
Lips fashion themselves into a razor-sharp grin, the expression more vulpine than fae.
“Isn’t that right, Shadowsinger?”
————
Eris raises his gaze to the forest, how the trees had whispered to him, calling out about the figure stalking their movements. Really, the shadowsinger should know not to hunt outside his own territory. The hulking, shadowy figure steps silently out into the clearing, with a quiet that’s been well-earned by the Spymaster of the Night Court.
Powerful wings are pulled to his body in traditional Illyrian fashion, save for the darkness wreathing the gleaming talons at their peaks, cold hazel eyes clashing with Eris’ own. Marking what the Spymaster has come for. It’s proximity to the male he hates viciously, bloodily, gruesomely.
“Shouldn’t you know not to sneak around in the shadows by now?” Eris drawls, hands settling around its shoulders, feeling stone-tight tension beneath his palms. Its magic fading, unable to winnow two people away, so left trapped in the clearing as the male prowls closer.
“Eris,” the Spymaster greets coldly, darkness unspooling upon the ground he treads, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing. Not close enough for hand-to-hand combat, but too nearby for a proper display of magic. At least he’s smart enough to recognise he’s at a disadvantage in a foreign court—uninvited, at that. “Shouldn’t you know the consequences of displacing a member of Rhys’ court?” The Spymaster questions, lethally quiet.
Tremors flutter beneath Eris’ hands, still gripping her shoulders to keep her in place, and he glances down, only to find her already watching him. If it weren’t for the tremors, she would be as still as death. Her brows lifted and slightly curved, mouth pointed down at the edges. Betrayal stark in her normally bright eyes.
“You’re clearly uninformed,” Eris muses, pulling away from her scared eyes to meet cutting hazel. “This is a perfectly amicable meeting, isn’t it, cygnet?”
The Spymaster’s canines flash at the pet-name, the blatant taunt, the insinuation he’s made that she would choose himself over the Spymaster. That well-concealed wrath suffers a blow when she raises her hands to grip his wrists, nothing demanding about the touch—it’s a weak hold. As if asking for attention.
“Amicable or not,” the Spymaster says, expression stony, “you’ll return her. Unless you want Rhys to know about this abduction?” Eris shrugs, amusement sharpening his mouth as he selects his words carefully, “I’m not her keeper. She will return when she likes.” By the looks of it, the arrow lands, pupils constricting as the Spymaster takes a menacing step closer.
————
Your ears have hollowed out, stomach swallowing your heart. A quiet kind of panic tightening through your chest, pulse spiking. Dread sluicing through the rope holding you taut.
You’re staring up at him, holding on with as much strength as you can manage as a strange emotion rushes through your blood, softening your muscles until you’re struggling to stand, pushing every pleading word you’ve ever read into your eyes, silently begging for him to do something. To keep you from facing him on your own.
You know how easy it is for him to shatter you.
Amber eyes lower to yours, walls risen against Azriel’s presence, and your fingers stutter over the cuffs of his tunic, before the last of your strength drains. They’re glinting again with that challenge, and in the very back of your mind you can understand he’s using this as just another training exercise, but it’s hard to focus on through the ringing in your ears, that strange quiet that’s so loud it drowns out every other thought, like a thousand whispers hissing instructions too swiftly, too viciously for you to make them out, coming together in a swirling spiral that’s pulling you under.
Eris’ mouth is moving, eyes peering at something behind you, but you’re fine not hearing. Would prefer to fade from the world, to slip away quietly, unnoticed and un-missed. But then amber again returns to you, and with it sound comes crashing in too. “Pack up,” Eris orders, and you blink, his hands tightening on your shoulders as he feels the slight sway of your body.
“She’ll take a while,” Eris drawls, glancing back at the Shadowsinger—your stomach lurches—who remains a heavy presence at your back. “You may be unwelcome, but let’s not waste this opportunity. Using your General’s absence as an excuse not to meet has lost its worth. You will suffice.”
————
You feel half-awake as you pack your things, watching from some far away place as you fold clothes meticulously, with much more care than you usually would, taking your time gathering the few items you brought.
Clothes, an empty blue box, the thickly bound volume. A thin wooden box about the length of your arm, a note attached atop.
Use it wisely.
You pack the box in your bag, recognising the elegant script.
————
Azriel had followed silently, concealed within Eris’s shadow as he’d strode through the stretching hallways, leading the way to his own chambers, where they will be able to speak freely and most importantly, privately. Tension had simmered beneath his war-roughened skin the entire time, disliking even having to blend his shadows with the heirling’s, but it’s an intimacy he’s forced to yield.
The room Eris takes him to is big, to say the least, and open, with a large bed against a wall, a wooden chest at its foot, his desk adjacent so natural light fills the cavernous room—one that’s above ground. It’s here he emerges from shadow, filling space just beside the large wooden chest, an unlit fire quite a way to his left. Eris takes his time walking around the desk, sitting down comfortably, having the nerve to look relaxed—prick.
“So,” Eris begins, and Azriel bites against the urge to grind his teeth at the smug tone. “She ran away from you. Took her long enough.”
“How long have you been planning this?” Azriel asks coldly, completing a triple check of the room, making sure there’s no one else around. “You act like it was my idea,” the autumn heir drawls, successfully snaring his attention, something foul rising at the back of his throat at the implication. Likely the confirmation he needs that she had indeed left of her own volition. A muscle ticks in his jaw.
“You want me to believe she came all this way on a hope that you’d provide temporary asylum?” Azriel asks, rooting deeper. “She has a smart head on her shoulders,” Eris drawls, amusement glinting in sharp, amber eyes, “she knows how to bargain.”
His blood ices over, skin turning cold at the wording, demeanour plunging as his shadows deepen. “You made a bargain with her?” Azriel growls, pulse spiking. If a bargain has already been made… But Eris waves his hand, enough of a light dismissal for Azriel to figure she hasn’t mentioned Elain’s vision to him. One small ray of light amongst the storming thunder clouds she’s already brought upon herself.
“Do you find it so unbelievable that she might be capable of making arrangements on her own? Why do you assume I had any hand in it?” Eris drawls, making that glittering rage sharpen into razor-tipped icicles, poised to carve and slice. “You’re a conniving bastard,” Azriel says lowly, violence glinting in his hazel eyes, “she wouldn’t have come to you without some prompting.”
“You think I tricked her?” Eris muses, a trace of humour in his tone, Azriel’s brows narrowing with detestation. “What would I get out of that, unless she was complicit? I have no way of forcing her magic out of her, she has to want that on her own—as much as that might irritate Rhys.”
Loathing simmers in Azriel’s chest, but he remains quiet, allowing Eris to talk so he can gather as much information as he can from both sides. So he can compare her side with his later.
“I’m sure after Nesta Archeron, Rhys would be eager to find out what other weapons he might have at his disposal.”
“She isn’t a weapon,” Azriel snarls lowly, fury held back by straining iron manacles.
“But she could become one,” Eris counters, tone shifting to something more serious, and Azriel stiffens. “The timing’s a bit strange, don’t you think? Her magic only now coming through? After two years?”
“That’s not for you to speculate on.”
“Even without an alliance, it is a matter of concern,” Eris growls, brows narrowing as ire blazes in his eyes, glowing like freshly forged steel. “Why doesn’t she know anything?”
Azriel growls in warning, violence itching at his fingers, fists aching to slam down. Sparks crackle in the air, his own intentions seemingly reflected in the male before him. “You don’t have the luxury to ignore this pathway,” Eris growls lowly, “choosing to turn a blind eye would be damning.”
“She has her own problems to deal with,” Azriel snarls lowly, “you do not get to make that call.”
“I will make the call if Rhys doesn’t,” Eris snarls back, canines flashing viciously, “she could use some toughening up.”
“You don’t know enough to make an informed choice,” Azriel mutters coldly.
“Then Rhys had better hurry up. It’s not as though he’s unaccustomed to having to make decisions like this. What’s taking him so long?”
Azriel keeps still, features neutral, refusing to let even a hint of emotion appear in his blank expression.
Eris’ eyes narrow, sensing he’s being denied information. Vulpine senses picking up on a weak spot. Unnervingly keen. Then he blinks, leaning back in his chair, torso losing tension. “You haven’t told him.” Despite the utter neutrality, Azriel knows he’s figured it out. The heirling nods, a cynical curve to his sharpened mouth. “She didn’t give the impression she’d willingly display her failures to you.”
“They aren’t failures,” Azriel mutters, ice burning in his eyes as he watches Eris with a glacial look.
“No? Because the control over her magic was pretty pathetic to me,” Eris replies lowly.
Azriel snarls, low and threatening, shadows concentrating into a darkness worthy of the Night Court’s Spymaster, deep and deadly as they writhe in warning. “I didn’t realise she had you so tightly wrapped around her flaky little finger,” Eris croons, and darkness rears back, preparing to strike, when three quiet taps are landed to the door, meagre and unimposing.
————
You peek your head into his chambers, bag slung over your shoulder as you pause on the threshold.
Tension is blatant in Azriel’s shoulders, wings slightly flared, an icy emotion tucked between the stern set of his brows, shadows darker—more frenetic—than they usually are. Looking over to Eris, you can see how he’s leaned back in his chair, that taunting glint in his naturally piercing gaze, and you can guess fairly easily the conversation they were having was not a friendly one—even without the aid of body language.
Maybe they were discussing Court matters.
“I—…Should I wait out—”
“Come in,” Eris orders, cutting you off, and your brows narrow a little at the tone, before softening out again, remembering who else is present. You shut the door behind yourself, turning your back to them to make sure it clicks shut quietly, then walking further into the room, stood a little distance from Azriel, not wanting to encroach on his space while he’s surely furious with you. At the very least immensely disappointed.
“Took you long enough,” Eris drawls, bringing your attention away from Azriel to meet his cutting gaze. Well, your eyes meet his. It’s practically impossible to not focus on the male at your right. You’re not sure if you're imagining the displeasure rippling from him, but you can only hope Eris hasn’t intentionally stirred things up. You know you won’t be able to protect yourself against whatever words he has for you after your abrupt departure.
“You haven’t left any tatters behind?” Eris asks, and a slight scowl dips your brows.
“I have everything,” you reply, readjusting the strap of the bag on your shoulder.
“Excellent. Then you can leave.”
You blink at the abrupt dismissal, glancing at him warily. “Weren’t you discussing something?” You ask Eris hesitantly, cautious about prodding where you aren’t welcome. “We were,” Eris replies, a viper’s smile on his sharp lips, amber eyes cutting to the male at your right. “But it appears your Spymaster doesn’t think you’re trustworthy enough.” It’s obviously a manipulation of truth, but that doesn’t make it easy to hear, heart hollowing out, spine losing a bit of rigidity.
“And who could blame him,” Eris continues, “you haven’t exactly been particularly honest with him, have you, cygnet?”
Your lips purse, averting your eyes from both of them, peering at the floorboards to your left, shame tightening around your throat. “Seems logical enough,” you say quietly, managing to keep your voice steady. You’d rather vanish right then and there, wiped clean from memory and existence than allow a tremor into your voice.
You’ve gotten yourself into this situation. Self-pity won’t fix anything.
“Then that is that,” Eris muses, pulling you from your thoughts. Azriel shifts, not saying another word to either of you as he makes for the door, and you glance at Eris a little longer, searching for a way back. He quirks a taunting brow, resting his jaw on his right hand, the flat-topped band of sterling silver catching the light with the motion. Your thumb brushes the ring on your own finger, before you turn, making for the door where Azriel’s waiting to take you back.
Back to the Night Court.
Back to Velaris.
Back to your family.
Back to be judged.
————
It was unnerving how alone you’d felt on the way out of the palace. Even knowing he was present, slipping through shadows, you couldn’t sense a single thing, and on more than one occasion had glanced around, worriedly trying to find him—but nothing.
It wasn’t until you passed the walls, heading out into the forest again that he emerged—silent and looming—unable to hear his footsteps even when he was right beside you. Unnervingly ghost-like.
You wait for him to speak, to say whatever it is that’ll inevitably bring tears to your skin, but he’s completely silent, leading the way. Knowing you’ll follow behind. Knowing you won’t speak to him until he initiates.
You’d been brought here by winnowing, but he makes no move to wrap either of you in his shadows, and a small part of you whispers that he wouldn’t want you to contaminate them. You try to ignore that part, but even the quietest voice will be heard over silence. Instead the tales spin deeper, that he hadn’t even wanted to retrieve you, content to have you out of the way, out of the Night Court, away from his home. At least that way there’d be no chance of his prophesied death coming to pass.
He’d be safe, and you wouldn’t be bothering him.
Wouldn’t be bothering any of them.
He walks deeper into the forest, silent and steadfast, while you watch as his boots tread through the fallen leaves, not daring to look any higher in case it disgusts him further. You have no concept of how long you follow after him for—long enough your feet begin to ache lightly, but you push through it—silently waiting for the conversation to start. For the first question to be asked. For the first blow to be landed.
Azriel doesn’t stop when you try to shift your bag to the other shoulder, your right one aching, and something in your stomach drops when your pace slows but his remains constant, so you hurriedly finish the switch, and make an effort to catch up, careful not to trip. Hunger gnaws at your bones, but you keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt his pace. It’s not until your stomach audibly protests that he comes to a pause, glancing over his shoulder to you, and you swiftly duck your head, averting your eyes from his painfully familiar hazel set. Breaths deepening as you come to a stop with him.
“When did you eat last?” He asks. The first words he’s said to you.
“Yesterday,” you answer quietly, pressure tight across your chest as you try to keep your breaths quiet but even. “Do you have food on you?” He asks. You nod. You’d wrapped up a pastry from breakfast, it being the only thing you’d be able to savour. Even years later, the habit of not wasting food still remains prominent.
His boots shift, turning to face forward as he begins walking again. You follow silently, seeing no point in nodding or replying. It’s not like you’re going to do anything else. “There’s a clearing up here. You can eat there.”
Azriel pauses beside a particularly large oak tree, and you swallow, and you habitually consider where the least offensive place to sit would be. So you’re nicely out of his way. The ground is muddy, so you’re forced to follow beside his footsteps to the oak, setting as silently as you can on one large branch that’s gnarled and shoved through the earth to curl into a large seat.
Your pulse spikes, wondering if this will be where you have the one-sided discussion, perching the bag on your legs, searching through for the little pastry. It’s made harder by your bare hands, how every piece of fabric seems to bite at your skin with each brush, piercing painfully as you search, until you spot the orange scarf, pulling it out to find the pastry wrapped in a napkin.
He doesn’t say anything, but you feel like you’re wasting time.
You peer at the pastry in your hands, not particularly keen on eating it. You’re close enough to nausea as is, and don’t want to tempt fate with giving your stomach something to regurgitate. But it would be weird to put it away now, so you’ll just have to take small bites. Hope that you can stomach it. A few minutes pass, but you’ve hardly made a noticeable dent in the food, guilt weighing on your bones, pausing between each mouthful to peer around the clearing dully.
Your fingers fumble a little when Azriel moves, settling on the root beside you, your muscles stitching themselves taut, and you hastily shift yourself tighter so he has his space. Almost dropping the pastry in your stuttering movements.
He’s quiet for a bit, and you swallow thickly, attempting to focus on the food before you so as not to stare, but internally you can feel the beats passing, heart ticking tighter…tighter…
“Why did you leave?” He asks quietly.
You still, able to feel the narrow wooden box digging into your thighs. Pausing as the tension abates a little, like how you imagine it would feel to watch an arrow loose from a bow, watching it arc in the sky, then slowly plummet down, seeking out its target. The breath that would breathe out in relief once it embedded itself in flesh, those few, stretching moments at last having come to an end, and one can relax into the clarity of the pain. The certainty of the wound.
“I wanted to get out,” you mumble thickly, keeping the shake from your voice.
“So you went to him?” Azriel asks. You head lowers a little in sorrow.
Where else were you supposed to go?
“You could have asked to be taken somewhere,” he says quietly, and guilt tightens itself around your throat. Is there any way to explain to him why you’d left when you hardly understand it yourself? It had been a crescendo of nerves, of bottled up worries tightening with pressure, like air being blown into a brown paper bag until it burst. Is there any way to tell him you’d like to be able to ask things of him, but in truth you’d rather be slowly pulled apart by pressure than worry him with pointless tasks that only serve your benefit? How can you ever hope to speak with him honestly, when your very heart seems to be the thing warning you away—that same heart that wants to press into him, to beg and cry for forgiveness and reassurance.
“At least have the decency to answer,” he says quietly when you don’t respond, and you feel the small tremor that shudders up your throat, fearing the oncoming disaster. “I wanted to go on my own,” you get out, words softer than a whisper.
He’s quiet, and you wonder if that’s the end of the discussion for now.
But, “did you think at all about what the consequences would be from going to him?” He asks, gaze ahead, but attention pressing down on you. “Or did you forget you have people around you, that your actions impact.”
Your grip loosens on the pastry, choosing to wrap it back up in the napkin, fingers shaking slightly. A lump rising in your throat.
“Answer,” he murmurs, promptingly.
“I just wanted to go,” you whisper hoarsely, fingers wringing together. “I thought—… I thought it would be better if I was fur—… If I was gone.”
“Are you going to tell Mor where you went?” He questions softly. “Or did you not think about that part either?”
“I made progress,” you try, raising your gaze to his. “I can summon it, if I concentrate.”
His lips remain unmoving, but his eyes…gods, his eyes. You betrayed her, you know. All of them.
Breath catches in your throat, and you have to look away. Unable to face him. It. Any of it.
“Why is it so bad?” You ask quietly. “All I did was leave for a little under a week. I was trying to get better.”
“Stop. Lying,” he mutters lowly, blood freezing in your veins, fingers wringing together. Silence ticks by, and you wonder if he can hear the humiliatingly loud pulse of your heart, erratic and stumbling as it usually does around him. You don’t think he’s ever so obviously shown what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.
Why is this the first way you see it?
Why is this the first time he allows it?
“Just tell me what you want,” you ask quietly, voice faltering as you stare at him helplessly. “You’re never happy with anything I do,” you manage, trembling with growing turmoil, “so please, just tell me what you want, and put me out of my misery.”
He exhales harshly, leaning back into the trunk, lips tugged down at the corners, reproach tucked between his brows, so rarely softened by charm anymore. At least not while you’re around. Almost never when you’re around.
“I don’t feel I should have to tell you how you fucked up here,” he replies lowly, and you push back on the flinch at the crude wording. “You made a bad choice.”
“Imagine how much worse the others were,” you reply lowly, a hint of resentment—not directed at him—present in your tone. He stiffens at your side, then his gaze slides slowly over to you, lethal and condemning, but it’s like you can’t look away. You physically can’t duck your head, or shy away. “You’re really joking at a time like this?”
You meet his eyes fully, presently, taking him in against the darkening sky, winter sun already on the way out for the day, the chill more than prominent, but you don’t dare reach for the scarf in your bag. “Tell me what you want,” you repeat softly, no louder than a last breath on dying lips.
“I want you to be honest,” he replies, brows narrowing, “for once, apparently.”
“About what?”
“Why you went to him.” He nearly spits, unable to entirely keep his ire at bay, something passing behind his eyes.
You’re quiet. Silent.
Then you lean back into the trunk of the tree, head tilting back into the rough bark, hands settling numbly in your lap. Shoulders slope, and you peer up into the grey sky, gloomy and heavy with unshed tears. Thick and thunderous. Fitting for the storm that’s on its way.
“Please don’t be angry,” you whisper, hardly a breath from your lips, a prayer whisked away by the static air. He’s silent, and your throat closes up. “Azriel,” your murmur, swallowing thickly. “Please.”
Moments tick by, stretching and warping as your heart thumps heavily in your chest, utterly bewitched, utterly at his mercy. It’s exhausting.
He sighs, and you try not to stiffen as he glances over to you, feeling that familiar prickle of skin as lovely hazel settles on you. A few warm rays making it through the dim clouds before being frozen off by the icy breeze. Winter’s most definitely on its way.
“I won’t be angry,” he murmurs softly. “Just…talk to me. Like you used to.”
Your arms fold over your chest, closing in on yourself, feet pressing together as you hunch over the bag in your lap, peering at the muddy ground. The smell of parchment rises from your memories, dusty and familiar, but lacking the warmth of nostalgia. Like the bitterness of a tea left to steep for too long, so it dries out your throat, eyes watering from its ticklish bite.
“I couldn’t do it on my own,” you admit quietly. Fingers brushing your knuckles. Raw and flaky.
The thoughts swirl in the back of your mind, ready to roar and rage, becoming so loud they’re deafening, suddenly cutting quiet so fast you have no desire to understand what it means when the waters draw back. What it means when the sea itself shrinks away, leaving a barren and washed-up beach.
“But, the idea of trying in front of you…any of you…and then falling flat at such a small hurdle…” You look to your left, away from him, pulling tighter into yourself. Can anything good come of this kind of honestly? With him?
“I don’t have much anymore, Azriel,” you breathe lowly, struggling silently with the humiliating vulnerability. How bare you are, just waiting for steel to pierce your skin. Like tossing yourself over a cliff and hoping the jagged rocks far below will soften your fall.
“I just wanted to keep my dignity. The scraps left of it after…what happened…”
Your toes curl in your shoes, feet crossed, feeling as though your heart is trying to cave in on itself, swallowed by a vacuum suctioning you back down with the force of a flooded spring river.
“So it was better to fail in front of Eris?”
“But I don’t owe him success,” you argue uselessly, eyes squeezing shut in attempts to keep the tears at bay as your head falls into your hands. “I don’t—…I don’t owe him anything.”
“You don’t owe us anything either,” he replies.
“I owe my entire life to you,” you nearly hiss, spine curving in as your brows cramp together, jaw wound so tight you feel like a tooth might crack beneath the intense pressure, nails pressing into the soft skin of your brow.
“Feyre was the one who saved the three of you,” he reminds quietly, slowly, but you’re shaking your head. Staring down into your lap, tension rippling so clearly from your bunched up form Azriel considers laying a hand on your trembling shoulder as if to pull you from a trance. “No. I know, but…” Your fingers press into your eyes, unable to articulate what you can feel in your stomach. “If she hadn’t gone to Night,” you breathe heavily, shakily, “if she hadn’t gone here, we’d still be back there, entirely human, and I—… I wasn’t going to last much longer there.”
Azriel pauses at your side, taking on the information silently. “You were ill?” He asks softly—he’d had no idea about that. Your shoulders shake, and he can’t tell if it’s with laughter or muffled sobs. Maybe a little of both.
“Maybe,” you whisper, “I don’t know enough about medicine to say, but I…” You shake your head again, and he’s able to sense that’s as much as he’ll get. It’s been over two years, and this is the first he’s hearing of it even in vague detail—he knows this isn’t something he can press.
“It doesn’t matter now,” you say with rueful conviction, palms pushing wetness from your cheeks, spine straightening before collapsing back against the trunk. Tired and exhausted. “We’re out. I don’t need to do anything now.”
Azriel’s brow furrows. “You’re content to stay in your room and rot away?”
You rest your head in your hands, leaning over the bag, staring down into its contents. What else is there?
“You could spend time with your family, for starters,” he replies and you aren’t sure if you imagine the note of impatience in his voice. “Your sisters worry about you a lot. It’s not good for you to be up in that room all the time.”
“Well it seems every time I come out of that room I somehow end up getting in your way.”
“Is that what this is about?” He asks abruptly, and your lips press together, lower one curving over. “I thought we sorted that out,” he says quietly, calming the sharpness of his tone, hearing it even in his own ears, glancing over your hunched figure. “We did,” you reply, muffled by your arms, voice turning watery as you ease in a short breath. “We did.”
A beat passes, then tension stutters in your chest as he gently lays his palm over your shoulder. “Please just talk to me,” he says softly, and you struggle to keep your breaths even as your lungs shudder beneath that touch. After spending so long wanting it…craving it…convinced feeling how gentle his touch could be over and against your skin would fix everything…even temporarily… You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “If not me, then Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta,” he pauses, “…Bas.”
You aren’t paying much attention, though, thankful for the way your mind melts beneath the warmth of his palm. How heat is sinking into your skin, slowly spreading through your shoulder as your muscles thaw. Pressure is lessened, and the tension that had been stitching the tendon taut loosens, allowing breath the ease in and out of your lungs with tiring relief. You could deflate with fatigue. Just turn limp and boneless, better for absorbing impact than having it crack against you.
“Just talk with us some more so this doesn’t happen again,” he urges quietly. “Come down to the river house—you know Feyre keeps your room open—or join us for dinner. At least try. If that doesn’t work, we can find something else.”
You don’t reply. Just remain tucked away from the world. Content to remain within your small shell as long as you can keep that warmth on your shoulder.
The pressure lightens, and your heart hides away as his hand slips from your shoulder, leaving your skin starkly cold with the absence of his presence.
“I’m sorry for what I…for how things transpired. Between…us,” Azriel murmurs, unsure how much to say, to not bring up past pains, especially if they aren’t as healed as you’ve led him to believe. He’s starting to become unsure what to believe about you—he hadn’t ever considered you might run from them. How bad things might have become to force you into that position. Are things that bad?
“I’m sorry, too,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse, and Azriel listens attentively. “I shouldn’t have told you how I felt, in the library. I shouldn’t have made my feelings your problem.”
“They aren’t,” he says softly, but you shake your head as if you haven’t heard him.
“I’m sorry.”
————
He tries speaking twice more on the way back, but the conversations lead nowhere, no longer flourishing as they had, once upon a time. So long in the past they feel coloured by age. Turned stiff and yellow at the edges.
He tries slowing his pace so she’ll walk at his side, but she just drops further back, silently pressing between his footsteps as she trails, head kept down to remain focused on taking one step at a time. The shadow that is cast across her face from the down-tilted angle of her head is deeper than he would have expected.
When he hears her shifting the bag across her shoulders for the third time, he quietly plies the straps from her hands, relieving her of the physical weight. She makes no obvious protest, aside from the stiffening of her body at his approach, but he can spot the relief when he takes the bag. Moving it to his own shoulder, he can make out what feels like a wooden box, the kind made to keep a weapon from being damaged. The thought gives rise to instinctive alarm.
Why might she have a weapon in her bag?
His shadows subtly shift at his back, rising secretively to examine her. Questions begin rising to his mind: unkind, unfair questions that are habitual in his line of work. He tries to shake them off, but they remain firmly rooted in his mind, burrowing deeper with each stride that has the narrow box digging into his side, as if already trying to burrow into his flesh.
How did she know Eris would take her in? How could she possibly guarantee making the trek across Prythian over night would pay off? It’s an absurd risk to take, regardless of circumstance. He can think of answers to those questions, but they don’t sit well with him. An answer to why she might be so familiar with Eris supposing they’ve spoken less than a handful of times. A certainty she must have possessed to take the risk that isn’t one she would have from that little contact. And if she’s hiding how much contact she might’ve had with him…
She was already hiding her magic from them…then there’s the prophecy too. Bas, and the illness. Why were these things she hadn’t mentioned? He can understand the recent silence, but why not before…? Regardless of immediate relevance, it shows she’s prone to secret-keeping.
Azriel eases in a steadying breath, descending into a calm, cold mental state. Sinking into indifferent objectivity.
She isn’t stupid. Far from it, having spent so much time in the library, where there’s all kinds of information just ripe for the picking. And Eris isn’t stupid, either. If he saw a weak spot, he’d go for it. And if Eris went for her, would she be able to resist something she was unable to see for what it truly was?
Azriel’s skin goes a little cold, reminded of the prophecy.
He will die, and it will be by her hand.
He supposes he can only control how much impact it will have on those around him. If Eris has managed to wrap her up in some slow-moving scheme…but that’s just speculation. Still, his instincts are telling him something is wrong with the narrow wooden box, one that must have come from Eris. A box fashioned like those to hold weapons. From Eris. To the female who will kill him.
He should ask her what it is.
Azriel would’ve shaken his head if those habits hadn’t been crushed out of him centuries ago. He can’t just ask her if she’s planning to kill him.
But it would allow a chance for her to explain what’s in the weapon case.
But it would alert her to his knowing about the blade inside her bag. She’d wanted to hide her magic from the start, and earlier she’d mentioned she’d gotten further…how much further? If it’s magic any similar to Nesta’s, it would be unwise to have a confrontation here, alone. Still within Autumn Court territory.
But it would be more dangerous to bring her back to Velaris. To bring her back into the beating heart of the Night Court where her detonation would be fatal.
Azriel blinks, and returns back into the waning light of day—it’ll soon be night.
What can he do, really? If he’s destined to die….who is he to try and get in the way of the Mother? Would he kill her to save his own life? Is that what he would do in order to live a little longer, before a new threat looms to end him? He wants to kill her no more than he desires his own death.
But if it came down to it…what would he choose?
His shadows observe her silently, as they had been throughout his internal struggle. He focuses on what he can see, discarding the lens of suspicion that’s been embedded in him as Spymaster, centuries of limited trust having an impact on his mind.
All he sees is a young woman walking through a dark forest, following him off the pathway.
Internally, he sighs—there always seems to be a constant flow of problems as of late, and peace seems to be persistently remaining just out of reach. A few more years, and then there will be peace; a few more political aggressions to navigate, and then they can rest; just one more person to heal, and then they can be happy. When will the peace truly arrive, though? Is it all wishful thinking? An imagined utopia that will make every sin he’s committed acceptable? Is it just his mind finding more excuses to justify the things he’s done in the name of protecting his family and court?
She’s just one more disturbance, keeping peace from settling.
Azriel swallows, thinking heavily. Even if she was out of the way, there would still be everything else to deal with. Will this problem be the last one, or will a new threat fall in to fill the space of the old one? Hasn’t it been long enough, by now? Hasn’t he done enough?
Shadows check on her again, her head hanging silently, those once bright eyes dull and dark as they follow numbly in his footsteps. The female with whom he’d spent so many afternoons with discussing things in the library…where is she? Is he at fault for her disappearance?
Closing his eyes briefly to relieve the ache that’s been slowly building just below his brows, he allows himself to ponder.
Is it pointless to try and salvage their relationship?
Would it be better if she did kill him?
————
The storm clouds have gathered, full and swollen with rain and thunder. No lightening though. Lightening would suggest some kind of magnificence, and there’s nothing magnificent about the cool temperature of your blood, nor the dull buzz in the back of your mind. The overwhelming grey of your surroundings as you emerge from the tunnel.
The air is drier in the Night Court, you vaguely realise. No dampness nor humidity that you’d grown subconsciously accustomed to from less than a week’s stay in Autumn. A small break of sunshine between the dismay grey you’d all grown so accustomed to for the first few months of the year, back when you were human. Weak, fallible humans, but simpler. Quiet and peaceful, even if that silence was from the constant prowl of starvation. It had been easier to bear.
You don’t wait to see if Azriel will try to speak again once he’s flown the both of you back up to the House of Wind, silently turning your back to trace the familiar halls of the House, moving without awareness, muscle memory guiding you down the corridors, past the tables littered with napkins and cutlery, past the shelves displaying pale crockery and silver chalices, past the chest with a few discarded daggers atop, arrowheads littered haphazardly across the surface as if someone had cast them down carelessly.
The room is greyer than you remember, too tidy to be a lived in space, but it has those reminders—the gifts you were given, and you absently touch your earlobe, squeezing it between your finger and thumb.
Azriel pauses at the threshold, taking the bag off his shoulder. Does he know you sold the earrings? Those pretty, pretty earrings? Probably some of the nicest things you could have believed to be your own.
They must be getting tired by now. All of them.
Blonde hair and sparkling eyes pass dully through your mind, and your heart dies a little more, understanding how you’ve ruined the small blessing. There’s no coming back from what you’ve done—not without significant work, at least, and you’re so tired. In your bones, in your eyes, in your mind. You’ve lived through a lot, but thanks to immortality, you have no choice but to live through more. A body being dragged through the mud, carried towards a grave that was never dug.
Azriel’s mouth is moving, has been moving since he removed the bag from his shoulder, but you haven’t been hearing. Mind too tired and numb to manage focus, grasping only basic colours and lines.
He’s looking at you, and you’re looking back, but not into his eyes. His words pass through your mind meaninglessly, and you wonder if you’re real. A strange pressure is wrapping its tingling fingers around your skull, squeezing like you’re wearing a hat that’s a little too tight. It will take a lot of work to fix what you’ve done. A lot of work you can’t manage. A debt that deepens faster than you can repay it. A sink draining faster than you can fill it. Blood cooling faster than you can stop it.
Maybe it would be better to let it cool, for a while.
————
Azriel doesn’t feel comfortable leaving her in the House alone, with that dull look in her eyes.
He had planned to fly back down to the River House, to let Rhys and Feyre know she was back, and she was safe, to give her some space maybe for an hour or so to let her get her bearings again. Not too long alone, though. That look hadn’t been bright. Instead he ends up slumping into one of the boney, wooden chairs in the kitchen, the House already brewing two cups of tea. He reaches out for Rhys, mentally feeling for the hidden bridge kept open. He finds it almost immediately, and an icy wind slams into him in greeting. Cold, swift, and perfectly telling to his brother’s current temperament.
You’re back.
Azriel bites back on the cringe at the ice in his High Lord’s voice—belying fury. He should have put together Rhys would be furious for Feyre, too, for stirring up this kind of stress for his mate.
She’s with me. How is Feyre?
More furious than I am, though I doubt she’ll show you.
There’s a pause, and Azriel steadies himself.
How is she?
It would be good for her to have company. Preferably in the River House, but if not, then having people up here. This time Azriel pauses, before adding, I think the ward on her room should be removed. So she’ll be able to hear that people are around, should she need them.
He’s met with silence, and Azriel wonders if Rhys is repeating the message back to Feyre, or if he’s simply that furious. A small part of him feels resentment at the constant speculation, that if the matter had been left between him and her then it wouldn’t have gotten so blown out of proportion.
We’ll be up in ten minutes, comes the clipped reply, before the mental bridge is severed. Leaving Azriel no choice but to wait in silence. It will likely be Rhys and Feyre coming up then—knowing she isn’t ready to see all of them so suddenly, though they’ve yet to learn where she’s been.
Feyre will go and speak to her sister.
And Rhys will be the one to speak to him.
What a mess.
The tea has a few minutes left of brewing, and he wonders if the House will demand he be the one to take the mug to her, or if it will be delivered on its own. He’s not sure she would appreciate being disturbed right now.
As if his thoughts summoned her however, he hears quiet footsteps out in one of the hallways, reaching his sharp ears even through the closed doors and secure walls. He listens carefully, but she seems to just be pacing around, not coming toward him, or even really going in any particular direction. They pause, the silence heavy, and Azriel pays full attention. Another minute passes, then another, and another, but he couldn’t have missed those familiar footfalls.
After a fourth minute, he hears them again, ever so slightly heavier than before, and then they cut off abruptly. Sound sliced in two as she closes the door to her room.
Azriel glances over to the brewing tea, then blinks when he realises the House has set it on the table within reach. Just one cup, made with milk and sugar—not the way he likes it.
Looking over to the countertop, his mug remains steeping, steam trailing up from the hot liquid. The House seems to be demanding he take her the tea now.
Azriel shifts in his chair. It isn’t a good idea to disturb her again. He’s trying to give her at least these few minutes to herself, before Feyre arrives with Rhys—and that’s a conversation that might very well stretch hours. There’s a lot to discuss, after all. She’ll need her energy, and he’s probably the last person she wants to—
The mug slams down on the table before him, hot liquid spilling over with the force that it was dropped onto the surface.
He stiffens, watching the mug tensely as if the House might spill it onto his lap. The liquid ripples in the mug, splashing from side to side for longer than it should, before reluctantly calming.
Blowing out a breath, Azriel wraps his hand around the mug’s handle, reluctantly standing from the kitchen table.
If the House is being so adamant about giving her the cup, then he supposes he’ll just have to follow.
He still finds it a little strange, how the House came alive after Nesta lived inside it.
————
Silence hums in your ears, so quiet.
You’ve caused them so much trouble. Irreparably ruined your ties to the people you hadn’t wanted to hinder.
Silently, quietly, you move the bag to your bed, able to even hear the stretch of fabric as you raise it from the unnaturally clean floorboards. Opening it, you begin pulling the first thing you see out—the orange scarf form Autumn that has some small crumbs tucked between its folds, smelling faintly of pastry and something damp. One piece at a time, you make the slow trek to and form the wardrobe, feet unfeeling as they tread numbly across the smooth grain of the wood, mindlessly repeating the to and fro, the mechanical movements of unaware motion, folding fabric and hiding it away.
Your fingers bump the box, surprised by the hard collision, having expected to find more fabric, but are instead confronted by the narrow, wooden box. Use it wisely, written on the note in a neat and elegant script. Raising it from the bag, you sit down, hands resting over the surface before slipping your fingers into the indentations for ease of opening, cracking it open to find what’s inside. Eyes ease across the narrow length of wood tucked inside, the softly flared end for it to whistle through the sky.
The world disappears around you as you fall into thought, suctioned inwards by a gentle riptide as you dissolve into your mind. Imagining the blank look in Mor’s eyes when she finds out what you’ve done to her, the wall that will rise up as she sections you off from her life, rightly so, brings a quiet kind of sadness into your chest. A longing that has been numbed and dulled, desaturated by hopelessness. Imagining the dinners, voices chatting merrily around you but never at you, the way she won’t look at you. They are all immortal, and their disgust will reflect their lifespan.
You’ll be stuck. Endlessly dragging you feet after them in attempts to make amends. Stumbling and fumbling carelessly trying to make reparations, but smashing more pieces in your frantic hurry to clean the mess you’ve made. Gazing up from the pit of a well as the icy water slowly drains in, the small pin-prick of daylight so far above there’s no hope even trying to scale the wall. It would be more honourable to drown.
To wipe yourself from memory.
It would be better, you understand. To snuff out your own dwindling light, than force the trouble on them of bearing your sputtering flame.
You walk out into the hallway, quietly, silently. Passing the table with napkins and cutlery set, past the shelves with crockery and cups, past the chest with dull steel and blunt arrowheads. Passing further along, until you pause before the large mirror that’s mounted on the wall. You peer dully into the reflection, deciding to look upon and assign shape to name for what’s been causing all these problems. To see what they think of when burdens are mentioned, to understand where the impatience is directed.
You peer higher, the reflection skewed as you meet your own eyes in the blade’s polished steel, held above the mirror’s frame.
Time warps, and you look through the drawers. A few daggers, some unused sketchbooks, a piece of yellow wool, a ball of string. You check the second draw. Some folded napkins, more arrowheads, a shard of porcelain, a thimble, a discarded marble. You check the third draw. Some salts, spices, dried leaves, matching Illyrian blades, pots of ink, a copper coin. You check the fourth draw. Crisp bedsheets, off-white pillowcases, a dented metal mug, a small container of some kind, one arrowhead, a crossbow.
You return to your room with the ball of string and the empty crossbow.
Swallowed in the silence of the bedroom, hidden behind the wards.
The snare is easy to set up, directions still vivid in your mind and for a few short moments, you allow yourself to settle into the certainty of following through with those instructions. Encountering a bit of trouble with how to keep the tension of the string with no earth, but your mind works quickly, weighing the string taut with the one book from your shelf, and a square box containing a mechanical universe. Making sure the string is just tight enough so the faintest touch will snap the tension loose.
You glance at the string on the floor, eyes catching on the small painting on your desk.
You slot the arrow into the crossbow with a satisfying click.
The ash stings your fingertips.
You stand with your back to the door, facing the crossbow head on. Your heart bleeds a little, tears at last dripping slowly down your cheeks, but it will be better this way. Easing in a deep breath, you relax into that feeling deep in your chest that’s telling you this is the right thing to do. It was always going to happen, there was never a path you could have taken that wouldn’t have lead you to this one way or another. It’s a feeling almost like relief: there’s finally a way out.
One perfect, swift, execution. An ash arrow to your heart, splitting the muscle and ending its relentless beat. Your breathing increases to a stuttering pulse before calming, and you swallow, glancing to the windows. You know you’ll cause a mess.
Fingers open the latch to the window, fresh air gently rolling in, and your breathing stutters again. You’ll be irrevocably gone.
Peering about the bedroom, one you hadn’t felt was truly your own, but had stayed long enough to begin putting down roots—the bookmark laying beneath the pendant on the desk beside the painting, the jigsaw still wrapped in a bow beneath the bed, the sealed nail polish and briefly used lip tint within the cupboard. Sobs shudder through your chest strangely.
A part of you doesn’t want to leave yet.
A small, human part, that still fears solitude despite your chosen loneliness.
You step toward the book, body caving in, heart collapsing in on itself, the emotive feeling similar to the convulsions you’ve experienced after vomiting. A vacuum hidden inside of your chest, finally imploding. You should end it now.
The door creaks behind you, and you flinch from terror at someone witnessing your vulnerability.
Hazel eyes meet your own, at once scanning the room out of habit, and those lovely eyes widen as you recoil on instinct, foot knocking into the book.
————
Given the pleasure of time, he had been allowed to ponder the impossible question: to choose between his death and her own, each equally impossible. How is anyone to make a choice like that?
But, caught in between precious moments, there’s no time for thought or debate. It’s easy to declare gallantry, to flippantly comfort a companion with those easy words—I’d take an arrow for you.—but it’s an entirely different matter when the arrow is whistling straight toward them.
And yet before the mug has even hit the floor, he feels the familiar, burning pain as the arrow pierces through his flesh, slicing him open as the wrongness bleeds into him, swiftly poisoning his blood, draining the inherent magic from his body.
————
You stare up into wide hazel eyes, agony etched across his delicate features, the very tip of the arrow lightly piercing your skin from where it’s shot straight through him, caught in his flesh.
He groans lowly, his weight falling more heavily on your shoulders where his hands had grabbed you to switch your positions, and you’re helpless as his knees give out from pain, dragging you down with him as he collides with the ground.
Horror pounds through your body, heart beating a thousand times a second until it’s risen into your throat, hands shaking violently as you try to hold him steady, stinging with the burning heat of blood from his side.
Mother murder you.
“Az,” you stammer hoarsely, staring at his twisted features, brow furrowed deeply, breathing ragged as it puffs against your skin. The familiar scent of blood filtrates through your system, undiluted and metallic, and he’s dying he’s dying he’s dying—
His hand weakly grasps the back of your neck, grabbing your attention as your hands fumble, trembling with uncertainty and despair, fingertips beginning to sizzle as panic floods your veins, tossed into the rapids, utterly out of control as your mind unravels, regret stabbing through your heart.
His lips are moving but your ears are ringing, itches burning at your skin, a streaking noise piercing through your head like the screaming from those bloody fields. He’s speaking and you try to read his lips, but your eyes aren’t focusing, tears blurring your vision as sobs heave in and out of your chest, burning at your throat and lungs. You had tried to stop it! You were so close to preventing it!
Your hand settles on his cheek, already feeling cool beneath your burning, burning, glowing—
Feyre and Rhys, his lips form, and you shake. Eyes scanning his features frenetically. His own flick to the door, and you understand them to be here? You stare at him helplessly, hopelessly—it won’t matter how you scream or cry for them, not even if you bled your throat raw. The ward against noise that you’d been so thankful for, that Feyre had given in attempts to help, to remedy a wrong.
Something so small, yet so immoveable. Impossible to defeat. Felled by your own, stupid need—
He’s going to die.
Neither you nor Azriel have a second to prepare as the power wells up inside of you with the force of a damn broken loose, that internal wall shattering entirely, blown to bits as you feel the staggering pressure swallow your brain, crushing in intensity at the rapid division of cells, splitting atoms colliding as the explosion blows you apart.
Brilliant green light detonates, silence settling for a second before the noise crushes back down, the room blown to pieces.
The ground shakes beneath you, floorboards cracking and splintering as a hole is torn through the side of the House, tearing through the wards as the noise thunders above the city, sweeping across Prythian with the force of the Cauldron that had torn down the Wall.
One final surge of magic before the life is taken from his body.
Pain lacerates through your figure as something fundamental cracks open inside of you, all at once draining the agony that had beens steadily building up, all of it gushing out, skin resplendent with a sickening golden-green light, radiating your flesh.
Then you collapse, falling into the pool of steadily cooling blood surrounding Azriel’s body.
The prophecy having come to fulfilment.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
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Cash Slave, reporting in...
Good morning, master. State Trooper Hernandez reporting!
I hope you're doing well since the last time we saw each other. Again, I can't apologize enough for pulling you over on the highway. I had no idea you were such an amazing hypnotist. Thank you again for letting me get off easy and only making me taze myself twice! I was paralyzed in that muddy ditch for awhile, but you could've given me a helluva worse punishment!
Your instructions aren't negotiable, so I made sure to snap a photo before I started my shift today. As you suggested, I've been eating a box of donuts every morning, and I've packed on a hefty 30 lbs since I've started. My wife has complained, but I know you want me to look more like a cliche of law enforcement!
I'll stop by your house to drop off my paycheck tonight after work. I won't forget to pick up some pizza for you and your friends on the way: extra sausage, just like you said!
See you tonight, master!
Hello sir.
It's been a week since you came into my shop, and I've followed everything you said. I didn't agree with it at first, but you convinced me with that little pendant.
You were right! I really am beneath powerful men like you. Filthy blue-collar workers aren't worthy to lick the dirt off your shoes. You were right to point that out, and you were right to tell me to embrace it. When the world looks at me, they shouldn't see a man. They should see a grease monkey at the bottom of society.
That's why I haven't showered or changed in seven days. My BO is uncomfortable to work in, but I know it's just a reminder of what I am. I used to be proud of my job. Ha! I used to look down on suits like you, but I'm nothing in comparison; just a tool at your disposal.
Anyways, I cleaned and waxed your old car as fast as I could. I know I lent you my convertible, but you're welcome to keep it. I put a lot of sweat and blood in fixing her up, but like you said, fancy cars are meant for you to drive and me to maintain.
Stop back in my garage anytime. White-collar men like you get free service here! It's not the place of any lowly laborer to get in the way of what you want.
Thank you again, sir.
Hello boss.
Just started another long day of window washing! It's another hot one, but I'll keep my head down and sweat through it like usual.
I've gotta say, it's days like this that make me miss the comforts of my old corporate desk job. I'd kill for some AC right now, but I remember how much you made me realize I hated that career. Like you said, I'm much better suited to a life of mindless cleaning.
It turns out you're the real one with a knack for business strategy because all of your advice has been genius! The income is dependent on the hours I put in, and since I'm working for half the price of all competitors, I've gotten a monopoly on the market! I've fully booked all seven days for the next five or so weeks, so I'll be washing windows non-stop!
The business is already booming! I've been billing customers to your bank account, so you should already see all the profit in there!
Later today, I'll make a note of the minimum I need to replenish the cleaning supplies I'm running through. I'd also be grateful if you loaned me a bit for personal use, but it's understandable if you can't spare any! We agreed that I wasn't working for a salary, and I'm fine with that! I've been sleeping in the company van the last few weeks and it's more than good enough for me!
Don't worry, boss. I'll get back to work!
Tell my wife hello for me, master!
Working on a rig has been isolating. The job is brutal, the days are long, and every night I head back to our bunks covered in oil. I thought I'd at least get to bond with the other guys, but most of us are too tired to do anything but eat and sleep after our shift.
The only thing that's getting me through it is thinking about you. I know I also have a girl at home, but you were the one that gave my life purpose. I was never going to make money as an actor, and you helped me see that! You were the one that convinced me to go for this ridiculous job in the middle of the ocean, and now I'm making a ton of money!
You deserve it all.
I wouldn't have seen any of this cash if I hadn't stuck around after your stage hypnosis show. I still remember the wild look in your eyes when you came up with this idea for me. I also remember that hungry look you had when you saw my wife. It was impossible to say no.
Oh, and thanks for keeping my wife company while I'm gone. A man like you deserves her attention more than I do. Like you said, I doubt I was pleasing her to begin with. The only thing I'm good for is earning money, and I hope you're enjoying it because it sure isn't easy to earn!
I gotta get back, but I wanted to let you know that I signed up for another six months like you suggested. It's lonely, but I'm happy to do it, master!
Son, or should I still call you 'sir'?
I'm not sure if I your new title applies through text as well? Being your dad and your servant can be a bit confusing, but I don't mean disrespect you! Just let me know.
My workout is done and I'm headed back to your house. I signed the deed over to you this morning, so you officially own it now! Like usual, I'll clean the place from top to bottom. I've got all the mops and cleaning supplies in my van and ready to go. Since it's Friday, I'll start on the weekly yard work; mowing, weeding, etc... I don't want to bore you with the details, but it'll take the majority of the day to keep your place in tip top shape!
As I understand it, you are having friends over tonight, so I'll prepare a three course meal for eight. I ironed my apron this morning so I should look like a more presentable waiter than last night when I served your food!
As always, please let me know if there's any other way I can be of service today or tonight.
I'll be awaiting your return, sir.
Hey little bro,
I just finished my workout at the gym with dad. We're both hitting PRs and we're really starting to see some results! Still can't believe you hypnotized his dumb ass to think he's your butler! That man looks so stupid changing from gym clothes into a bowtie and gloves. He's constantly calling you 'sir' too, even when you're not around.
He's such an idiot.
Anyways, I'm all dressed and ready for my new job. You were totally right. I'm going to be so much happier as a clown instead of a wrestler. I'm about to head out to my first gig; a ten year old's birthday party. I think he's the kid of someone I used to compete with. It might be a little awkward, but it won't affect my routine. I've got an afternoon of pies in the face and self-deprecating humor ahead of me.
I made sure to tell the guy who hired me that I'm willing to stay after and clean up. Kids make a huge mess after all. I just hope he won't be too weird about me being a clown at his son's party. We may have been rivals in the past, but that was back when I wrestled. Now I'm just a joke for hire. He's technically my boss for the day, so I'll have to get used to taking orders from him.
Wish me luck, bro. I'll give you the money after the dad dismisses me. Let's hope I make a good clown!
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