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florencemtrash · 3 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Ten

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Mentions of cannon-typical violence. Azriel and Y/n have a late night conversation. Fluff and other stuff.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“Gwyn says hi by the way.”

Azriel choked on his coffee, bitter flavor rising in his throat. Nesta sauntered into the kitchen, cool eyes glaring at the back of his head. Your familiar silhouette was nowhere to be found.

Not here. His shadows whispered. With Rhys.

“Calm down you idiot.” Nesta’s voice dripped with unrestrained contempt as she poured herself a cup and sat. His tan skin glistened with sweat after his morning training session, inky tattoos splashing across his bare chest and trailing over his shoulders, down his back, and up to his neck. In the cloudy afternoon light it was difficult to tell where his shadows ended and where his tattoos began.

“Y/n’s not here. You’ll have to walk around half-naked some other time.”

Azriel winced. “That isn’t what—”

Nesta brushed him off with a wave of her hand, eyes narrowing over her mug. Azriel felt like a bug pinned down under a microscope. A crushed butterfly about to hang.

“How is Gwyn doing?” he asked gingerly, casually.

“She’s fine. Believe it or not, the world did not end when you broke up with her.”

Again he flinched. “I’m sorry, Nes,” he whispered rather pathetically.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to. But you already know that.”

There seemed to be no shortage of people he needed to apologize to: Elain, Mor, Emerie, Gwyn, even Lucien — especially Lucien. His cheeks burned to think of the absolute mess of things he’d made. Feyre had been the quickest to forgive him for the debacle with Elain and Gwyn. But as Cassian had mentioned at dinner, there was a reason everyone was staying away from the River House, and the reason was him.

Two years ago he’d challenged Lucien Vanserra to a blood duel for Elain’s hand. It had felt so right at the time, so obvious: three sisters for three brothers. But it was only when their deaths had loomed over her head with shocking reality that Elain realized what a horrible mistake she’d made. The mistake they’d made together.

“Call it off,” she’d commanded him, blocking Lucien’s bloody, heaving body. The son of Autumn’s sword had been kicked away, scraping across the rock with an eerie scream and disappearing over the cliff edge. But Elain had stayed, soft brown eyes begging, “Do this and I will never forgive you. What we did… it wasn’t right. It was a mistake.”

A mistake, she’d called it. Years of silent longing and bare bone brushes of their hands in dark hallways. All a mistake. Those words had haunted him. They’d chased him into Gwyn’s kind arms where he once again mistook the friendship he felt towards her as love and broke her heart in the process. Add that to his lackluster response to Mor’s coming out and… well he had a lot of work ahead of him.

He hoped he would be forgiven in time, but that didn’t mean he’d twiddle his thumbs until that day came. He scoured Prythian’s publishers for new releases of adventure, mystery, and romance books — the raunchier the better — and they showed up every month at Cagniv Library like clockwork. The priestesses still thought it was part of a trade bargain with the Day Court. He’d sent Elain and Lucien plenty of letters and gifts, but either they weren’t being opened or they weren’t bothering to respond. He wouldn’t blame them either way. As for Mor and Emerie, they were gone with the wind, too busy infiltrating lands and enjoying an extended honeymoon on the continent to bother with him.

That cold stillness in Nesta’s eyes transformed into pity. It was hard not to be reminded of her own failures when she looked at him. Seeing him angry. Watching him crawl into the darkest corners of himself and burn every bridge he crossed had been a shock to Nesta’s system. A plunge into freezing waters that brought pain and clarity.

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Just give them time, Az. They’ll come around. If they did it for me, they’ll do it for you.” “I think our situations are rather different.”

“I don’t.”

“You didn’t try to kill anyone.”

She grimaced. “I came close.”

He stayed silent for a long while. He washed his cup. He dried it. He put it in the cupboard.

“Can you—can you please not tell Y/n?” he begged. His voice was small and quiet. He’d been a fool in the past and made terrible decisions in the name of love. Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. They’d all lived more in his mind than in his heart — people he could never fully grasp, and therefore never lose. They’d been safe. Easy.

It didn’t feel that way with you. You felt solid and warm, even if he’d only touched you once. You felt more real to him than anyone else. You felt like someone he could actually have. Which meant he could lose you before you’d even become his to lose.

“You can’t keep her in the dark forever. Not about your history, not about the bond. If you’re going to learn anything from your brothers, learn that.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I just want to get it right this time.” He had to get it right this time. “I want her to fall in love with me because she wants me, not out of some sense of obligation. I want…” I want to be worthy of her.

Nesta shook her head, a laugh escaping despite her best attempts to stifle it. Azriel looked at her like she’d gone mad.

She giggled again. “It’s funny. For a male as handsome and desirable as you, you have the worst fucking luck with women. The Mother must have a twisted sense of humor.”

Maybe she did. But Azriel was still enough of a romantic to hope that he had learned from his mistakes, and that his bad luck would end with you.

You shoved the notebook off Rhysand’s desk, loose papers flying out like uncoordinated doves.

“I told you notetaking was a futile effort.” The High Lord didn’t even look at you, too busy searching for invisible dirt beneath his manicured fingernails.

You groaned and dropped your head against the book he’d handed you two hours before.

Rhysand had to smile at your frustration. It was a wholly different experience teaching you magic compared to teaching Feyre. With Feyre, her greatest barrier had been her lack of knowledge (and her hatred of him at the time). She’d been thrust into the world of fae without preparation, but it had left her malleable and adaptable. It was like teaching a newborn how to walk — a mind that could absorb more because it knew so little.

But you knew too much. You could spout off magical theory at the drop of a hat. You were a pedagogical master with a thousand mnemonics to your name. You were the first to wake in all of Velaris, making your way to the Library before bodies could fill the streets, and you only returned when the crowds had either turned in for the night or gone out to drink until daybreak. You swallowed every history book on the Night Court, Clairvoyants, daemati, and death gods until you felt untethered from the earth — until your mind began to float outside your body, buzzing with thoughts that never went away.

But none of that mattered. Your power was an immovable object that couldn’t be controlled by logic or studying.

You shoved against that power now.

“Good,” Rhysand nodded, leaning against the window, “You’re getting better at it.”

He lingered in your mind, hovering over the depths of your emotions and memories like a bird ready to break water. It had taken some time before you felt comfortable with the intrusion. Your first lesson together, Rhysand’s presence in your mind had made it impossible to focus. Panic had seized your mind and your body until you could do nothing more than brace your hands and feet against the chair’s leather upholstery. You could have sworn you saw a head of silver hair to your left. The gentle pitter patter of rain had sounded like dripping blood.

It wasn’t like that anymore. Henna had left you with a useful skill — you could wind your consciousness around Rhysand and keep him there, suspended in that indescribable space where your thoughts lay so he could do no more damage than you permitted him.

Through your mind he felt the narrowing of your power. You imagined it like a blanket wrapped around your body, suffocating but familiar. It was this power that laced your skin and made contact with others so hard. You imagined the fabric shortening, creeping up your arms and legs, curling around your torso and squeezing like a snake. Inch by inch you tightened it around you, burying it within your chest instead of carrying it openly like a wound.

You held a music book between your hands — Nyx’s to be exact. The little Lordling showcased a certain aptitude for the piano his father could only dream of, and being as young and protected as he was, the worst kind of emotion imbued within its pages was agitation. You could hear one of the ballads written within it as clearly as if Nyx was sitting beside you plucking out the melody.

Tighter. Tighter. Tighter. You swallowed your power. Pulled what was outside inwards. Slowly but surely the music faded away until the book was as all books should be — silent.

Sweat beaded your brow. This was the most difficult part — not tuning out the music, but keeping the volume at zero.

Rhysand checked his watch. Waited. Checked it again.

You lasted thirty minutes before your power burst out along your skin once more like a thousand prickling needles. You shuddered, half-disappointed, half-grateful that you could hear the melody again.

Rhysand clapped his hands, slow and proud. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room was dangerously close to five bells. Rhysand nodded.

“Perfect timing. We’re done for today.”

“I can go for longer,” you pleaded.

“I know you can.” Rhysand pushed off the wall, polished leather boots gleaming. He was wearing his Illyrian leathers this time, the scent of wind still clinging to his skin after a visit to the northern war camps.

Old Illyria lasted thousands of years. The clans used to flow up and down the Steppes, following the tundrabeast that lay claim to those mountainous regions and were said to speak for their god Ramiel — Starbreaker, Night Herder — after whom the mountain is named. They don’t move with the cold winds anymore, even if they’ve kept their names: Ironcrest, Bloodborn, Windhaven, Seawhip, Hawkseed, Timberbane, and a dozen others. And they don’t make sacrifices, although the Blood Rite might be a close—

Rhysand rapped his knuckles on the desk to grab your attention and splayed his fingers wide. “I also know that the moment I dismiss you, you’ll scamper off to the Library to work until you can’t see straight.”

You shifted in your seat. “I like it there.”

“That’s besides the point. If you keep going at this pace you’ll burn out. Then you won’t be able to help anyone. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly. You hadn’t thought he’d noticed. “I know what it feels like to burn out and it’s not going to happen anytime soon. I promise.”

Rhysand suppressed the urgent need to roll his eyes as you gathered your things and walked out the door. “And here I thought I worked too much,” he muttered beneath his breath.

You carried Henna’s journal tucked within your new Librarian robes — black with ivory detailing and wide sleeves that narrowed at the wrists. You kept a hand on it during late nights at the Library. You ate with it propped open, black splotches swimming across the page like worms. You slept with it beneath your pillow.

But alas, it would seem the book was going to make you work to wring meaning out of every odd symbol.

You were muttering to yourself as you walked back and forth in front of the fireplace. You’d effectively commandeered one of the reading rooms on the seventh floor, leaving the library only when required for Rhysand’s lessons. Helion’s most recent letter lay open on the table with Cherp’s resting just beneath it. A map hung crooked on the wall, four athenaeums circled in bleeding red ink alongside a list of books that had gone missing — the ones that people knew about at least.

The Alcove, Ares House, Folkmen’s Bard, and most recently, Argot’s.

Three Librarians dead. Their throats slit. Blood dribbling down their burgundy robes as they’d sat hunched over their desks. The week before it had been two from Ares House caught swaying from the third floor balcony.

No one has any idea how it happened. The wards were never set off. Nothing in the Library was disrupted. I tell you this only because you deserve to know what’s happened to your people. Continue your training. Continue your research. Do whatever you need to do. But leave the court business to me, dear. I’ll write to you again when I can.

~ Helion

“It doesn’t make sense,” you mumbled, drumming your fingers against your hip where the book remained silent. “None of this makes sense.”

You’d used every ounce of Rhysand’s training on the book. You’d imagined your power sliding over it like water, fire, needles shooting through cowhide, a hammerstrike, every metaphor imaginable. You’d glared at it with an intensity that would have disintegrated a lesser object.

When that failed, you had moved onto solving the murders and thefts at your father’s court. You couldn’t content yourself with sitting in one of the cushy, high-backed chairs in Rhysand’s office sipping imported tea in porcelain cups while athenaeums were on lockdown.

The pattern was shockingly simple — Koschei was going after books that could be traced back to him. Books that might give his enemies the upper hand: folktales alluding to him and his siblings, translated texts from old Bauldish that might have proved useful in deciphering Henna’s book, secondary accounts of the age before High Lords ruled.

If you were Koschei you’d go after Godswoods next — the collection of athenaeums dedicated to religion. Then on to The Gallows — the athenaeum on death and dying. The two were intricately tied to one another, but people tended to write books on dying before coming up with explanations for what comes after. You’d spent a great deal of time there following your mother’s death, and you could picture it now — solemn black bookshelves looping around a circular room that tapered up into a point like a blade pointed to the sky.

You finished writing your letter to Helion, along with the list of books you wanted pulled from the archives. Cagniv Library may have been a glowing beacon in the Night Court, and a place of sanctuary for the priestesses, but it was nothing like you were used to.

You held the paper out in front of you, Helion’s glimmering pen tucked behind your sharp ears, and blew. The black letters lifted off the page and faded away like a breath in cold air. The message was already writing itself back into existence in Helion’s office.

“It doesn’t make sense.”

You scribbled out another note, this one for yourself with another pen. You ripped it to pieces and fed it to the fire.

What was Koschei looking for now? Was he still looking for the book that now rested against your hip, or had he turned to some other prize? And why kill the Librarians and set all of Day Court on high alert?

Henna had been careful. She’d stayed hidden until she was forced to tear down the Alcove to get the book. Whoever was causing the killings now was either a showman or a fool. They left bodies hanging from rafters. They carved smiles into throats. They let the Librarians know what they were stealing whether they meant to or not. They left patterns scattered among wreckage for someone like you to figure out.

It all felt… juvenile for lack of a better word. Someone young. Someone who wanted to prove themselves in a loud way. Someone whose ego hadn’t been tested yet and wasn’t listening to Koschei’s commands in their entirety.

Azriel.

You couldn’t help but think of him.

Azriel was nothing like that.

He wasn’t loud. He didn’t vy for attention. He didn’t seek the light in a room. His confidence was quiet and true. His kindness took the shape of the shadows that lingered by your ankles. It took the shape of the robes you wore now. He was the only one who’d seen them at The Alcove. He was the only one who could have requested the court seamstress to make a copy and leave it hanging in your closet.

No. Azriel was nothing like that.

Azriel’s eyes lit up like embers when you slid through the front door, weary but bright-eyed and cradling your journals against your chest. The shadows he’d left behind with you slithered across the floor like mist.

She’s been in the Library all day. Working. The shadows whispered in his ear. She thought about you.

Azriel smiled. He’d thought about you as well. “I was wondering where you’d gone.”

You gasped, closing the door louder than you intended. You’d developed a talent for sneaking in and out of the River House unnoticed to the point where Cassian considered hiding bells in your pockets. Nyx had tried to do it as a joke, but you’d caught him giggling too loudly in your bedroom.

You brightened immediately, a broad smile appearing on your face. Azriel felt his heart leap, then quiet as he caught the scent of parchment paper.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow?” You whispered, tip-toeing through the dimly lit hallway to where Azriel was in the sitting room. You sank into the couch with a groan. The hardwood desks at the Library had not been kind to you.

He shrugged and brushed back his wind-thickened hair, shifting to face you better. A crumb-coated plate lay on the table and he still wore his leathers. He must have just arrived home.

“I flew as quick as I could. I wanted to be home.” With you.

He’d gotten so used to the feeling of you sleeping across the hallway that he’d flown the last three days without sleep. It was worth it to see you again. From the looks of it, you’d not fared well in his absence either. Your eyes had that glassy, half-there sheen: a perfect mixture of exhaustion and mind-crackling clarity.

“And how were the Mortal Lands?” You tucked your knees beneath you and leaned against your hand, fighting the sleep that seemed to grapple for you now that Azriel was home. His wings were spread wide and you resisted the urge to close the last few inches between you and the talon that glimmered in the faelight like obsidian glass.

You’d never been that far south. You’d never had reason to. But Azriel flew far and wide. The Continent was now Mor’s domain, but the secret goings of Prythian and the Mortal Lands belonged to him and him alone. The Spymaster of the Night Court. The Shadowsinger.

Azriel shook his head. “Quiet. Koschei hasn’t touched them yet as far as I can tell, and the Mortal Queens don’t care. They seem to think that they can handle Koschei because he’s agreed to bargains with them in the past.”

You made a noise of disapproval. “Like they handled Hybern? The only reason they’re still standing is because fae fought their war.”

The scattering of human armies that had arrived on that battlefield had belonged to no crown. They’d either fought for the bloodlust or the money. You could respect them for that.

Azriel tipped his head to the side, following the curling of his shadows around his shoulders. “But they are still standing. They don’t know what we sacrificed to keep them safe. That’s the problem with humans. They forget too quickly and get complacent”

“It would seem we have the opposite problem. We can’t help but remember everything,” you said, with no small amount of bitterness.

He wanted to keep you talking. He wanted your thoughts. Wanted to fall asleep to the sound of your voice after three weeks of silence. You weren’t aware of it, but the bond had felt thin the further he’d traveled away from you. Like a tightrope stretched to its snapping point. Now that he was back, and you were here, his heart didn’t feel like such a strenuous burden.

He smiled. “I think that’s just you. I know plenty of fae who are forgetful and empty-minded.” He leaned back, stretching his wings out to the side, and winced. They were whipped raw and tender from the flight.

Without thinking you got up and moved to the fireplace, feeding wood to the flames until it crackled happily. There was a reason Cassian and Azriel loved to bath their wings in sunlight every chance they got. The heat helped the soreness and eased the wind’s rough edge.

It also drove color into your cheeks and set your hair alight in a soft golden haze. You were a marvel. An angel with a halo to match and Azriel drank in the sight.

“Like who?”

“Cassian.”

You smirked and chucked the last of the wood into the flame’s gaping mouth.

Cass was far from empty-minded, but after decades of being feared as the Lord of Bloodshed he was grateful that people loved him enough to be just a little mean. He gave and received friendly blows like kisses on the cheek and smiled all the wider for it. To threaten his life was the same as saying I love you. It must be why the Mother had made Nesta his mate. She said I love you to him all hours of the day.

Azriel asked you what you were thinking, and when you told him he felt some of that pain slide off his shoulders like rain. He threw his head back and laughed until his chest started to hurt again and you thought about how rare that sound must be, and how much you loved it.

“How are the others? Rhysand told me Feyre’s sister is down there along with your friends.”

Azriel sobered up quickly and cleared his throat. “Yes. Elain, Lucien, Jurian, and Vassa.”

His voice caught on two names: Elain and Lucien, and it didn't escape your notice. He sounded... nervous.

“And? Are they alright?”

He rolled his shoulders and looked out the window to the inky black sky. Vassa would be sleeping now in her human form, and if she was lucky, she’d wake up in the morning still within the manor’s grey stone walls. Safe. Home.

He shook his head gravely. “They’re nothing short of terrified. Koschei has Vassa under a spell that would normally keep her tied to his lake. He let her go during the war against Hybern and he’s been allowing her to stay, but… everyone’s just holding their breath and trying to prepare for the day he’ll take her back.”

You shivered and wrapped one of the spare blankets around your shoulders. You couldn’t imagine a life where every waking moment held the risk of being torn away from everything you held dear. The anticipation would have broken you more than the act itself.

“I’ve heard of her. The firebird.” You murmured softly. You imagined a creature with glowing eyes, blue-red feathers streaking behind like ribbons set on fire. Azriel narrowed his eyes in confusion, and you explained, “Ares House records all wartime information. I read the reports. We’re very thorough.”

Azriel smiled. “I would expect nothing less.”

Silence passed in comfort, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Vassa.

“Do you think they’d be able to stop it if Koschei did make her go back?”

“I don’t know, Y/n.” And it was driving him mad to have Koschei hanging around like a forgotten word at the end of his tongue.

“I hate this,” you spat out, “The not knowing. I hate it.”

Azriel stared at you, hazel eyes silently begging you to continue. Shadows curled around your body, gently tugging you closer to him until your knees were a whisper away from touching.

You both sighed softly into the quiet air. Even the River House seemed to be at rest for the night. The usual background hum of cooking and cleaning were absent. It was just you and the Shadowsinger.

“How are things going? With the book?”

You slipped your hand through the slit in your robes and pulled it out. The gold chain rustled, glowing faintly from your touch.

“It’s going.” You shoved the book back out of sight. You couldn’t even stand to look at it after the hours you’d spent agonizing over its pages. “Rhysand’s been teaching me to contain my power better. I can actually touch some things now.”

But not him. Still not him. And it was killing you.

Azriel gave another one of his small smiles. The ones that never failed to make the world a smaller, more manageable place. “That’s good.”

“I just… this may sound silly but, I’m not used to things being this hard. With my powers a lot of things just sort of came naturally for me. But now people are dying and I’m just sitting here on this very expensive couch and I can’t do the thing I was brought here to do and I… I don’t like feeling this useless.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Azriel murmured. He closed the space between you even more, shadows hovering over your face in silent permission. When you didn’t pull away they brushed back the strands of hair that had fallen over your face with a cool, silky touch.

Azriel was all calm darkness and you imagined that if you reached out to touch his chest your hand might just slip through him like he wasn’t there at all. He seemed too good to be real.

But he was real, and he was sitting close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath fan your cheeks.

“You’re not useless. Never believe that. Not even for a second. And even if you were useless, it wouldn’t matter. You’re worth more than the things you can do, remember?”

“I remember.” Your voice was quiet and thick.

You rested your cheek in the crook of your arm as you gazed at him wearily.

Azriel kept his hands out in the open, one hand reaching across the couch cushions before stopping mere inches away from yours. His shadows closed the remaining distance, slipping in between your fingers to mimic Azriel’s touch.

“Did you uncover any more secrets of mine while I was gone?” Azriel asked as your eyelids began to droop.

“I confess I forgot to look. But maybe now that you’re here, I’ll start again,” you mumbled into the encroaching dark.

“I look forward to it,” were the last words that filtered through your ears before you fell asleep to the untranslatable whispers of shadows.

Nyx bounded down the stairs, leaping the last six steps before landing soundlessly on the floor with a soft bend of his knees — just like Azriel had taught him. Feyre gave a proud nod before ruffling his ebony hair and Rhysand beamed.

Let me. Feyre adjusted the wrappings around Rhys’s chest that kept Velaria’s plump body swaddled and comfortable. Her pink lips opened in a yawn that had both mates sighing.

“Uncle Az!” Nyx raced forward towards the sitting room and then froze, mouth opened in a surprised oh.

Azriel slept like the dead on the floor, chest rising and falling with the beat of his gentle breath. You lay stretched out on the couch, one arm propped beneath your head and the other dangling over your waist and off the cushions. Your fingers swayed an inch above Azriel’s chest, shadows swimming over his torso and creeping up your arms so that even in sleep you were connected to one another.

Feyre gasped softly at the picture. The sunlight blanketing the both of you in peach fuzz. The faint uptick of Azriel’s lips and the smoothness of his brow. The way you looked like you were bleeding into him. The black of his shadows and your robes.

Rhysand rubbed Nyx’s shoulder and kissed Feyre’s cheek.

Let them sleep, Nyx. We’ll get breakfast at Huth’s today.

Nyx let his parents lead him towards the door without protest. He’d never seen Uncle Az sleep so soundly in his life.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Yeah... this slow burn is burning... but I just love it so much and I love writing all the sweet little moments they have and their conversations with one another and I hope you're enjoying it as well.

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #everyone deserves a person who'll help them relax enough to fall asleep #late night conversations and barely there touches and longing and asdfbaefnaks #AZRIEL FREAKING MADE HER NEW ROBES SO SHE WOULD FEEL MORE COMFORTABLE #He's trying to grow and do right by his exes so he will feel more worthy of Y/n and I just ugh #i'm giving him Mr. Darcy energy I don't give a shit

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azriels-shadowsinger · 3 months

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Game Night (Azriel x Reader)

summary: You and Azriel have been kinda flirty for a while, but it has never actually gone anywhere. When game night turns into strip poker… well i’m sure you can guess where this is gonna go.

wc: 1.5k

a/n: i haven’t written anything in a long while bc ive been kinda very depressed so this may suck. also thank yall so much for 200 followers!!

!!warning: suggestiveness at the end.

The males should have known it was a bad idea when you four females insisted on the game. Mor had oh so innocently suggested a game night, after which Nesta randomly got the idea to play poker out of nowhere, followed by immediate approval from you and Feyre. Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel had wrongfully assumed that you all had suddenly gained interest in the game and wanted to learn for fun, so they agreed.

The night started out wholesome. You were ‘learning’ the basic rules of the game while losing a decent amount of money. As expected, Rhys was trying to help Feyre as she kept losing money to his brothers. After several rounds of defeat and many more rounds of drinks, the males started to notice that you four were losing less and less. Actually… you were all holding the majority of the chips by this point. Azriel, in his usual perceptive manner, accused you four of cheating and hustling them. You and Mor couldn’t help but break out laughing.

“I’m sorry! It was just too easy!” You said between giggles.

“Especially when Rhys started telling Feyre his cards in her mind so she wouldn’t lose, which she immediately told to us!” Mor laughed loudly. Feyre gave a sheepish grin and Nesta only smirked while pulling her most recent winning to her pile. Rhys, Cass, and Az couldn’t help but to laugh, commending you for being able to trick them. Cassian, however, insists that they were going easy on you the whole time.

“Well, it’s on now. No more holding back, right boys?” Cassian says with a smug grin while dealing new cards to the table.

“It shouldn’t be too hard to win, now that I figured out each of their tells.” Azriel stated matter of factly while peaking at his cards. His shadows swirl around him, blocking anyone from being able to see the hand he was dealt.

“Oh really? You think you can tell when we’re bluffing? I think you’re overestimating those spy abilities, Az. You haven’t called any of my bluffs correctly so far.” He shrugs. “I think we may need to make this game more interesting since you three claim you’re going to actually try now. I’m thinking we raise the bets to-“

“Let’s play strip poker!” Cassian bellows, obviously drunk, and cutting you off before you can say anything else. Rhys exchanges a look with Feyre. “I think that Feyre darling and I are going to retire for the night before we lose more of our money or our clothes. Goodnight everyone!” He laughs. They throw their cards on the table and winnow away, leaving just you, Nesta, Mor, Azriel, and Cassian at the table.

Cassian stares expectantly at Nesta. “Cmon, Nes! Say you’ll play!” She sighs dramatically and agrees. “Fine. Only if Y/N, Mor, and Azriel all agree to play too.” Your face turns red. While you don’t doubt your poker abilities, the thought of stripping in front of Azriel… or worse, seeing him half naked, makes your heart race. You and Azriel have only ever gone as far as flirting with each other, but these Illyrians are always flirtatious, so you don’t think it means anything. Regardless, your mind wanders to the mental image of a shirtless Azriel, sparring in the training ring this morning. It’s always so hard not to stare. His abs, his arms, his wings…

“Y/N? Are you playing or not?” Mor questions, pulling you from your daydream. You realize everyone has agreed but you now.

“Sure, whatever.” You say quieter than before, still slightly blushing. You look at your cards nervously, praying to the Cauldron for a good hand. Luckily, you get it. The round goes on, and eventually Cassian is the first to lose an item of clothing, opting to lose his shirt and making a big display of removing it.

An hour later, you have all had several more drinks, everyone has discarded a couple items of clothing (except for Cassian who was down to only his boxers and his left sock), Mor got tired and left, and you were focusing way too closely on one of your poker chips in an attempt to not stare at Azriel.

Cassian flips the last card and… it’s not what you need. You bite your lip nervously, pushing several chips to the middle of the table while trying to maintain a confident façade. “I raise.”

Cassian and Nesta both fold, leaving just you and Azriel. You feel his eyes on you, probably trying to tell if you’re bluffing. Your skin heats under his gaze. Trying to appear more confident, you meet his stare, only to notice he’s not staring at your face, but rather a bit lower. You blush and Cassian clears his throat. “Uh, your move, Az.” Azriel immediately looks away, staring back at his cards.

“Um, I fold.” He mutters and tosses his cards on the discard pile, and you can’t help but notice the way his other hand is clenching and flexing under the table.

“Y/N wins! Az, looks like you’re down to your boxers now!” Cassian slurs slightly. Your eyes go wide and you give a panicked look to Nesta.

“Cass, I think it’s time for us to head home. I’m tired.” She gives him a look that he obviously must recognize because he is very quick to leave, obviously excited to get home. They say goodbye and head out, leaving just you and Azriel.

You stand to gather your things, but Azriel stops you. “Are we done playing, sweetheart?” You feel his eyes trail down your half-exposed body.

“You can keep your pants on, Shadowsinger. It’s late and I’m drunk. Plus, if we play another round then one of us will end up a bit more naked than friends should be around each other.” You laugh awkwardly. Azriel’s eyes darken slightly and he leans in to whisper in your ear. “Scared you’ll lose?” You shudder at the closeness and the feeling of his breath on you.

“No. I just don’t think you want me to find out that the wingspan theory isn’t true.” You quip back with a raised eyebrow. He lets out a short laugh and sits back down. “Deal the cards.” He says smugly.

You deal the cards, trying to ignore the tension thick in the air. What the hell is he doing? How are you supposed to act friendly and hide your feelings if you see him naked? How is he going to react if he sees you without a bra? You deal the last card and look at your hand. Not terrible, but definitely not great. You bite your lip nervously. The round plays out and it’s time to place the final bets. You make your bet and then look to Azriel, biting your bottom lip nervously. He studies his cards, then sets them down to look at you.

“You wanna know something, Y/N?” He picks up a poker chip and spins it between his fingers. Gods, those fingers. “You bite your lip when you’re nervous. Did you know that?” You freeze. “And while it has been rather advantageous to know when you’re bluffing this whole game, I do find it kind of cute.” He slides all of his chips into the middle pile. “I knew you were bluffing the last round. And I know you are now too.” His voice is low and full of confidence. Your face is completely red now as he flips his cards over. Royal flush.

You turn your cards over in defeat and he grins. “I win.” He says smugly. He stands and saunters towards you, caging you between his arms in your chair. You look up at him, and you can see the silent question in his eyes. Is this okay? You nod softly and he smirks.

“As the winner, I think it’s only fair that I get to claim my prize. May I?” He gently slides your bra strap down your shoulder. This is actually happening. Weeks of flirty words and lustful glances, leading to whatever is about to happen.

“Rules are rules.” You maintain eye contact and reach behind to unclasp your bra. He grabs your wrist, guiding it back down and reaching behind you himself. His fingers softly trail up your spine, leaving goosebumps behind, before he reaches the clasp and unhooks it. Your bra falls to the floor and Azriel’s eyes roam over you hungrily.

“Gods, you are even more beautiful than I imagined.” He gently guides you to stand, walking you back to the wall and pressing you against it. “I have wanted to do this for so long.” He whispers against your skin before moving his lips to yours. He kisses you with no restraint. One hand cups your face while the other moves up your side. You melt into his touch, savoring his taste. A small moan leaves your mouth, causing him to growl softly.

Azriel pulls away for a moment to say something, but before he can, you hear footsteps in the hall. Quickly, you rush to grab your clothes before anyone can see you. Moments later, whoever it was walks past the room towards the kitchen. You let out a breath, continuing to get dressed.

You give a look to Azriel, who had already managed to get fully dressed somehow. He can read the question in your eyes. Now what? Azriel reaches out a scarred hand toward you. “We can keep playing the game in my room.” He smirks. You take his hand and you two quickly head out, leaving the cards and poker chips on the table.

idk what this was. honestly it was a WIP from months ago and i’m not sure if I love how it ended up but whatever i just am trying to write again :)

#acotar #acotar fanfic #azriel #azriel acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #acotar fic #bat boys #my writing

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munson-blurbs · 11 months

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Summary: Thanksgiving brings back memories of happier times, and all you want is to recreate the past. But when those plans go awry, Eddie--and Harris, of course--are there to help you look forward to the future.

Warnings: mentions of Eddie's parents, brief familial conflict, Reader's grandma has dementia, most of this chapter is fluffy tbh

WC: 6.8k

Chapter 8/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed Divider credit to @saradika

Thanksgiving, 1975

The sound of the kitchen timer beeping draws nine-year-old Eddie Munson’s attention from the television set. The local news network had been replaying the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on a loop. It was now the third time that Eddie had watched Santa Claus make his way into Herald Square in a comically oversized sleigh, but he couldn’t get enough of it. The colorful balloons that hovered over the crowd, the marching bands playing in perfect unison, the feeling of excitement in the air—it was palpable all the way from his new home in Hawkins, Indiana.

“Dinner’s ready,” Wayne announces, grabbing the worn mitt off of the counter and pulling two TV dinners from the oven. “‘S not much, but at least we got turkey and mashed potatoes,” he bashfully adds.

Eddie nods, trying to walk without taking his eyes off of the screen.

Wayne’s bushy brows pinch together as he watches his nephew. “You always get this into the parade?” he asks.

“Never seen it before,” Eddie says softly. His parents had had a TV for a couple of years until they’d pawned it, but he doesn’t recall ever watching a parade. “Pretty cool.”

“We can keep it on while we eat, if ya want,” Wayne tells him, smiling when he sees the boy’s face light up. He places the plastic trays on the snack table and heads back to grab forks. “Ya got a favorite balloon? I’m partial to Snoopy, if y’ask me.”

Eddie nods, still transfixed on the TV. “Yeah, Snoopy’s good. I like him.” He takes the utensil from Wayne’s outstretched hand, absentmindedly dipping it in the congealed mashed potatoes. He pauses for a beat before bringing it to his lips. “Do I have to go back?”

“Hm?” Wayne mumbles, too focused on his own food to fully hear him.

“Do I have to go back with them when they get out?” Eddie repeats, keeping his voice low and training his gaze on the floor. “‘Cause I like it better here. With you. ‘S nice and quiet.”

There’s a lurch in Wayne’s chest at Eddie’s request. “Technically, I only have ya till your folks are sprung,” he admits, scratching a nail against the table, “but I can talk to a lawyer or somethin’ about keeping you here longer. Only if you want,” he adds.

“I wanna stay here,” Eddie confirms, spearing a pale turkey slice and popping it in his mouth without any attempt to cut it. “If it’s okay with you. I can sleep on the cot an’ you can take your bed back.”

Wayne shakes his head. “Room’s yours, Ed.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t wanna promise you that the courts will agree to it, but I’m gonna try my damndest to keep you safe.” And it’s true. He’ll work double overtime at the plant if it’ll cover legal fees. When the social worker dropped Eddie off last week, Wayne had no idea how either of them would adjust. But aside from a few growing pains—like having to shave his nephew’s head when they’d discovered he’d had lice—things seemed to be alright.

“I, um, I wrote something at school yesterday,” Eddie pipes up, traipsing to his backpack and pulling out a sheet of paper. In his sloppy, boyish handwriting is written:

I am thankful for my Uncle Wayne because he takes care of me. He’s really nice and he works hard and he doesn’t mind that I listen to loud music. He also lets me feed my dinner scraps to the stray dogs in his trailer park. My Uncle Wayne is the best. I hope he’s thankful for me, too.

Wayne feels his throat constrict, and he clears it before Eddie can catch on. “‘Course I’m thankful for ya, Ed,” he manages. He reaches out to put his hand on his nephew’s back, flinching when the boy jerks away nervously. Eddie’s reflex to defend himself rather than embrace touch stirs up a reserved anger Wayne didn’t know he had, and he wills himself to simmer down before his nephew can sense it, lest he think he’s angry at him.

He slowly brings his hand to the couch cushion, careful not to make too much noise. We’ll get there, he thinks as the parade starts up for a fourth time. We’ll get there.

Thanksgiving, 1978

Ten years old is a strange age.

Too old to play with the little kids, but too young to hang around the teenagers or adults. You’re just kind of…there, like a piece of furniture that everyone absently walks around. This hiss of beer cans opening is barely audible over the men shouting at the football game on TV. You don’t know who’s playing, and you don’t really care, but it’s the only place you feel like you’ll be out of the way. Taking a seat on the floor, you remain there generally unnoticed until one of your uncles calls out your name.

“Couldja get me a refill?” Uncle Tim slurs, shaking his empty can of Bud Light to emphasize his request. Before you can respond, he throws a, “thanks, kid” and goes back to yelling at the football players.

It’s not like they can hear you through the screen, you snidely think, but you keep your comment to yourself as you pad into the kitchen. A collection of spices tickles your nose, the mixture of cloves and garlic and thyme and rosemary warming the room. You rummage through the refrigerator until you feel someone bump up against you.

“What are you doing in there?” Your aunt asks, disapproval carving her already sharp features. Her gaze drops to the can in your hand. “Seriously? Trying to sneak beer right in front of us?” she scoffs.

Grandma quickly becomes aware of the commotion, and she wipes her hand on her sunny yellow apron as she assesses the situation. “Everything okay?” Her soft eyes are concerned, not accusing, and you feel your anxiety slowly dissipating.

“I caught her trying to steal some beer,” your aunt reports proudly, as though she’s caught some serial offender, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Not even a teenager yet and already getting into this kind of trouble.” She shakes her head with a tsk.

“No, I wasn’t,” you insist, setting your jaw in defiance. “Uncle Tim asked me to get some more for him. That’s all.”

“Tim!” Grandma calls out, tone thick with irritation. “Get over here!”

Uncle Tim trudges out to the kitchen, head already hung low in anticipation of the tongue-lashing he’s about to receive. He may be a grown man, but his mother can easily put him in his place.

Grandma folds her arms across her chest. “Why are you having your niece fetch your drinks like a barmaid? Your legs broken or something?”

“No,” he mumbles, taking the beer from your hand and haphazardly tossing a “sorry” in your direction before returning to the game.

“C’mere,” Grandma beckons you, crooking her finger to join her at the counter. She’s got a bowl of Granny Smith apples, half of them peeled, their green skins piling on the cutting board in front of her. She hands you the peeler, picking up a sharp knife and cutting a peeled apple lengthwise and cubing each slice. “Help me out. It goes a lot faster when there’s two of us. And it’ll keep you out of trouble,” she adds with a wink.

You grab an unpeeled apple from the pile and drag the tool down its curve, repeating the motion until the inner fruit is exposed before starting on the next one. You and Grandma work in tandem; you peel and she chops in a comfortable silence. As you’re finishing up the last of the bunch, she leans over and whispers in your ear, “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re the best helper I’ve ever had.” She starts placing the cubed pieces into a pot, shaking the cinnamon container over it until she takes a satisfied step back, no measuring spoon required. “Mix it together for me?”

You nod eagerly and pluck the wooden spoon from the canister behind the sink, dunking it into the pot and stirring until the apples are fully coated in cinnamon. “That good?” you ask, giving another stir for good measure.

“Perfect.” Grandma smiles, covering the mixture with water and setting it on an empty burner, twisting the knob until the coil turns red. “Once it softens up, you can mash it. Give these old arms a break,” she teases gently.

“You’re not old!” you protest, and she smacks a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you, kiddo,” she murmurs, voice muffled against your scalp. “To the moon and back.”

You wrap your arms around her waist and squeeze her tight. “I love you, too. To the moon and back.”

Thanksgiving, 1996

“Daddy, look! It’s Santa!” Harris points at the TV excitedly, bouncing up and down on the couch. He kicks his feet and squeals. “He’s gonna come to our house, right? An’ bring me presents?”

Eddie chuckles as he spreads mayonnaise on white bread, layering thin turkey slices on top. Three sandwiches for three Munsons. “I dunno, Har-Bear; have you been good this year?”

Harris scrunches up his face in contemplation. “Um, I think so,” he answers honestly. “I can’t remember.”

“Hey, Wayne?” Eddie calls out as his uncle walks out of the bathroom. “Has Harris been good this year? I feel like he’s been a bit…mischievous.”

Wayne shakes his head. “My angel of a grandson? He’s never caused mischief a day in his little life!” He sits down next to Harris, letting out a small grunt as his bottom hits the sofa cushion.

“Yeah! I never cause mischief a day in my little life!” Harris echoes confidently. He turns to his grandfather. “Grampa, what is Santa gonna bring you for Christmas?”

“A toupée,” Eddie says from the tiny kitchen, piling their plates with potato chips. Normally, he’d make sure there was a fruit or vegetable on there, but it’s a holiday.

Wayne has to hold his tongue in front of the impressionable young boy, though he shoots Eddie an inconspicuous middle finger when he’s setting the plates on the coffee table.

The three Munsons tuck into their sandwiches and crunch on the chips. This is how Thanksgiving has been since Eddie moved back with Harris: watching the parade followed by an early lunch so Wayne could pick up a shift at the plant. He always insisted on it, saying that the holiday pay helps offset the cost of Christmas presents. It was quiet, but nice, and Eddie couldn’t ask for anything else.

“Y’know,” Wayne says to Harris with a mouthful of sandwich, “the first time your Daddy watched the parade was with me. And now, we got to watch it with you.” He bumps his arm against Harris’s, making the boy giggle.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie muses, chomping on a potato chip thoughtfully as the memories flood back in. “Forgot about that. Is Snoopy still your favorite, Old Man?”

Wayne considers this. “Hmm. Who’s our favorite balloon this year, Har?”

“Clifford!” Harris answers without missing a beat, kicking his little legs in excitement. Eddie should’ve known; the boy was damn near obsessed with dogs.

Once we can afford a house with a yard, I’m getting you that puppy, Har-Bear, he thinks, though he doesn’t dare make the promise aloud.

“Then that’s mine, too.” Wayne brushes the crumbs off of his lap, calloused hands scratching the worn denim of his jeans. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “I wonder what Ms. Sweetheart’s favorite balloon is.” He acts like he’s speaking to Harris, but Eddie knows it was aimed at him.

Harris claps his hands together gleefully. “I know! Let’s call her!” He turns to Eddie with the sweetest puppy-dog eyes the man has ever seen, lower lip jutted out exaggeratedly in the most precious pout. “Please, Daddy? Pleasepleasepleaseplease–”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says with a laugh, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Once you finish up lunch, we can call her.” Harris opens his mouth to protest that he wants to call right now, but Eddie cuts him off before he can start. “Ah ah; no whining, or we won’t call.”

Harris harrumphs but ultimately complies, taking another bite of his food. Wayne gives Eddie a small thumbs-up, and he preens slightly at the acknowledgment of his parenting win. They didn’t happen very often, and they rarely happened when someone was around to witness them. He takes a long gulp of water; as soon as he does, his son lifts his own cup to his lips and takes a sip. Another reminder that he’s watching, even subconsciously, wanting to be just like his dad.

For a split second, Eddie allows himself to believe that that might not be a bad thing.

“‘M done!” Harris chirps; sure enough, his plate is clean, save for the bread crusts. He squirms a bit in his seat, a gesture that Eddie has come to learn means only one thing.

“Go pee while I find her number,” Eddie tells him, purposely omitting the fact that he’s already committed those seven digits to memory. In case of an emergency, he thinks, and I don’t have the slip of paper on me.

Wayne can sense that his nephew isn’t being completely truthful; as soon as Harris closes the bathroom door behind him, he starts in with a shit-eating grin.

“Y’don’t need to find her number, do ya?”

Eddie flicks off an imaginary speck of dust on his shirts. “Knock it off, Wayne.” But he doesn’t move from his spot on the couch, further affirming his uncle’s point.

“Look, Ed,” Wayne exhales, adopting a more serious tone. “You clearly like this girl. I mean, all Harris did was say her name and you smiled–don’t give me that look,” he chastises lightly when Eddie rolls his eyes. “I know you two didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but all that seems to be in the past now, right?”

“Guess so,” Eddie mumbles. “But not hating me doesn’t mean she’s into me. Maybe she’s only being nice to me because of Harris.”

The older Munson pauses, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks; his reflex when he’s deep in thought. “One date,” he challenges, holding up his forefinger to emphasize his point. “Ask her on one date, and see where it goes.”

“Fine,” Eddie relents, the nerves already churning in his stomach. You’d just found this good rhythm together, and he was going to risk messing it up. Again. “I’ll ask her. But on one condition.”

“Whas’ that?”

“Don’t say anything to Harris.” He crosses his arms over his chest when Wayne chuckles. “‘M serious, Wayne. I don’t want him getting his hopes up. For Chrissakes, I gave her a tape and the kid had us getting married.”

“Fair enough,” Wayne agrees, clamping his mouth shut when he sees the little boy enter the room. “You wash your hands?”

“Yep!”

“With soap?” he presses, narrowing his eyes.

Harris heaves an impatient sigh. “Yes! Can we call now?”

Both Wayne and Harris keep their eyes glued to Eddie as he punches in the numbers. When it starts ringing, he holds out the receiver to his son. “Say hi and your name when she picks up,” he reminds him, grateful for the opportunity to collect himself before asking you on a date. He takes a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and gnawing on his lower lip so forcefully that he swears it might bleed.

You got this, Munson. The worst she can say is no.

But that’s not quite true, is it? The worst you can do is laugh in his face, leaving him a rejected mess. Scratch that–the worst you could do is accept the date, have him fall head over heels in love with you, then leave him in the dust to pick up the pieces while you move on with someone better.

Maybe you won’t pick up the phone. Maybe he’ll have more time to–

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!”

It was a small thing. Miniscule, even. Just your meager attempt at reclaiming part of the past that had been lost to time and disease. A simple family recipe, apples boiled and mashed into a sauce that you’d hoped even vaguely resembled the way Grandma made it. A tiny cut on your fingertip serves as a battle wound from peeling, the sweet aroma of cinnamon still lingering in the kitchen.

You try to convince yourself that it isn’t a big deal. It’s just applesauce. But the thought falls flat as you stare into the trash can. You can still see all of your work literally tossed away through the tears that blur your vision.

You’d left the room for two minutes, two goddamn minutes, and when you came back, the plastic pink bowl that held the applesauce was nowhere to be found. You could’ve sworn you left it on the counter, but maybe you’d already put it away? A quick scan of the refrigerator gave you nothing but a chill. Where the hell did it go? Were you losing your mind?

A rogue apple peel had fallen to the floor, and you scooped it up, flustered at how you could have misplaced an entire bowl of applesauce. Sure, it wasn’t as much as when you and Grandma made it for the whole family, but it was still a decent amount. Your foot presses the pedal that lifts the bin’s lid, and that’s when you see it.

“Grandma?” you choke out, looking over to where she’s sitting on the couch. She doesn’t respond, and you raise your voice a bit to grab her attention. “Grandma, why did you throw out the applesauce?”

Her empty gaze briefly flits over to where you’re standing, not even registering the burgeoning frustration and sadness coursing through your veins. “Wasn’t me,” she says flatly, scratching at the side of her nose with a jagged nail. Before dementia, her nails were always painted bright hues of red or blue; now, it was difficult enough to get her to leave the house for essential doctor’s appointments. You weren’t going to put up a fight trying to get her to the salon.

You know you should just close the lid and walk away instead of torturing yourself by continuing to look, but your feet are glued to the linoleum floor. A cold drop of something lands on your toes, and that’s when you realize that you’re crying. Crying over goddamn applesauce.

All you wanted was some semblance of normalcy, something reminiscent of life before Grandma got sick and your family still felt whole. But what you got was a thickening realization that you can’t relive the past, no matter how hard you try.

The ringing phone startles you from your wallowing. You have half a mind to ignore it, but you know that Grandma will just grumble about how she hates the sound of it, so you pick up the receiver and answer with a shaky, “H-Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!” A little voice chirps through the other end. You can hear Eddie mumbling something, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. “Happy Thanksgiving! What’s your favorite balloon?” There’s more hushed speaking from Eddie, and Harris huffs out, “Daddy, stop! I know what to say!”

“My favorite balloon from the parade?” you ask, biting back a giggle.

“Mhm! I like Clifford,” he tells you.

You’d kept the parade on in the background, catching glimpses of it every now and again. Shit, what balloons did you see? “Clifford’s a good one,” you agree, “but I think the Rocky and Bullwinkle one was my favorite.”

Harris laughs so loudly that you have to pull the phone from your ear. “The squirrel and the moose?” he guffaws. “Ms. Sweetheart, that’s so silly!” You’re about to ask him how his holiday is going when he says, “Hold on, my daddy wants to talk to you.”

Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of talking to Eddie, and you wipe the tears from your wet cheeks as though he’ll be able to see them through the phone.

“Hey, Happy Thanksgiving!” he says. Something resembling trepidation tinges his tone, though you’re not sure why. Could he still be anxious to approach you after he confided in you at the parent-teacher conference? After he’d watched you panic when Grandma locked herself in her room?

You swallow, trying to choke down the sadness rising within you. “Yeah, y-you, too.” Despite your best efforts, your voice breaks on the last word, and you hope Eddie doesn’t catch it.

But of course he does.

“You okay?” he asks with a nervous chuckle. “‘Cause it kinda sounds like you’re crying.”

“‘M fine. Just, um, chopping onions,” you lie, hoping you’ve done a convincing job.

“For the…applesauce you’re making?” Eddie sees right through you; you’d forgotten that you’d told him and Harris about your plan during your weekly post-tutoring dinner last night. “Not gonna lie, that sounds even nastier than olives on pizza.”

You manage a laugh, but it’s disfigured by the catch in your throat. “The applesauce was a bust, unfortunately,” you admit. “I left the kitchen for a second and Grandma chucked it in the trash.”

“All of it?” he asks incredulously, letting out a deep exhale when you confirm that she did, in fact, throw out the entire bowl. “Jesus H. I’m so sorry. Is that what’s got you upset?”

“Mhm. I know it’s stupid, ‘s just applesauce, but–”

“‘S not stupid,” Eddie interrupts softly, and you twist the phone cord around your pointer finger with the sudden drop of his tone. “I know you were really looking forward to it.” He pauses, and you wonder for a moment if the line’s gone dead before he says, “We’re coming over. Me and Harris. Be there in twenty; fifteen, if I don’t have to argue with him about wearing a jacket.”

Before you can protest, he really does hang up. You look down at the baggy sweats and college t-shirt you’re wearing; you weren’t expecting any guests today, let alone the Munson boys. You should probably throw on some actual pants, and a bit of mascara couldn’t hurt, either.

You find a pair of jeans that aren’t buried under a mountain of laundry and tug them over your thighs before quickly swiping some makeup on your face. It’s enough to mask your exhaustion while still looking natural.

It dawns on you that you’re not quite sure why you suddenly care so much about your appearance. Harris couldn’t care less, and Eddie…well, even if Eddie did care, why would that matter to you? He’s your tutee’s parent; a new friend at most. On more than one occasion, you’ve answered the door to Jess with a wicked case of bedhead. Why does Eddie Munson of all people make you feel the need to look halfway decent?

When the buzzer sounds, you nearly jump out of your own skin. “It’s us,” Eddie says into the speaker; the smoothness of his voice has your stomach in knots. “And we come bearing gifts. Well, one gift, I guess.”

“Fuck off,” Grandma mumbles from the couch, cranking up the TV volume to an ungodly loud level. One of the Law & Order detectives says–no, screams–something about a murder, and you quickly reach for the remote and click the power button.

“We have company,” you tell her, and she just grunts in response. Hopefully her mood will change in the minute it will take Eddie and Harris to get to your apartment. You can hear them down the hallway, so you open the door just as they’re about to knock.

Eddie takes a step back in surprise. “You psychic or somethin’?” he laughs, looking down at his son and giving him a small nudge. “Go ahead, you can give it to her.”

Your gaze drops to the curly-haired boy standing by his father’s side. He’s holding a brightly colored package of off-brand Oreos, which he brings closer to his chest, pressing it tightly against his zippered sweatshirt. “It’s s’posed to be a surprise,” he reminds Eddie, wide-eyed with genuine concern.

“Only until we got here,” Eddie says gently, soft brown eyes encouraging Harris to hand you the cookies. He brings his attention back to you. “I know it’s not the same as making applesauce with your grandma, but I’ve never been sad eating an Oreo. An oatmeal raisin cookie, maybe. But not an Oreo.”

Now it’s your turn to smile. “You may be onto something here, Munson.” You take the package from Harris and guide the two of them to the kitchen, calling out to Grandma as you pass by. “Grandma, Eddie and Harris are here, and they brought cookies, if you wanna join us.” Her non-response is familiar at this point; the sting is much easier to brush off than it was a few short months ago. But you still feel it.

Even though Grandma isn’t at the table, Harris still climbs onto his dad’s lap. “Daddy, can I have one?” he asks, resting his dimpled chin on his palms as he glances upwards.

“Gotta ask Ms. Sweetheart,” Eddie shrugs, tickling Harris’s ribs and loudly whispering, “and ask her if your poor, hungry dad can have one, too. She can’t say no to you.”

You open the package and shake your head at his antics, sliding out the flimsy tray and offering it to them. “Of course you can have one, Harris,” you say, tone saccharine sweet. His chubby fingers darting out and snatching up a cookie before you even finish your sentence. “But I don’t know about your dad. Do you think he should get one?”

“C’mon, Har,” Eddie urges him, “us men gotta stick together. All for one and one for all, right?” He flexes his bicep; it’s an attempt to emphasize the manliness that supposedly bonds him and Harris, but the gesture has your breath catching in your throat. You sputter and cough embarrassingly, excusing yourself to pour a glass of water.

“Anyone else want?” you manage once you can speak again, holding up the ceramic pitcher.

Eddie nods, lifting Harris from his lap and placing him on the nearest empty chair. “Here, let me help you.” He stands up and calls out over his shoulder, “Grandma, how about some water?”

You’re about to tell him not to worry about it, but to your surprise, she nods. “Ya.”

“So, four waters,” Eddie reports, taking the pitcher and refilling your glass.

You grab another just like it from the cabinet before taking two blue disposable ones, plopping a bendy straw in each. “Grandma, um, she needs stuff that isn’t breakable,” you explain lamely. “And the other plastic one is for Harris.”

Eddie grins. “Thought it was for me. Y’know, always making a mess.”

“Ah, but only of your life,” you tease. “You’re pretty good with basic human functions.” Your face burns at what you’ve potentially implied, but Eddie isn’t fazed.

“Y’know what? I’m gonna take my cookies back!” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest in mock-indignance. A piece of curly hair sticks to his lower lip with his sudden movement, and you brush it away with your thumb before you can stop yourself.

The crinkling of the fake-Oreo package draws both of your gazes, with Eddie poised to tell Harris that he’s only allowed one more. But to your surprise—and perhaps Eddie’s, too—Harris isn’t the one rifling through the tray. Grandma’s taken a seat next to the boy, handing him a cookie before taking her own. She just nibbles on it in silence, but it’s the most present she’s been in days.

“Y’like Oreos, Grandma?” Eddie asks, pouring water into the two plastic glasses and carrying one in each ringed hand. He places them on the table, and Grandma brings the straw to her lips as she nods again. He pauses for a moment, lips tucked into his mouth as he ponders something. “What kind of music does she listen to?” he asks you.

“She has a record collection over in the living room,” you tell him, pointing to the low bookshelf near the door, “but we haven’t played any in awhile. She’s kinda…weird with noises.”

He considers this, walking over to the records and thumbing through them until he finds one that he recognizes. “Could I put this one on?” He holds up the battered copy of Frank Sinatra’s It Might As Well Be Swing. “I’ll take it off if she gets upset. I just wanna try something.” He carefully slides the record from its sleeve, lifting the player’s needle and placing it on the space for the first track.

There’s a soft static as the record starts to spin, and Ol’ Blue Eyes croons:

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like

On a-Jupiter and Mars

Eddie joins in with the next part. His voice still carries its signature rasp, but it’s noticeably smoother, warmer than the night he’d dedicated the Def Leppard song to you.

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me

His eyes remain trained on the record player, but you swear you can feel the lyrics drifting towards you. The melody wraps around you like a hug, and you momentarily lose yourself in a musical embrace.

Another voice, low and timid, chimes in. You have to stifle a gasp when you realize that it’s Grandma, her lips curling into the smallest of smiles–the most joy she’s shown in a long while–as she half-sings the words.

Fill my heart with song

And let me sing for ever more

You are all I long for

All I worship and adore

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, and before you can exhale the third syllable, the world shifts back to normal. Grandma goes back to mindlessly munching on her cookie as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. You turn to Eddie. “What was that?”

He shrugs, suddenly feeling shy. “I read somewhere that music can, like, bring back some memories. Not permanently or anything, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

You can’t stop yourself from flinging your arms around Eddie’s neck, nearly knocking him over in the process. He pauses before he returns the gesture, pulling you tightly into him. One hand is on the small of your back; the other gently rests on the back of your head, allowing you to rest your forehead on his chest. Your tears flow freely, leaving tiny wet spots on his shirt. He doesn’t let go until you start to pull back.

“Thank you,” you whisper; when he pinches his brows in confusion, you elaborate. “You gave me back a little piece of who she was before…” you trail off, swiping at your cheeks messily. “Just…thank you.”

Eddie nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes are practically glued to your lips; this time, when his fingers brush against your palm, he hooks his pinky with yours. “‘Course,” he murmurs.

You’re not sure how long the two of you remain linked like this, joined hands swaying ever-so-slightly as Fly Me to the Moon fades out to I Wish You Love. It’s somewhere between ten seconds and ten years, because time seemingly slows to a halt.

You might stay with pinkies hooked forever if Harris doesn’t bolt from his chair, hugging your waist and looking up at you with concern.

“Ms. Sweetheart?” he asks. His wide, misty eyes indicate that he’s absorbed some of the emotion in the room, though he may not even be aware of this. “Why are you sad?” His chubby fingers grab onto the fabric of your pants.

You choke out a tearful laugh as you crouch down to meet him at his level. “I’m not sad…well, I’m sad and happy at the same time,” you try to explain, shaking your head when you realize you’re only adding to his puzzlement. “Grown-up feelings are weird sometimes, Har. But your hugs definitely help.”

With that, he squeezes you tighter, and you glance at Eddie with a full heart. He takes a step forward, scooping up Harris. You worry that you’ve crossed a line, that you’ve shown too much of your vulnerability to a four-year-old, but your fears are subdued when Eddie extends one arm and brings you back to both him and his son. Something brushes against your scalp, and you realize that he’s pressing a light kiss to the top of your head.

Harris squirms, and when Eddie puts him down, he runs over to the TV set. “Can I watch something?” It’s clear that the moment has passed, and Eddie throws you an apologetic shrug as he waits for your response.

“Sure,” you say, trying to pepper cheerfulness into your voice. It’s easier now that the wave of loneliness has passed, taking with it some of the mourning you’d clung to earlier today. You click on the TV and flip through channels until a familiar cartoon appears on the screen. “I think we’re just in time to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving!” you exclaim, and Harris mirrors your enthusiasm by flinging himself onto the couch, making his dad cringe.

“Careful, little dude,” Eddie says, clicking off the record player and gently placing the vinyl back in its sleeve. “You just got that cast off a few days ago. Don’t need you to break another bone.” Certainly don’t need another hospital bill, he thinks bitterly. He takes the spot next to Harris, silently begging you to join them.

You turn to the kitchen table and put a hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “You wanna watch Charlie Brown with us?” But she rejects your invitation with a simple shake of her head, mumbling something about being tired and padding into her room.

You take the empty space to Harris’s left so that the boy is sandwiched between you and his father. He’s a small kid, but it seems like there’s an entire ocean separating you and Eddie.

“Why’s Lucy so mean?” Harris asks no one in particular. “She’s always yelling. Like Ms. Marion.” You have to stifle a giggle at that observation, and when you allow yourself a glance, you see that Eddie’s doing the same.

The first half of the movie is filled with Harris’s constant commentary; he speaks more than all of the cartoon characters combined. But he tires out eventually, though in typical four-year-old fashion, he denies his sleepiness even as he’s yawning. He fights it pretty well, you’ve got to give him credit where it’s due, but eventually, the exhaustion takes over and he lays his head on your arm. His curls tickle your elbow, and you gingerly reposition him so he’s tucked up against your side.

“You can move him over, if you get uncomfortable or somethin’. Kid sleeps like a rock. Except, y’know, when I need him to sleep.” Eddie snickers as Harris lets out the softest, tiniest snore.

You return the laughter and shake your head. “Nah, I’m good,” you reassure him, smiling at the ruddy cheek pressed against you. “Don’t tell my other students, but Harris is the cutest kid ever.”

Eddie shrugs, but you can tell that the compliment tickles him. “Well, it makes sense, since his dad is a total stud.” He waggles his eyebrows before turning his attention back to Charlie and Lucy. You’re not quite sure how to respond to that; if you play it off as a joke, you risk hurting his feelings. If you tell him the truth–

“D’you like coffee?”

His sudden, seemingly arbitrary question snaps you from your indecision. “I teach four-year-olds,” you reply lightheartedly, hoping he can’t sense your mind continuing to linger on his stud comment. “I practically have coffee running through my veins. What about you?”

“I have a four-year-old, so, same.” He clears his throat, seemingly double-checking that his son is still sound asleep. His leg is bouncing up and down, and he nearly has to press on his knee to get it to stop. “Um, Harris is going to a birthday party next Saturday morning if you wanted to get some with me? Get some coffee, I mean.” He silently chastises himself, wondering if he’d ever been suave around women or if it had just been the unearned confidence of a young man in his early twenties convincing him that he had.

“Like...like a date?” Fuck, do you sound too eager? “Because if you feel like you owe me a date after…after our night at the bar, you don’t have to. I forgave you after you gave me those M&Ms, remember?”

“Yeah…wait, no. Hold on.” Eddie holds up his pointer finger as he collects his thoughts. He could deny that it’s a date altogether and throw out some bullshit lie about it just being something between friends. But he promised Wayne, promised himself that he’d give this a shot. “Yes, I’m asking you on a date. No, it’s not because I feel like I owe you one–although I definitely do,” he adds with a goofy grin that sends flutters to your stomach. “It’s because, fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and how happy you make me–and Harris, too–and how I get kinda nervous around you, which makes no sense because you’re, like, the nicest fuckin’ person ever. Oh my God, why can’t I stop talking?”

“Eddie.” The way you say his name is like a song he could replay forever. “I’d really like to get coffee with you. I just need to see if someone can watch Grandma…maybe Jess,” you surmise, biting back the fact that you’ll have to withhold your date’s name, lest she subject you to a lecture about sleeping with the enemy.

Eddie nods, swiping the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and smiling. “I can pick you up at noon? If Jess can watch Grandma, of course.”

“Noon works.” You want to kiss him right then and there; if Harris wasn’t nestled in the middle of you both, you might not hold back. “I can let you know on Wednesday when we have dinner together.”

Eddie’s not sure he can wait that long for an answer. What if you’re just buying time to get out of it? What if you’re only being nice to him because you’re afraid that he’ll get angry again and reignite the bitter feud you’d been locked in just a month ago? He swallows the insecurities, gaze flickering to your eyes.

And maybe it’s because you can sense his unease and self-doubt, or maybe it’s because you genuinely want to–Eddie doesn’t know for sure–but he feels you lace your fingers with his, resting your joined hands on his thigh. He shifts his grasp to weave them tighter together, learning back into the couch and allowing his body to relax. His shoulders let go of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding on to, and a contented sigh slips from his lips.

It’s you, him, and Harris. Sitting on the sofa and watching a holiday movie. An unconventional little family, but a family all the same. Eddie swears that he could stay like this forever, a thought that almost has him bursting out in laughter. The same man who had concocted an elaborate method to keep women around without actually committing to them was now reveling in domestic bliss.

When the movie ends and Harris begins to rouse, Eddie begrudgingly stands with an exaggerated groan. “These old bones, y’know,” he laments with a mischievous click of his tongue. “Everything starts fallin’ apart when you turn thirty.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, lifting Harris onto his hip and rubbing his back to help him fall back to sleep. “I know.” He grabs his keys from the shelf near the door as you walk them out. And before he can wimp out, he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss, stubble scratching against your skin. His hands are trembling when he pulls away.

“You’re the best,” he repeats the same statement he’d made on parent-teacher conference night. It’s even more true now than it was then. “We’ll see you on Wednesday for pizza?” And an answer, hopefully a ‘yes.’ “Wednesday,” you echo, still processing the fact that, for the second time today, Eddie Munson’s lips have been on you.

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#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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mitsies · 7 months

Text

❊ that love is like a star - gojo satoru . . waiting is scary, but sometimes it's all you can do.

somewhere in your bedroom, the clock on the wall chimes once, softly. it's midnight.

you're not asleep, like you should be. instead, you sit on top of the sheets of your too-big-for-one-person bed, staring at the door of your too-empty-for-just-you room, waiting for it to open. any minute now, you think. any hour. any day.

pulling your knees up to your chin, you rest your head with a heavy heart. you like to fancy yourself as a logical, rational person. you know that if your fiancé satoru was called down to assist on a mission, it would likely take longer than just a few hours to clean up the extent of the mess. you shouldn't worry as much as you do. he's always okay.

but still, there's an itch beneath your skin. a, irritating, persistent, gnawing itch. it's hard to wait, and it's harder to not know why you're waiting. your phone lies to the side of you, on the empty half of the bed; it reads 12:02, november 1st. you purse your lips. halloween was officially over, and a new month had begun.

october was always one of satoru's favourite months. for the candy, for the opportunity to scare little kids, for all of it. but he was always so cheesy, and every year he'd say that his favourite part of any month was the fact that it'd be spent with you. you pull your knees tighter to your chest and let your eyes flutter closed.

it's not uncommon to have him pulled away from you, or vice versa. as was the life both of you had been born into, and as were the career paths that you had both taken. time together was so rare, much harder to find than it was in your youth. the both of you met in your first year of school, and you knew what you were getting in to when you started dating him.

it's scary to think about. how you're both on borrowed time. how everyone you loved and held close was. there is never a night where you can live without fear, whether it be fear for yourself, or fear for someone you care about. and satoru, especially satoru. he doesn't talk about it often, if ever. he doesn't mention it, but you see it sometimes. the weight, the burden of it all. you see eyes with bags beneath them when he's woken by dreams of the past. you see hair, unusually disheveled, after days he can't find it in himself to do anything. you see smiles that aren't real enough to pull the dimple in his cheek in. you see concern, when he's the one waiting for you.

there is nothing you wouldn't do to make it go away. not for your sake, but his. if you could take away all the ache, all the pain, all the weight that drags behind him, all the skeletons in his closet, you would in a heartbeat. if you could take him away from this world and keep him safe, you wouldn't hesitate. but that's the worst part about the world you live in; that there is nothing you can do. there is nothing you can do but wait, wait, wait, for him to come home.

you check the time again. 12:04. a sigh of a breath slips past your lips. how long is a train ride to shibuya? you might consider going there soon. you're no use stuck at home, not as much as you could be on the scene.

shifting over to the side of the bed, you place your feet down on the cool, hard floor. and in the brief interval in which you wait for your eyes to adjust to the blue dark, the sound of a door creaking open penetrates the silence.

"satoru?" you breathe out, for the first time since he's been called away.

the door's motion pauses, and a familiar face pokes through the opening, "you're awake."

before you have a second to think, you're on your feet. the door is pulled out of the way, by you or him you don't know, and your arms are around his neck. he smells like iron, and salt, and snow and blood. and something must be wrong, you're right, because he remains silent. satoru lets you embrace him, and hold him close. he lets your hands card through his hair, he lets his face fall flush into the warm skin of your neck. he lets himself disappear into you, standing in the doorframe of the bedroom. waiting is scary, but it's okay now. he's safe in your arms, and in your room, and in your bed where you lead him. it's still too big because instead of being on his side, he lies on you. head on your chest, curled into your side like a cat soaking up warmth. he doesn't say a word, but he lets you keep him safe. he trusts you enough for that.

you don't know what happened in shibuya the night of october 31st. you do know, however, that it must've been bad. you feel his breathing, erratic, and creating gooseflesh on your chest, shoulder, and arm. but whatever had happened, is okay now. because you know that satoru is home. and he's not hurt, not visibly. and he's alive. and it's another night of life for the both of you, and it's another breath, and another chance. your attention is diverted when he exhales particularly sharply, and you choose to ask. "what happened?"

and he doesn't respond. you didn't expect him to, but he still doesn't. instead, he takes a deep, aching breath. you think you could hear his heart rattling in his chest if you listened close enough. and oh, you think, in this horrible world, you would die to keep him safe. you'd die for him to come home. to keep him in this room, skin-to-skin, ear pressed to your left side to listen to your heartbeat. he has suffered enough. he will suffer more. and on this borrowed time, he deserves to smile with his dimples and laugh with his full chest.

you will do anything to protect that.

flowers chosen: zinnia & southernwood . . everlasting affection & constancy

❊ send a request! ❊ 5k masterlist ❊ event info ❊

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #reader insert #gojou x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojou #satoru gojou #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojou satoru x reader #i miss you so much..#mitsies 5k

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gvcci-bxby · 4 months

Note

hii ! can i request aonung x reader ? where the readers lo’ak’s twin ?? i dont really have an idea but i think aonung x lo’aks twin reader would be cool

YOUR BROTHER'S ENEMY

pairing: aonung x omatikaya/lo'aks twin!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: none tbh, just lo'ak tryna be protective, also not spellchecked (ill do it later lol)

author's note: omg I loooooved this request. I hope I did it justice!

You sit on the jagged rocks of the Metkayina territory, watching your friends and siblings play and tease each other on the shore and in the ocean water. Your siblings Lo’ak, Neteyam, and Tuk tustled and teased each other with your friends Tsierya and Rotxo. They yelled and hollered, expressing their happiness to be excused from chores, duties or training and be able to have a little fun with each other.

Next to you, your sister Kiri used her nimble fingers to weave a new top for herself. You felt like observing today so you opted to keep your sister company while she worked on her weaving and sat on the shore. The sun shines bright, a warm breeze passing by every now and then. It was a lovely day, and you were thoroughly amused by watching your family and friends play together.

You sit in peace until a figure appears next to Kiri, causing a dark shadow to cast across you, fully blocking you from the sun. You turn your head to look up and you see that its Aonung. At the sight of him you blush.

“Hello, Aonung,” you say, glancing away to look out at your friends splashing about in the ocean. Aonung smiles, watching your cheeks ignite with a light flush. “Hello, y/n; why aren’t you in the water too?”

You shrug, gesturing towards your older sister Kiri. “Someone had to keep Kiri company while she weaves.”

Kiri rolls her eyes, knowing that your coyness is due to your budding affection for Aonung. Aonung walks around you and your sister, placing himself beside you on the rocks. Your breath hitches, the close proximity to Aonung making you nervous. Ao’nung leans towards you, his arms brushing against yours. You feel your anxiety reach its peak, but you try to hide it as best as you can. “Why don’t you go in the water, Aonung?” you ask now that he’s nestled in beside you.

Aonung glaces at you. “Why would I go into the water if you aren’t there too?”

Before you could respond, Kiri makes a gagging noise, inching herself away from you and Aonung. “You guys are so gross.” She mutters, shaking her head. You and Aonung laugh, both amused and embarrassed by your sister’s comment.

From the ocean, however, your twin brother Lo’ak fumes as he watches Aonung seat himself next to you and subsequently laugh with you. While his relationship with Aonung has become better, more civil, he still wants Aonung far away from his twin sister.

“Bro,” Neteyam says, pointing the group’s makeshift ball towards Lo’ak. “Catch this!” But Lo’ak was too occupied with stalking towards the oceans shore, where you and Aonung sit.

You knew that Aonung and your twin brother Lo’ak had issues, in fact you’ve bear witness to their rivalry many times, but you believed that things were calmer, and their relationship was turning more positive now that your family had settled into the Metkayina village and their way of life. However, you were also aware that Lo’ak didn’t like you hanging around Aonung.

“Oh no,” you mutter, as you see Lo’ak approaching you, Aonung and Kiri where you sit on the rocks. Beside you, Kiri peeks up and notices her brother coming her way too. Her eyes flicker down as she prepares to pretend she doesn’t exist, so she doesn’t have to interact with her upset brother and foolish, lovesick sister.

“You,” Lo’ak yells, pointing at Aonung. “Need to stay away from my sister.”

Your stomach twists into a knot as you prepare yourself for a very public showdown between your brother, yourself, and Aonung. Aonung tenses next to you, rising from his seat to confront your angry brother.

“Lo’ak, calm down.” You say, also rising from your seat. “There’s no need to be angry.”

“There is a reason to be angry when someone like Aonung is trying to make a pass on my twin sister.” Lo’ak yells back, still stalking forward. In several steps he meets Aonung, chest to chest.

You’re quick to intervene, wedging yourself in between the two boys. “Lo’ak, stop it. We were just talking.” You say, a hand on both Lo’ak and Aonung’s chest. Now, your other siblings and friends watch from their spots in the water with bated breath, hoping a physical altercation doesn’t ensue, again.

You begin to push your brother back, letting go from Aonung. You pass a glance at Aonung who meets your eye. “Sorry,” you whisper, pushing your brother back further and further. “Lo’ak, let’s go.” You mutter to Lo’ak, grasping his arm. Quickly, Lo’ak flips, grasping your bicep and tugging you off the beach.

“Don’t talk to him again,” Lo’ak says firmly, guiding you off the sandy beach and back into the village. You sigh, glancing back to look at Aonung who stands alone in the middle of the beach and your other siblings in friends who are making their way onto the sand from the water.

You struggle against Lo’ak’s grip, your emotions raging at your twin’s behavior. The day had started out so smoothly, the weather was great, and emotions were happy. Aonung joining you on the rocks only illuminated your feelings, glad to be able to spend time with him and be in presence. Then, Lo’ak had to go and ruin everything.

---

It’s been a day since the incident between Lo’ak and Aonung and to everyone’s amusement, you still haven’t spoken a word to Lo’ak. Your parents, Jake and Neytiri have taken notice as you and your twin normally get along well. They’ve decided to let the two of you parse out your feelings, whenever those rise to the surface, and stay out of it. Although Kiri hardly approves of your affection for Aonung, she attempts to provide comfort to you, mentioning how Aonung spoke about how he wished to spend more time with you. This made you feel better, knowing that Aonung missed you, but that dwindle when you realized you would never be able to spend time with him when Lo’ak always had his eye on you.

Now, you sat in your room, sulking, when Lo’ak entered your room. “Can we talk?” Lo’ak says, setting his bow and arrows down. “I don’t like it when we’re mad at each other.”

You say nothing, turning your body away from your brother who seats himself on you bed. Lo’ak’s tail flicks behind him and he knows that you are mad at him for his actions towards Aonung. He didn’t expect you to understand his issues between Aonung and him, but he did expect you to be on his side, regardless of your understanding. “Y/n, please.” Lo’ak says, scooting himself closer to you.

“What is there to talk about, Lo’ak? You embarssed me in front of Aonung and everyone yesterday.”

Lo’ak sighed, looking down at the floor. “Aonung is not a good person, y/n. His actions against me prove that.”

You toss a glance at Lo’ak, a little sarcastic laugh. “And you haven’t been just as cruel to him?”

Lo’ak hisses, his emotions getting the best of him. “Sister, I don’t expect you to understand but I expect that you stay away from him because of what he’s done to me and our family.”

You gasp, your tail flicking with anger. “No, while Aonung and you have had your problems, Aonung and his sister, their entire family, has done their best to welcome us to their clan.” You say, your voice rising with every word. “And I think what you have to do is get over whatever happened and move on. I want to be able to spend time with Aonung without you breathing over my shoulder.”

Lo’ak fliches at your words and as he opens his mouth to respond, you beat him to it. “I think you should leave.” You say to your twin, annoyed by his presence. Lo’ak listens, taking steps to leave your room.

Several hours later, you walk through the village bringing fish and other foods that you acquired back home. You walk on the path towards your family’s home, balancing the large basket of food in between your arms.

“Let me help you,” A voice says next to you. You look over and see that it’s Aonung prying the large basket from your hands. You blush, allowing him to alleviate the weight you’ve been carrying.

“I’m sorry about my brother yesterday,” You say, feeling the need to apologize.

“Ah,” Aonung says. “He still doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

You laugh, “Lo’ak is unreasonable and stubborn sometimes. I think he’ll come around some day.”

“I hope so,” Aonung says, glancing down at you. “I’d like to take you out sometime without being in fear of my life.”

You blush at his comment. “I’d like that too.”

You reach your house shortly, and Aonung drops the basket at your front door. You expected Aonung to quickly walk away, afraid of Lo’ak spying him from inside the house. Instead, Aonung stands idle, glancing at you. “Would you want to sneak away later tonight, with me, to hang out for a while?” Aonung says hesitantly.

Too quickly, you say, “Yes, I’d love to. Where should I meet you?”

“Where the village meets the forest, maybe around dusk?”

You nod, a big smile across your face. “Okay, I’ll meet you there.” You walked through the threshold of the door, lugging the basket into the house. Tuk is quick to come over, inspecting the food you brought back home. Already, your stomach tingled with anticipation over then evening that’s to come.

At dusk, around nine, you sneak away from your home while the rest of your family begins to wind down. Thankfully, you feel as though your family won’t notice your absence as they are all wrapped up in their various activities. You slink away, weaving through the homes, towards the back of the village. Your hands were slick with nervousness and excitement, your tail twirling with eagerness to see Aonung again.

Once you reach the treeline, you see Aonung sitting on a large boulder. Once you reach him, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting his large harms wrap around your waist. It had been a long time since you had been able to be alone with Aonung like this and be able to show physical affection. “I was hoping you didn’t get caught by your parents.” Aonung says

You shake your head. “I’m better at sneaking away then you think.”

Aonung laughs, and you begin to walk deeper into the forest. You converse with each other, catching up on how Aonung is doing with training under his father and his excitement for the future in a leadership position once his father allows him to. Aonung asks about you too and you fill him in on things that he’s missed hearing about.

You and Aonung are deep in conversation as you walk through the trees, too deep to realize that Lo’ak has been following you the entire time. Lo’ak noticed you sneak out of the front door, knowing that you sneaking away was most likely to see Aonung.

“Aonung,” Lo’ak yells again. “I thought I told you to stay away from my sister!”

You turn quickly around to see that Lo’ak was approaching you from behind, and you sigh, not surprised that he had been following you. Aonung turns around, too, putting his hands up in defense. “Lo’ak, let’s talk this out.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, bro. I told you to stay away from y/n and here you are, sneaking away with her after curfew.” Lo’ak says, angrily.

“Lo’ak..” you say, your voice trailing off.

“Lo’ak, I’m not going to hurt your sister; I really like her. I’d love nothing more then to move past all the issues we’ve had between us so that you can see that I really do care for your sister.” Aonung says, in a calm tone. You are surprised by Aonung’s calm tone and admire his strength to go up against your irrational twin brother.

Lo’ak crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing and flicking between you and Aonung. Lo’ak’s chest rises with each breath, and you can tell he’s considering Aonung’s words.

“If you hurt my sister as much as one time, you’re dead. Do you understand me?” Lo’ak says, after a moment. You smile knowing that Lo’ak is finally seeing Aonung’s genuine intentions and will finally leave you alone. You also smile because the way Lo’ak threatens Aonung sounds so much like your father, Jake.

Aonung laughs, nodding. “I understand you.”

Lo’ak backs up, stepping away from you. With one last look between you and Aonung, he turns and walks away. You let your breath out that you’ve been holding since Lo’ak approached you out of nowhere.

Aonung turns towards you, as he still laughs shaking his head. “Your brother is something else.”

You laugh too. “He’s just protective of his sisters.”

Aonung reaches out, letting his fingers brush your cheek. “I’m fine with that; I’m just glad I can finally do this.” Aonung brings you close by your hips, leaning down to place a soft kiss on your lips. Your skin sizzles with excitement, a blush creeping across your whole body.

You are pleased that now you can be free to hang around Aonung without fear and that your twin brother, Lo’ak, is finally being rational.

#aonung #ao'nung x y/n #aonung x reader #aonung x you #aonung x sully!reader #avatar #avatar x reader #avatar fanfiction #avatar 2009 #avatar the way of water #lo'ak sully #lo'ak avatar

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leviismybby · 11 months

Note

Omg thinking about levi training you to cum on command just by his voice 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

ANON YES YES YES!

Levi Ackerman x fem!reader

NSFW 18+, mdni, ugh Levi is a little mean and rough in this, filth as always

Levi likes being in control, he relishes in it. Especially when it comes to you and sex, he has full control. So he got hit with a new idea recently, an idea which he is executing on your right now.

His fingers play with your pussy, face close to yours as he watches your reactions. You whimper, biting your lip to keep the noises down. Levi feels how your pussy clenches around his fingers. "Not yet. Don't cum." His voice is stern, it's serious.

He is determined to teach you to cum only when he tells you to. His fingers speed up as he pumps in and out of you, Levi loves the expressions you make, it's clear that you're trying very hard not to cum, list g to his every command.

"Can you cum when you want to?" He asks, clearly expecting you to answer him but you can't, his fingers brush past that spot inside of you that makes you speechless. Levi takes your jaw with his other hand. "I asked you something, doll. Better answer."

"N-no. I can only c-cum when y-you tell me to..." It's a whisper but he is satisfied with it. "Good girl. And if I tell you to cum?" He places kisses on your neck, kissing over the marks he left on your skin.

"I have to cum." You whine as he adds a third finger into your heat, stretching your walls. "Exactly." He thrusts his fingers harder, you're gushing all over his hand, your juices leaking on the mattress.

"Cum baby. Go on." And like on cue, you cum around his fingers as your back arches off the bed. Levi watches with the most satisfying look you have ever seen on him. But he isn't done yet, he needs to assure you that you'll cum only when he tells you to.

You breathe heavily as you try to calm down from your orgasm, your legs are already shaking. Levi's voice alone is enough to make you feel bliss, he has that power over you. Only he does.

Opening your eyes you see that Levi is watching you, grey eyes piercing through you. "Now let's make sure that you truly get it." He takes your legs and spreads them and takes his cock into his hand. "You'll cum only by my voice understood? Try cumming on your own and I will stop immediately, understood?"

"Yes, captain." He takes your hips and enters you, his eyes rolling at the back of his head slightly, you always feel so wet and warm for him, Levi can fuck you anywhere and anytime.

You moan as he starts moving, cock sliding in and out of you. Both of you can hear the noises of skin slapping, it's loud but that's what makes Levi even more turned on. The way you adjust to him fast and yet, you're so tight at the same time.

His hands move to your waist, and he pounds into you deeper and faster, knowing how crazy it drives you and that you can't cum until he tells you to because that want he trained you to do earlier.

"Levi....Levi..." It's just repeats of his name and moans that leave your mouth, he is fucking you well like he always is but knowing that you can't cum unless he tells you to, makes it better.

Your pussy clamps down on his repeatedly and Levi sees the layer of wetness around the base of his cock and he can't look away. It's an addicting sight. And he loves every second of it.

There's a strong sensation in your stomach, your nails dig into his back as you pull him closer to you, your chests press together. You want to cum but you can't because he isn't telling you to.

Levi presses a passionate and intense kiss on your lips, he moans into your mouth and notes your lower lips as he feels your nails scrape down his back.

Wrapping your legs around his hips, you pull him even deeper into you. It feels like he is on your stomach and it feels too good for both of you.

"Cum doll. Let me see you cream on my cock." Your legs shake as you throw your head back into the pillow, a scream of his ne leaving your lips.

"Just like that. Look at you cumming on my command." Levi watches as you cum, he feels your cunt tighten around him andhe is close too but he waits for you to finish.

Slowly he thrusts inside of you again and hits his high not long after you, he cums inside of you kissing you as he groans.

He has done what he wanted, trained you to cum on his command and by his voice. It bring a smile to his lips as he looks at your ruined state.

The love bites on your neck, dark fingerprints on your hips and your sweaty skin. Truly he is the luckiest man on earth. "You okay name?" Levi asks kissing the side of your neck. You nod feeling really tired.

"That's what I want to hear, now get on all fours doll."

---------------------------------------------------

Taglist:@youre-ackermine @the-milk-anon @sparkywrites25 @humanitys-strongest-bamf @luvjiro @levisbrat25 @notgoodforlife @cometlevi @sixpennydame @mrsackermannx @idkks4m @lovolee3 @ackermendick @randomlevithoughts @loveackermannn

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milaisreading · 1 year

Note

Hello~ Just want to tell you that your blue lock manager series is absolutely amazing! Feel that my life have became better since I found your blog. I already dropped some requests in your ask box, hope that was ok. x) and I definitely wanna read the part 2 about y/n's time with Bastards. I can imagine that Kaiser and Ness both want her attention (Ness is happy at heart that she likes him more that Kaiser and Kaiser wants go get her attention for himself finally) and Noa warm up for her too and now wants her to stay as official Bastards manager (poor real official manager, omg x)).

Oh, sorry, I can't be short not only in requests, which seems like a headcanons, not like requests, but also in my thoughts and messages. x)

Bless your blog! Wish you lots of inspiration! And feel free to talk and rant about bllk or manager to me if you want.

Author: Here ya go! They would all three honestly be a mess right after she leaves😭 it's funny to think of it tbh. Hope u enjoy this one tho!

Warnings ⚠️ : reader uses she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue lock belongs to:Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

Basically a continuation of this

'This is just like the first day at Blue Lock... I am about to throw up...' (Y/n) gulped as she nervously played around with the hem of her new uniform. It felt weird to be wearing the Bastard München one, when for the past months she had been wearing the one of Blue Lock.

'Is this what butterflies in the stomach feel like?!' (Y/n) thought as she waited for the coach to walk out of his office.

'Can't believe I will ne working for THE Noel Noa for the next 3 weeks! Should I ask him for an autograph for Isagi? No, that would be creepy! Haaaa I think Ego-san in the beginning was less stressful.' (Y/n) gulped as the door finally opened and the white-haired man walked out.

"Ah, you are here already. Pretty early too, I thought you won't be here until 8." Noa said, sounding genuinely surprised that (Y/n) was there earlier, since it was only 6.30.

"I always start earlier back in Japan. Sorry."

The girl said, sounding a little panicked that the man might find it weird.

"No need to apologize, it's good to that you did come earlier. It will give me now more of a chance to show you around. Come." Noel said as (Y/n) followed after the man.

'So cool!'

The tour around the stadium lasted for about an hour, with Noel giving her some introductions where certain places and rooms are, as well as what her role will be.

'Essentially I am doing what I did at Blue Lock, just for a professional team. I can do that!' (Y/n) perked up as Noel called out her name again.

"Yes?"

"If Kaiser says something uncalled for, tell me. He can be quite a handful." The French player explained as (Y/n) nodded her head.

"Thank you Noel-san, I will keep that in mind. I just wanted to know what the training plan was for the next 3 weeks? And if I can have a list with all the players? I want to be able to write the progress the players make during my time here."

"You won't be needing those, as I said you are just doing what you did in Japan-"

"I actually do that."

Noel blinked down at the girl as she felt her face turn redder in embarrassment.

'I shouldn't have said that?!'

"Ego makes you do all that?" The coach asked as the girl shook her head.

"Not really! I do it on my own freewill, I like keeping notes and analyzing." (Y/n) explained, which made Noel nod his head and then pointed at a nearby bench.

"You can wait over there, I will get you those things."

(Y/n) sighed in relief as she did as told and Noel went to his office to get the requested items.

'I wonder how the player here usually are. I know they are good,monsters more, when they play against other teams, but watching them train will be so cool!' (Y/n) thought, not realizing that two figures were approaching her, until...

"Ah! Ness, your little girlfriend is here." Kaiser exclaimed, putting an arm around the girl's shoulder.

"Kaiser, please leave her alone." Ness said, sounding a little annoyed as the girl looked at them both.

"Where did you two even come from? I didn't hear you."

"You looked lost in your thoughts, maybe that's why you didn't hear us. We came a little earlier to greet you." Ness explained. (Y/n) nodded her head, blushing a little as he smiled and removed Kaiser's arm from her. The blonde tsked a little as the two talked, still not over the fast that a girl picked Ness over him.

'Well I do have 3 weeks to change her mind.' Kaiser thought as he watched the duo talk over some random things.

"Good job you two. That was a pretty cool trick." (Y/n) said as she handed the duo their water bottles. It was the 2nd day by now and (Y/n) had made out a plan on what and how to do things. Noel was positively surprised how well she adjusted to the team and by the notes she had taken in the two days. Ness and Kaiser would act as her translators if one of the senior staff members told her something or to go to the store.

"You are doubting the great Michael Kaiser now?" The blonde wondered as Ness clapped a little.

"Well, the bar for you is low, so whatever you do will be interesting." (Y/n) said back, and to Kaiser's surprise Ness said nothing. He would usually attack anyone who offended Kaiser, but he couldn't bring himself to be the same with (Y/n). Something about the girl just warmed his heart, and he couldn't deny the small bit of satisfaction that she had picked him over Kaiser back then.

"Is that so? Then you will be in for a ride. Better keep your socks on unless you want me to knock them off."

"Hmmm..."

"So you finished the papers I gave you?" Noel asked at the end of the first week, surprised with how fast she had done the job. He expected her to need the whole 3 weeks to finish, but here he was holding them.

"Yeah, Ness and Kaiser helped me out with the translations and I got this ready too."

(Y/n) said, handing Noel the notebook she had been using for the past week. The man quietly started reading as a knock was heard and Kaiser barged in.

"Noel, is (Y/n) done yet? Ness and I are hungry!"

The man looked up from the notebook and looked at the blonde in confusion.

"What does she have to do with it? Just go and eat."

"She owes us food for being her translators." Kaiser argued as Ness peeked inside.

"This was Kaiser's idea."

Noel sighed and nodded his head, telling the three they are free to go. Once Ness and Kaiser pulled (Y/n) out, Noa kept on reading the notes, amazed with some of the things that caught her eyes.

"Hmm..."

"We are going to that food stand!" Kaiser announced as Ness stayed quiet while (Y/n) looked at it in confusion.

"Here? Alright, I would have expected you two to prefer some fancier place." (Y/n) commented as Ness patted her back and Kaiser handed her a piece of paper.

"I wrote down what you should order, now don't make my hours of teaching you German go futile."

"It was more Ness teaching anyways-"

"Technicalities. Now go." Kaiser said as he pulled (Y/n) along while Ness simply smiled along.

The 2nd week started off with the club having their day off, so Kaiser and Ness decided to use the opportunity to bring (Y/n) to some famous places in Munich. It was a rather cold day and while she wanted to refuse at first, Ness kept on asking so she caved in, to which Kaiser was a little offended.

"Are you still mad I told you no?" (Y/n) wondered as they ate breakfast.

"I am more offended that you told me no, while not even 3 minutes later saying yes to Ness." Kaiser argued, sending a side glare to the magenta-eyed eyed boy.

"I think those are skill issues on your part." Ness said, earning a laughter from (Y/n).

"Also, Ness was less aggressive about it." The girl blushed as she sent a few glances at Ness, who was flattered by the attention. Kaiser cleared his throat and leaned against his chair.

"Lovely, you two make me want to throw up-"

"Anyways, I made us a plan where we can go. We are in luck that today is less of a crowded day..."

With narrowed eyes, Kaiser stared at Ness and (Y/n) as the boy started explaining everything to her. It was honestly annoying how she was looking at him and hanging onto every word of his.

'Meanwhile she is pretending like I don't exist or isn't taking me seriously. Do I have to act nice around her to get some attention?'

"What...are you doing exactly?" (Y/n) asked as she walked into the storage room to get the equipment for the day. Kaiser turned around as he held the big box, surprised that she was here now.

"Helping."

"Why?" (Y/n) wondered, never expecting the blonde to pick up a box for her.

"Because I want to help you while you are still here." Kaiser answered simply and the girl nodded her head. His voice was a lot softer, making his words sound a lot more genuine than usually.

"I...uh thank you." (Y/n) said timidly and looked at her feet, a sight that made Kaiser stop and stare at her for a moment.

"Nothing worth mentioning." He smiled and (Y/n) followed after him, still in shock from his genuine words.

"Today's practice has left me a mess. I can't wait to sleep." Ness muttered as he leaned against the wall of the stadium, both him and (Y/n) waiting for Kaiser to finish changing.

"Really? I didn't notice it on you. You seemed to enjoy yourself a lot." (Y/n) spoke up as the magenta-eyed boy nodded his head.

"I did, football and playing with Kaiser makes me happy... a lot. But the day was just too tiring. Thanks for being here and helping us, I think it would have been a lot harder otherwise." Ness said, genuinely happy the girl was here with them, with him.

'I really wish I was in Blue Lock sometimes.'

"It's really nothing, I like helping you guys." (Y/n) grinned.

"Say.... why did I catch your attention of all people?" Ness suddenly spoke up, his face turning as red as (Y/n)'s was.

"I like your charisma...and the way you play football, it really looks like a magical performance."

'Also your smile is adorable!' (Y/n) finished the last part in her head, not daring to sat it out loud.

"Oh... I didn't think my play was that special. But thank you." Ness said with a soft smile.

"(Y/n), did you put up all the equipment?" Noel asked as the girl looked up from some papers the man gave her.

"Yep! I asked the assistant coach for some help though. Also! I finished writing down the plan for next week and I made an analysis diagram of the past two weeks. Kaiser went up with his speed and Ness became a lot swifter with his dribbling."

Noel looked at the said items again as (Y/n) continued speaking, the out of the blue patted her head.

"H-huh?" She stopped and looked up to see the man smiling softly at her.

"Great job. I will bring these to my office. Thank you."

"No... problem..." (Y/n) watched Noel leave with a flustered expression as Kaiser approached her with a pout and put a towel over her head.

"Hey?!"

"A bird pooped on you! Let me wipe it off!' The blonde said.

'Damn you,Noel.' Kaiser thought, glaring at the back of the man's head.

It was the third week now and Noel was nervously on the phone, waiting for Ego to answer.

"Yes?" Came the man's bored voice from the other side.

"I will cut to the chase. How much money do you want for (Y/n) to transfer to us?"

"Nothing, she is coming back to Japan this week. You all have a manager already. We need (Y/n) back here."

"Please Ego, she does a way better job than our manager did while he was here. Understand me too." Noel groaned, already dreading the day the man comes back. He wasn't bad or lazy... he just lacked the enthusiasm for the sport.

"I understand, but I do not care. (Y/n) is coming back this week." With that the man ended the call and the Frenchman sighed.

"Maybe she will have a change of heart in a month or two."

"Here! These are for you two." (Y/n) said, handing Kaiser and Ness two boxes. Confused, the boys took the boxes and observed them, one was blue and the other one was a light purple shade.

"What are these?" Kaiser raised an eyebrow as Ness kept staring at his with a lost look.

"I made some chocolates for you two, as a gift for helping me out these past 3 weeks."

With a red face, Ness started saying it was nothing and how they did just a normal thing. Kaiser felt his own face heat up a little bit too and he cleared his throat.

"It was nothing..." The duo looked at Kaiser, surprised by his soft tone.

"But why are you ficing us these now?"

"Huh? I am leaving for Japan tomorrow morning, what other time can I give them to you?"

"Tomorrow morning?!"

"And you didn't tell us anything?!" Ness and Kaiser asked in shock as (Y/n) raised her eyebrow.

"I thought Noel-san told you two..."

The two stopped talking and thought over her words, remembering that the man did mention something related to (Y/n), but they zoned out right after he said her name.

"Well, let's spend the rest of the time we have left with you." Kaiser said bitterly, pulling (Y/n) by the sleeve of her jacket.

"Yeah, let's make the best of what we have left." Ness added putting his arm around her shoulders.

"Do you two have to be this close though?" (Y/n) asked with a flustered face.

"Yes!"

#bllk #blue lock anime #blue lock manga #bastard munchen #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser #alexis ness x reader #alexis ness #noel noa #blue lock requests #manager reader #blue lock scenarios

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st-juliet · 1 year

Note

Can I request an nsfw fic sitting on Sherlock Holmes’ lap while he explains a case to reader, she start kissing his neck and he starts stuttering 😩😩 (also, Im literally in LOVE with your works 😫 😭)

Pulse Point

Fandom: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes

Summary: To help him relax in the midst of a trying case, Reader exploits Sherlock’s only vulnerability.

Content: 18+ for smutty smutty smut, Sherlock’s filthy mouth, unprotected sex, and pure domestic bliss.

Notes: My first prompt! Thank you thank you thank you, Anon; I love this so much. I wrote it quite quickly and unedited, so apologies for any imperfections!

“Come, sit with me, darling girl.”

Standing in the door of your husband’s study, you fall even more in love with Sherlock Holmes. He sits behind his desk in his leather wingback chair, attired in his shirtsleeves, coat discarded, posture tense—it has been hours since you saw him come home, carrying a crate of papers and wearing the expression of determination and passion that lets you know the game is well and truly afoot.

Eager to be of help, you follow his directive at once, crossing the room to his side. He settles you on his lap and places a chaste, gentle kiss to your temple, pausing to breathe in the scent of your hair. A little of his tension seems to melt away with your closeness, and you return his kiss—but on the lips, this time—with a smile. He smiles, too, and whispers, “I love you so.”

“As I love you! Now, tell me the matter of the case,” you prompt, with another light, teasing peck. “Begin at the beginning, and perhaps some new detail will reveal itself in the telling.”

Sherlock smiles, a little wearily, but with a clear relief at your presence and enthusiasm.

“Yes, pray lend me a little of your brilliance, Mrs. Holmes, for I am at my wit’s end.”

“Nonsense; your wit is endless,” you scoff, and at last he laughs, too. You share another kiss, deeper this time, and he settles more comfortably into the chair.

“It is Moriarty,” he sighs, loosening his cravat and tossing it aside. “It is always Moriarty, the spider in the center of the web. But for once, he torments me with leisure, not urgency. There is no captive aristocrat, no explosives planted, no threat of impending murder; and thank god for it. But instead, he spins me an ever-expanding list of riddles, each more obscure and particular than the last. To what end I do not know.”

He tips his head back against the chair, exposing the long line of his throat to your gaze. Though you would find it nigh impossible to select a favorite part of your husband’s body—for truly, it seems that every night as he fills your aching channel so perfectly, so completely, there is some new, glorious detail of his physique thrown into prominence—Sherlock’s neck is especially tempting. It is a singular point of vulnerability in such a massive, muscled man, and one you love to exploit: you know well that so much as a single kiss can bring the man to his knees, or else drive him to bend you over the nearest surface and make you his in the most primal, profound way.

“He boasts of the reach of his accomplices by infiltrating those systems in which we have the greatest trust, so much that the average man may not even notice anything has changed.”

You simply cannot help yourself.

Delicately, you shift upon his lap, wickedly delighted that he has fixed his eyes upon the cluttered wall opposite his desk, where his series of pinned-up schedules, diagrams, and ciphers distract him from your intentions.

“But I first noticed that the regular seven o’clock train from Trafalgar to Charing Cross was delayed on Tuesday—“

With a slow deliberation, you kiss the point where his pulse beats steadily beneath his jaw.

“—initial—initially—by seven—“

You part your lips ever so slightly and kiss him again.

“—by seven—se—“

A large, lissome hand lands heavily on your thigh. You do not let this deter you; no indeed, it only incites you further, and you press your lips more firmly against his neck.

“By seven minutes!” he concludes in a rush, and you take advantage of his pause for breath to trail your kisses lower, pulling aside the collar of his shirt for a better vantage.

You lightly sink your teeth into his flesh, just at the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet, and he moans.

“Angel—oh, my g—god…”

As you work your way back up to his pulse point, he still stutters out a little more on the subject of the case: “Angel, the—the trains—I am—tr—trying to—explain…“

You raise your head up innocently.

“Shall I stop, sir?”

Sherlock kisses your lips hungrily, squeezing you tighter, and you wriggle in delight, feeling him grow hard at your ministrations. It gratifies you to no end, when this stern, controlled man falls prey to his own lusts, unable to help the way his length strains at his trousers—and all for you.

“No, no—“ he breathes, and you take your cue eagerly, shifting to straddle his thighs, their breadth forcing your legs wide apart. “Don’t stop, my sweet—ah—angel.”

He fumbles with the fastenings of his trousers, but can’t seem to manage the simple motor function, such is his arousal, especially as your lips return to his neck.

“Let me help you,” you offer, murmuring against his throat as you pepper it with more kisses. “Let me please you, please, Sherlock…”

“God, lo—look what you’ve—done to me,” he sighs, throwing up his hands. Laughing breathlessly, you finish the job yourself, a rapturous smile of triumph gracing your lips as your hand wraps around his freed cock, already leaking and flushed with desire. “You…you undo me completely,” he groans, thrusting up into your grasp. “Fuck, please, my darling girl, please, let me feel you—“

“Yes, Sherlock, anything you want!”

This seems to reinvigorate him, and he growls, pushing aside your skirts roughly. He does not allow the time for you to rise and doff your undergarments, but instead simply tears the delicate fabric at the seams to reveal your dripping petals.

“I’ll buy—buy you more,” he promises, as you rock your wet heat against his achingly hard cock. “What do you want, angel? What can I give? All the lace in the world. A dozen gowns, a hundred, anything for you—emeralds or pearls or—oh, Christ, you are so fucking tight I can hardly—“ This as you sink down on him, sheathing him to the hilt with your own a cry of ecstasy. “I’ll give you the world. Oh, my love…”

You continue to besiege his neck as you ride him, finding out each sweet spot that makes him clutch your hips all the harder, with Sherlock babbling out a litany of absolute filth mixed with romantic nonsense:

“That pretty, pretty mouth god your lips—you will be the death of me, angel!”

Sherlock hardly lasts a moment more after your climax causes you to clench around him, holding him tight and deep and perfect, and he gasps your name and a stammering profession of love as he spills himself inside you. You gaze into his eyes as they come back into focus, and you share a little panting laughter, for you are both an absolute mess of half-discarded clothes, dripping seed, and riotously disheveled hair. You have even left a clear mark on his neck, which makes you feel as grand as the empress of the earth, to have laid such an intimate claim upon his otherwise unassailable body. Murmuring quiet, loving little praises, you help one another to undress fully, till you stand before one another fully natural, each drinking in the sight of the other.

“My god. Just look at you, Mrs. Holmes.”

“You are the most beautiful man alive!” you cannot help but exclaim, and he tosses his head in evident pride at the compliment. How you love to make him vain.

“And at last, I am thinking clearly—for the first time all day!” he says, making you laugh again, then he lets out an exultant “Ha!” and strides over towards the gallery of evidence pinned to the wall. “You’ve done it. By Jove, Mrs. Holmes, you have knocked the scales from my eyes. I see the whole design now…”

“Then let me fetch you fresh clothes—and some water to wash, hmm?”

“Yes, give me leave a little while to dole out justice upon Moriarty. And then turnabout’s fair play for you, wife: I think your lovely neck deserves a mark or two of its own…”

If you enjoyed, please do leave a comment, reblog, or visit my Masterlist!

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #henry cavill sherlock #henry!sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x ofc #enola holmes fanfic

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chasedbyatlantic · 3 months

Text

puppy love, joel miller

summary: IN WHICH — when joel is upset, you do anything and everything in your power to cheer him up. this means showing him your new guitar skills, while singing one of his favourite songs to him.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!joel, implied relationship, gender!neutral reader, sub!joel, lovey dovey joel and reader, ellie being a little shit once again, swearing, literally all fluff because i can, brief mention of death/killing (very very brief! shows up like two times), bad descs of guitar playing since i haven't played in like 10 years LOL, lmk if i missed anything!

wordcount: 2.3k

a/n: my second fic!!!!! i sort of love this one?? also tysm for the love on my first! looking for moots too! hmu if you wanna <3 make sure to reblog, like, and comment on this plz and thank u! if u have any requests for a fic lmk (dms r open for it!) more to come soon xoxo

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God only knew what time it was. You had an infuriating day at work, training all new people on how to successfully patrol Jackson's surrounding areas, and how to not- well, die. This was always your least favourite time of year, to say the least. All the "fresh meat" had been selected to be potential patrolers, and they had to go through extensive training to make sure they were one hundred percent qualified and committed to the role.

Both you and Joel were practically put into this role by Maria (Joel's sister-in-law), not by force, but more of a "you would be doing the entire Jackson community a whole favour if you did this" sort of thing - guilt, most would say. Maria had even tried to get Ellie to help train people, but Joel almost killed Maria by his glare when she brought it up to the two of you.

Even though you hated this role in the community, you think Joel liked it. He had a bit too much fun getting to put kids in check, and humble them big time. At least it was only for a few months, you had kept reminding yourself. The few months were from early June until late September, though - the hottest months of the year. The before dawn wake up calls, and after dusk ends would only last for another month, since it was sometime in the middle of August right now.

After getting home extremely late, around an hour or two ago, you had already taken a shower and changed into more comfortable clothes before you went and sat on your back porch. Even though you didn't want to be outside anymore than you had to right now, Ellie had one of her friends over and wanted privacy. You love the kid, so you gave her the privacy (not much privacy, only hanging out in the living room of your home).

You were able to tell Joel was finished with his shower when you heard high-pitched and muffled screams coming from inside the house behind you. Just as you went to turn your head around to see what exactly the commotion he was causing inside was, the familiar figure of Joel Miller left the glass door, with the door slamming shut behind him. "Everything alright in there, cowboy?" You hummed to him as the nickname rolled off your tongue, scooching over on the step you were seated on to give the man some room to sit.

"Fucking Christ," He started as he took a seat next to you, "they were paintin' their nails, or somethin'. Said I wasn't allowed anywhere near 'em in that room, or they'd be off with me." Joel had grunted once he was completely lowered on this step, his bones weren't as good as they used to he would say.

This earned a snort from you, "No way- Ellie's paintin' her nails? Your girl's really growin' up, Joel." You couldn't believe she was doing this, to be honest. Ellie had stated to both you and Joel that she was not girly whatsoever, and would rather turn into a clicker than wear a dress or do her makeup. After you had said this to Joel, he looked to be upset. He didn't want Ellie growing up, his girl growing up. "Joking, joking."

He took his eyes off of you, and moved them forward. "Nah, you're right," Joel had sighed, "she won't need me soon. Soon she'll-" He had trailed off, quiet now. Fuck- why did you bring this up, you had thought to yourself. You could only place your hand on Joel's thigh. "She'll always need you, Joel. Shit, she'd be death without ya'. Lighten up a bit baby, she ain't going anywhere."

Joel knew it was true, he was just having a really emotional moment right now, it was most likely from being up since five in the morning. "Dunno 'bout that." He had only muttered, placing his hand over yours. You tsked, putting some pressure on his thigh as you got up in an awkward fashion. "Where are ya'-"

"I have an idea, hold on." You had cut him off, making your way back inside. You were engulfed by the sounds of laughter as soon as you stepped foot through the patio door. You were silent about it, not wanting to bother Ellie or her friend. You had silently moved to the house's spare room, where the three of you put anything and everything. You had grabbed what you were looking for almost instantly (it had a distinct shape) and made your way back outside.

Joel turned his head once you had stepped outside again, his eyes moving down to what you had in hand, then gaining eye contact. "Is that my-" he couldn't even finish his sentence. You grinned as you pulled the lawn chair over, placing the case on the floor and unlatching the sides. You had picked up the piece of polished wood and string and placed the curved part on top of your knee.

"Okay so," You had started as Joel turned around to give you his full attention. He looked handsome like this- more than handsome, actually. The way the dull light from inside of your home highlighted his face almost perfectly- ugh, you couldn't get enough of it. "From all of the, sort of, free time I have had in the last few months, I decided to sort of, really badly, learn a few songs?" It came out more of a question than it did a statement, and Joel took notice of this with only a laugh in return.

"Anything ya' play'll be gorgeous, baby." Joel could only look at you in complete awe; if he didn't love you one hundred percent before, he sure as fuck did now. Instead of sitting down, Joel stood up and was now leaning against the wooden beam behind him. He towered over you, only inches away- this got you on even more of an edge.

"Okay, please don't kill me if I don't get the chords right- I don't think I read the notes properly." You awkwardly chuckle as you avoid eye contact with Joel at the current second. Joel knows a guitar from the inside-out, but even if you messed up, he would not care at all. You took the time to learn his favourite instrument, and this only put him in an ecstatic mood.

"Pick a number one through three." You told him as you move your left hand up the neck, and your right arm drooped over the body. "Three." He replied almost too fast, he was just so eager to hear you play.

You brought your fingers through the strings before you started, making sure it was in tune. You glance up towards Joel, "It's in tune, right?" You ask him. A chuckle escapes his lips as he nods, "Don't worry baby, it is."

You (unfortunately) tore your eyes apart from Joel's as you focus on both your left and right hands now. Multitasking was hard for you before this, so you struggled a bit to play. You inhale slowly, placing your fingers on the top three strings on the fingerboard. You strum from both left and right, meeting to the middle string as the first chord.

"And they called it puppy love," your voice was quiet and sounded more hoarse than relaxed, which you mentally slapped yourself for. Before hounding yourself about it even more, you had to focus on changing the chords another four times as you repeated the strumming rhythm.

"Oh, I guess they'll never know," There wasn't any moving, or talking, or breathing (from the sound of it) from Joel. He was just- mesmerized, mesmerized by what you had been doing with your fingers, with your voice, with everything. If the world hadn't gone to shit, you most definitely would've had a big breakout as an up-and-coming music star, he had thought to himself.

"How a young heart, how it really feels, and why I love him so," You had changed the lyrics, and Joel noticed - you changed "her" to "him". Honestly, Joel only noticed because it was you singing it (and he loved you deeply), and that whenever he would spend time with his grandfather when he was little, this song was played a million times. Had he ever told you about his love for this song, or was it just a coincidence?

"And they called it puppy love," You repeated yourself, emotion starting to seep through your voice. "Just because we're seventeen," If you weren't so lost in your train of thought, of remembering where to put your fingers for the next chord, and the correct strumming pattern, and the lyrics, you would've noticed Ellie and her friend silently sneak out onto the porch.

"Tell them all, it isn't fair. To take away my only dream," You had paused strumming for a single second, it sounded like a dramatic pause in Joel's eyes. You had just completely lost your breath from a combination of singing and nerves. After the (painfully long, you thought) second was over, you started once again.

"I cry each night, my tears for you. My tears are all in vain," The chord pattern you had going changed for the last time, and your strums started to sound quiet, your voice dying out while all of this happened. Joel took notice of this, standing up completely now (from leaning against the wooden beam behind). The two girls behind you were still so silent, almost just as mesmerized with you as Joel was.

"Oh, I'll hope and pray, that maybe someday," You inhale as your thumb starts to brush down from the highest string to the lowest string, "You'll be back in my arms once again." A loud exhale falls through your mouth, followed by the two girls bursting out with clapping and compliments. This does nothing short than scaring the absolute fuck out of you, causing the guitar to slip out of your grip.

Luckily, with Joel being completely focused on you, he had came to the rescue and snatched the guitar before it had fell on the ground. You shoot him an apologetic look before turning around to the two girls, he just looks at you with understanding eyes. "You guys almost made me drop the fuckin' thing- how long were you there for?" You question them, eyeing between the two. Their clapping hands were now silent and playing with their thumbs, almost nervous from you.

"Ya' know what, it doesn't matter. Inside- go, it's bedtime." You had scolded the two, as if you were their mother. Ellie's friend had opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by Ellie gripping her hand and yanking her back inside. You start to turn back to face Joel, after snapping. "Fuck, we can never have a minute of fuckin' sile-".

He cut you off by smashing his lips into yours. He was acting as if though he was touch deprived, if he hadn't seen you for years. You two just move in sync for what feels like forever (not that you're complaining, though), before you pull away.

Before you have the chance to say anything, Joel brings you to your feet and sets the guitar down on your previous seat, embracing you in a tight hug. You can feel his rough facial hair on the exposed parts of your neck as he exhales, you definitely don't mind. "I needed that more than anythin', darlin'." He admits to you.

"Anythin' for my favourite person." You remind him, bringing your hand to the back of his head. It was true, you would do anything for this man. You would steal for him, kill for him, anything he wanted.

The sun was threatening to peak through the moonlit skies, you knew you two had to be up and about soon enough, but that didn't stop you. You were laying in bed together, tangled between each other's arms. The covers were kicked off your shared bed, and a small breeze cruising the room every so often from the open windows.

"I think it's true." You had broken the comfortable silence that filled the room. Joel didn't move from his position (half of his body on you), just hummed with his eyes staying shut. "What is, baby?"

"The song- fuck, I don't want to sound cheesy or nothin'." You admit, before continuing, "You just, ya' know, I love you's all." You send a small squeeze through Joel's hand, that vibrates his entire body. This results in him dropping your hand and lifting it to wrap around your chest. "Nothin' cheesy 'bout that." His voice was even more hoarse than when you had lost your fears of singing in front of someone, in front of Joel. You now went silent, just loving his embrace.

"Darlin'?" He now broke the silence after a minute or two, eyes still shut and not moving whatsoever. You gave a hum in response, just like he did earlier. "Ya' said to pick a number between three before ya' played earlier, were the other options real?" This was your favourite, vulnerable Joel.

"It was, and before you ask-" you pause, bringing your hand to the back of his head, just like earlier. You ran your fingers through his restless curls. "-I'll play the rest for ya'. Promise." Joel had obviously liked this answer, as he responded with a sloppy kiss to your collarbone.

You would learn every lyric in the world, every chord in the world, every strum in the world, just for Joel to be happy. You didn't want anything more in this world than for him to be happy. If he was happy, so were you.

puppy love, paul anka

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goddess-in-heaven-and-hell · 2 months

Text

The F-Word (BR) - A Gwynriel One-Shot for Gwynrielweeks2024

@gwynrielweeksofficial My first of two contributions to this years Gwynriel weeks, yay!

Thread: After Azriel accidentially hurt Gwyn in training, his apparent lack of care makes her question the true depth of their friendship.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: faint swearing, miscommunication

“I will kill him.”

Healing salve was applied generously to Gwyn’s throbbing wrist. The overwhelming smell of peppermint and oak bark put her frayed nerves at ease, and she was finally able to relax into the soft cushions despite the flash of pain that racked up her arm and into her shoulder.

“I will rip out every hair on his head one by one.”

A bandage snaked its way around her wrist, the gentle but firm hand guiding it nearly shaking with anger.

“I will plunge his oh-so-dangerous knife in his oh-so-dangerous head and see if he’ll still have enough bravado to hurt you then.” Nesta continued to wrap the bandage around and around Gwyn’s wrist and secured it with a pin as she continued to mutter unintelligible curses with venom in her voice. Like an over-protective ghoul squatting in the attic.

The priestess snorted, testing the stability of the wrap by flicking her arm back and forth cautiously. “You know he didn’t do it on purpose. I don’t think he even noticed what happened.”

Nesta levelled a stare at her that would have sent lesser females running. “And why would that be? What could possibly have happened for Azriel to not notice he sprained your wrist during training?”

Gwyn averted her gaze, lest Nesta see the faint smile that stole itself on her lips. “Maybe because I pretended it didn’t happen?”

The female kneeling before her rolled her eyes dramatically and got up to discard the medical items.

“It was my fault anyways”, Gwyn stated quickly, trying to calm down her best friend, “I didn’t warm up properly. No wonder my wrist couldn’t handle his weight without preparation.”

What a white lie that was…

Nesta scoffed, clearly not in the least convinced of Azriel’s innocence. “He is your instructor. He should know better. Especially when its just the two of you. The bat doesn’t have any reason to not dedicate every ounce of his attention to you when you train in the evenings.”

It was true that Azriel technically just had one trainee during their nightly sessions. The extra attention he paid her was only one of the many perks. But also the reason for her downfall.

“Let it go, Nes. It’s no big deal. Give it five days and it’ll be as good as new.”, Gwyn murmured, absentmindedly testing the bandage. Thankfully, Az had only rendered her non-dominant hand useless. Maybe he didn’t even have to know and she could ask Cassian to focus on leg training tomorrow morning-

“Five days where you can’t lift a shield, let alone weights. Not to mention having to slow down your library work.”, Nesta retorted seriously while observing Gwyn with a hawk’s eye.

Gwyn sighed, letting her head fall back on the couch. There was no denying it, was there? It went against every fiber of her being, but she needed to tell Azriel and Cassian that she sustained an injury during training.

Her ego will have to take the hit.

It wasn’t that injuring herself was so difficult for her to handle, it was more so how it happened that brought a wave of heat to her cheeks.

Because she did in fact warm up properly. Mother, the incident happened during the last ten minutes of training, every muscle – wrist included – had been ready for combat.

So how was she supposed to tell everyone that she was too busy losing herself in Azriel’s eyes to pay attention?

“I’ll tell Cassian tonight and he’ll relay it to Az.”, Nesta decided, clearly taking Gwyn’s lack of argument for permission.

The priestess nodded, heaving herself out of the comfy cushion and bidding Nesta goodbye.

As she lay in her dorm room a few hours later, cradling her injured wrist close to her chest, she debated whether or not skipping tomorrow’s training would be worth the trouble.

Nesta didn’t wait for Cassian to come home.

No, as soon as she heard the door down the hall clicking shut gently, she was out of her chair and on her way to kick some Illyrian ass. Even if that ass had more than a few inches on her.

“Az, may I come in?”, she shouted through the door while simultaneously knocking. The Shadowsinger probably sensed her agitation and opened after a few heartbeats, still in his leathers and eying her with a wary gaze.

“Nesta.”, he greeted her, stepping aside to let her in when noticing her expression. The male was smart enough to sense when her anger was directed at him.

She stormed into his room, turning around to a confused looking Azriel.

“Care to take a guess why I’m here?”, Nesta asked, her voice dangerously low.

Azriel had the decency to look mildly concerned. After thinking it through, he concluded to not have done anything wrong and wordlessly shook his head in her direction.

“Something to do with Gwyn in training?”, she prompted, angling her head.

Azriel crossed his hands before his chest, leaning back against the door. “With Berdara? Do you mean tonight or another day?”

“Tonight.”, Nesta replied, “During hand-to-hand-combat.”

She could have sworn a little blush crept into his cheeks, but it might have been there from the start. She was too agitated to care. “Nes, I seriously have no idea what you are talking about. Did I do something wrong?”

Nesta let out a long-suffering sigh. Honestly, didn’t his job entail paying attention to details? “You managed sprained her wrist during training. She came to me just an hour ago to have it set and bandaged.”

Silence ensured.

She expected her words to have some effect on him. After all, the two of them seemed quite close. But the pure horror that slowly took over every feature of his was another thing.

“I did what?”, Azriel whispered, body taunt with shock.

“She says it’ll probably heal in a few days. But she obviously shouldn’t do any training – morning or night – in the meantime. I wanted you to know that, just in case she shows up tomorrow pretending it didn’t happen.”, Nesta added, trying to calm him down again. She’d wanted him to grovel a bit, but now he seemed dangerously close to suffering an aneurism. “She’d rather have kept it a secret and suffer through her exercises than telling you. So I did.”

If it was possible, Azriel looked even more crestfallen at that. A low curse escaped him, and Nesta took that as her cue to leave.

As she approached the door, she paused to put a hand on his arm. “I didn’t tell you to make you feel bad.” Well, maybe a little bit. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. She’ll live. And you are both fools for how you acted.”

Azriel nodded, but it was so absent-minded that Nesta turned to leave him to his thoughts, bidding him goodnight quietly.

His reaction left her wondering, though. Had she been too harsh? If it got Gwyn a heartfelt apology and maybe some sweets to make it up to her, it might not have been too much. But the Mother knew Azriel was an overthinker. She only hoped that, whatever was going on between them for Gwyn not to admit to an injury would soon be mended.

She did it. She skipped training.

Throughout the whole day, Gwyn felt rotten to the core. She had never abandoned her responsibilities, at the very least not without explaining herself properly. Nesta had probably informed the two Illyrians by now, and the other priestesses had noticed the glaringly white bandage, but still – it felt so wrong to sit on all these weird feelings towards Azriel, to not talk to him as regularly as she used to.

It felt like abandoning him.

And only the Gods and Gwyn new how that made the already confusing and borderline frightening emotions she harbored towards him more complicated.

She realized it was wholly her fault. She should have admitted to the injury right away, blaming a loose stone on the ground, or an errand shadow or anything for her mess-up. But no. As soon as his arms had wrapped around hers from behind, as soon as she twisted her head to meet his gaze, she was lost. Utterly and hopelessly caught up in whatever daydream it was that took over her mind at that moment. And she didn’t have the capacity to free herself as he sent her tumbling down, painfully bending her wrist in the process.

She’d laughed it off, turning her back to him to stabilize and feel out the injury, all while joking that ‘at least he bested her once this entire session’. When she faced him again, he’d looked away too quickly for his eyes to linger on her form and suggested a water break.

Gwyn couldn’t pinpoint exactly when her feelings for him had taken such a turn. When their nightly talks or training sessions became a little less accidental, but rather more and more anticipated. She only knew that one morning, when her alarm allowed her a few more minutes to slumber in bed, her mind had drifted to him.

And it continued to do so until now.

She sincerely hoped she would get a grip on herself, or she’d completely ruin their friendship.

If Azriel didn’t manage to do it first.

Days after the accident, Gwyn’s wrist still too sore for training, the Shadowsinger remained as silent as death. No note, no impromptu lunch visits. Gwyn even trekked up the stairs one night, hoping to catch him waiting for her on the roof of the house. But it was Gwyn who ended up waiting for hours in the cold, without any luck. Not even Nesta had a message to relay on his behalf when they met for their weekly reading night.

It left a sour feeling in her stomach. Friends were supposed to take equal interest in each other. And Nesta assured her she informed Az of her injury. What was keeping him back, then?

Another long day of work passed and Gwyn returned from evening service, walking into the dimly lit hall that contained some of the priestess’s dormitories.

And stopping dead in her tracks when she beheld the massive bouquet of flowers that adorned her doorstep.

Peonies and tulips, lilac and lavender in the most beautiful hues of white and purple made the whole hall smell like spring. With measured steps, Gwyn crouched down to retrieve the card attached to the crown of the bouquet. The handwriting itself made her heart flutter with excitement.

Dear Gwyn,

please accept this as the first of many apologies to come for by behavior in training and afterwards. I hope you are feeling better.

Your friend (?) Azriel

The priestess’s brows scrunched in confusion. She appreciated the gesture, but something in his message bothered her. She read it again, and again, gaze snagging on his signature. And just like that, with as small of a symbol as that question mark, Gwyn’s smile was whiped clean off her face, her heart plummeting into her stomach.

Her friend. The word in itself should have been enough to elicit a little happy dance. Because that was what Azriel was to her, and so much more. It was a first step, the first time she heard him reciprocating the feeling.

But the question mark put the virtual nail in the coffin of her affection.

He either thought so little of their friendship he thought it breaking at the slightest mishap, or, and Gwyn’s lungs fought for air at the thought, he didn’t really consider them friends.

And it made sense. She never heard him say it. They never let a few days pass without seeing each other, but it took him a whole week to ask for her? Mother, she didn’t even know if he came willingly to their nightly training, or if he was ordered to – keeping an eye on the unstable female he had to save and making sure she didn’t crumble under pressure.

On some nights, she had poured out her heart to him and he had listened, comforted her, just as she had on nights where his own façade revealed the hurt and shame he carried around.

It couldn’t have been a lie, could it?

Gwyn’s thoughts spiraled, feelings of being unworthy of his affection eagerly feeding on her uncertainty. Until she was sure: he only sent flowers because he accidentally hurt one of the frail and traumatized priestesses and felt bad about it. Clearly not because they were friends.

Gwyn picked up the flowers and, trying to steady her breathing, brought them into her room where they found a place on her nightstand. Unfocussed eyes remained on the flowers while she debated whether she should cry or fight that overgrown bat – it only took a second to decide.

The priestess stormed out of the library, Azriel’s handwritten card fighting for breath in her fist.

She mulled it over as she took the stairs to the house proper two at a time, how he could negate their relationship with one simple message. Had she been so mistaken in his kindness, his interest? Had he seen their time together as an obligation, rather than a blooming friendship?

It agitated and confused her to no end. And as she finally arrived in the training ring, eyes already pinpointing the swirl of shadows with Azriel in their midst, she was positively furious.

“Azriel!”, she shouted across the ring, eating up the space between them in no time. She pointed her finger at him in accusation, her other hand grinding his message for her to mush.

The Shadowsinger turned, his expression morphing from wary to concerned in a split second. “Gwyn? What’s wrong? Do you need a healer?”

He actually had the nerve to step towards her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders as he ran his eyes over her form. Trying to detect whatever it was that made her upset.

“Don’t you touch me!”, she snapped, and his arms dropped to his side immediately. “You forfeited your right to that.”

Azriel gaped at her, but nodded nonetheless. Massive wings behind him folded together tightly as he braced himself for her.

If anything, his actions made Gwyn even more angry. She came to pick a fight, not for him to roll over. So, the priestess stepped into his personal space again and pushed at his chest until he stumbled backwards.

It was petty, and unfair, and nothing like her usual self. But seeing the little slither of hurt flashing on his face made it worth it. She pushed again, ignoring the stab of pain emanating from her wrist as it collided with mountains of muscle.

“You are a coward!” Push. “You don’t deserve my friendship!” Push.

If Gwyn’s late high priestess could have seen her now, she’d have washed her mouth out with soap to negate the curse words leaving it.

But she didn’t care. The pain flooding her heart at his apparent betrayal was too much to deal with on her own. It needed an outlet.

After enduring another minute of her assault, Azriel saw his opening. He caught both of Gwyn’s wrists in his hands, stopping her dead in her tracks, and cradled them to his chest.

“Gwyn.”, his voice turned pleading and soft, “please stop, you’ll hurt yourself.”

And as the tenor of his beautiful, stupid voice reached her ear, all fight evaporated. With heavy breathing, she returned his stare. Somehow, even in the depts of hurt, the only thought her head could muster was how she had missed him the past week.

“I’m sorry.”, he whispered, his thumbs stroking up and down her hostage-held hands, “I’m so sorry I didn’t notice it. You truly deserve better than that.”

Gwyn didn’t find words for him, frozen in time as she stood before him, her chest nearly touching his armor. She didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. But an apology sounded about right.

“I was so caught up in my own head that night.”, he continued softly, his voice trying to soothe her into tranquility, “But I realize it’s not an excuse. I should have checked on you after that fall. Gwyn, I’m so sorry I failed you. It will never happen again.”

Gwyn’s eyes hardened. She stepped away from him, forcing Azriel to release her.

“I don’t care you hurt me in training.”, her voice turned cold. “I don’t care if you didn’t check up on me. What I care about is this.”

She flung the crumpled piece of paper at his feet.

Azriel’s eyes widened for a split second before he picked the message off the dirty floor, trying to straighten out the paper. He stared at it for a long time. Enough for Gwyn’s anger to subside, until only resignation was left.

She knew he was about to apologize again. But he’d never understand where she was coming from. Mother, she’d confused herself with the onslaught of feelings the little piece of paper elicited. So she spared him the mental effort.

“You don’t think we’re friends, do you?”

The silence that ensured was deafening.

“I mean”, Gwyn started, her eyes focusing on a stone on the ground, “it’s completely fine if you don’t think so. After all, we’ve been seeing each other only for a few months, and I know you have a hard time making friends. But I thought-“

With all the courage she had left, Gwyn lifted her eyes to him again. If she wanted his honesty, she needed to give it in return. “I have seen you as my friend for the longest time now. You are the person I can rant to with all the stupid, miniscule facts I read about daily. I feel like I can tell you about my hopes and dreams and don’t be judged. You make me stronger, even challenge me to dream bigger.”

She breathed in deeply, trying her hardest to keep her emotions at bay. “And until tonight, I hoped the same would be true for you. Yet I can’t shake the feeling that you keep me company because you have to, not because you want to.”

There it was, all her thoughts and deepest fears spread out before him as cohesively as possible. Minus the crush of course, Gwyn could only take so much heartache in a day.

Azriel gaped at her, as unmoving as stone, his message stretched taunt between his fingers.

And even though his voice remained quiet, the hurt in it carried all the way to Gwyn to bury straight into her heart.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Now it was Gwyn’s turn to gape at him. With each second passing, Azriel looked more and more agitated, his eyes pinning her to the spot.

“What did I do for you to come to that conclusion?”, he began pacing before her, each and every one of his next words a punch in the gut, “Was it the time I poured my heart out to you with feelings not even my brothers are privy to? Or was it when we spent nearly a whole night in each other’s arms when I can’t remember the last time I hugged someone that wasn’t family? Maybe it was that particular day when I nearly threw a temper-tantrum because you couldn’t make it to a session and I needed to see you so badly?”

He stopped in his tracks, hazel eyes so open and vulnerable that Gwyn had to swallow. “Or was it the night when I literally sprained your wrist and didn’t notice because your eyes are so gods-damn blue that I got distracted?”

Not even trying to process that last admission, Gwyn remembered all the instances he talked about. She’d considered them accidental at the time. That he was so stressed from work he took it out on the next-best person. But it slowly dawned on her that Azriel wasn’t the type to just dump his emotions on the next-best.

“You put a question mark.”, she tried weekly, suddenly feeling very small before him, “On the message, I mean. And you waited to contact me for a whole week.”

Even in the dark, Gwyn could actually see the vein in his neck pulsing with anger. He held his emotions at bay as he answered tough, his voice taunt. “Nesta came to me the night you got injured. She informed me of what I did and voiced her concern that you’d likely show up in training, pretending nothing happened. And the only logical conclusion I drew from that was that you clearly don’t trust me. I must have done something for you to keep an injury that I caused a secret. So forgive me if I didn’t think you considered me a friend, that I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”

Well, that actually made a whole lot of sense.

Blood rushed into her cheeks. How did she let her emotions get away with her like that?

“Oh Mother”, she mumbled, her hands fumbling her hair out of her face as she tried to come up with a way to salvage this. “I misunderstood.”

“Clearly.”, the Shadowsinger deadpanned, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He observed her for a moment, his own emotions seemingly calming down. “So why on earth would you think I spend time with you out of-what? Obligation?”

With a deep, heartfelt sigh, Gwyn let herself sink on the nearby rock. The adrenaline that had been running amok in her body had left her to fend for herself, apparently. Even if it got her into this situation.

“I honestly don’t know. I guess I didn’t think you’d actually like me as a person, or as someone you could consider close to you. The fact that you were the one to save me that night in Sangravah doesn’t help this feeling either.”, she chuckled humorlessly, wringing her hands together for support, “I tend to think people see nothing in me but my trauma. That I need to be catered for specially, handled with care. I never wanted that.”

Azriel slowly stepped before her, kneeling down right before her spot on the rock. “And when have I ever handled you with more care than necessary?”

He pointedly glanced at her bandaged wrist and Gwyn couldn’t help but laugh. The admission did something within her, lightening the heavy feeling in her chest. He has always been real with her, holding her accountable, giving her his honesty. “That’s true. I know you designed the obstacle courses last year especially to vex me.”

The sheepish grin Azriel showed her was enough to get her stomach to do a little flip. “Worked like a charm, too.”

The priestess had to bite her lip to keep from smiling too hard. She remembered how she’d taken personal affront to the difficulty of those obstacles, and how she spent every waking minute planning how to best them – and in turn wipe the smug look Azriel liked to sport at that time off his stupidly handsome face.

The lightheartedness of the situation vanished, though, as she remembered how she spoke to him a few minutes ago. She’d pushed him for Cauldron’s sake.

“Azriel, I’m so sorry for coming at you like that, for screaming at you. You didn’t deserve that.”, she admitted, searching his face for any sign of anger. But she only found sympathy.

“It’s okay. You overacted a little today, but I didn’t react at all when it mattered. I’d say we’re even.”, he reached out his hands for her to take, resting them palms up on her knees. She complied, loving the warmth of his skin and the attention he showered her with.

“I agree. Let’s never talk about this again?”

Azriel nodded once, before lowering his head to press a light kiss on both of her knuckles, one after the other. His gaze snagged on her still lightly bandaged wrist. Pulling her hand closer, he kissed it too, his lips lingering on the gauze until Gwyn could feel the heat of them right through her skin. Her heart fluttered so loudly at the gesture she was sure he must have heard it.

So she blurted out the next best thing she could think of. That she couldn’t stop thinking about since he’d said it, actually.

“My eyes are teal.”

Azriel just watched her, a slow smile spreading on his lips as he took her in. As if he had nothing but time, as if he didn’t feel this overwhelming urge to shoot up and run from this situation. The bastard surely enjoyed her squirming.

“I know. But you didn’t seem to pay enough attention to the way I acted around you – and I wanted to make sure you do, from now on.”, he pulled her up with him as he stood to his impressive height. She would be paying attention now, that much was clear.

“Friends?”, Gwyn asked, not releasing him just yet. Their fingers must have found a way to interlace autonomously in the past few seconds and she savored the feeling of them a little longer.

“Friends.”, the Shadowsinger replied. But his face betrayed his even voice. Gwyn couldn’t quite put a finger on what happened, what change between them.

She only had this nagging feeling that more than friendship shone from his face as he bid her goodnight.

And she that she was well and truly in love.

#gwynriel #pro gwynriel #gwyn and azriel #gwynrielweeks2024 #azriel x gwyn #gwyn x azriel #gwyneth berdara #acotar

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shslbunnylover · 7 months

Text

★★★𝙎𝙣𝙖𝙥 𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙛 (𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙩𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙖𝙮 3: 𝙈𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙚𝙭)★★★

Character: Melissa Schemmenti

Taglist: @inlovewithgreta @lilfartbox1

Trigger warnings (DL, DNI): Mistress kink, semi-public sex, Top Mel bottom Reader, legal age gap

Genre: Smut

A/n: I got this idea at taekwondo class so deal with it-

Word count: 4.4k

...

Sweat dripping down your face, legs shaking in slight pain as you held up your side kick at the mirror in your martial arts studio, still keeping a bright smile as to not let the kids you were teaching get discouraged.

"So it's actually using the side of your foot!" You explain, lifting your arm as your pointer finger slides across the side of your foot that was currently kicking.

After you got a job at Abbott Elementary as Vice-Principal (to somewhat help Ava's incompetence), your usual workout routine had changed significantly thanks to your new lack of free time you had used for exercising. This caused you to have to get your daily training in at the martial arts studio you worked at for fun.

Working out was always incredibly fun for you, and you always tried to get the teachers at Abbott into starting your martial art. But Janine didn't really have an interest in it, Jacob loathed any form of exercising that wasn't his daily run, Gregory didn't like working out with other people and messing up his routine, Ava would only come if she got a date with a hot guy with abs, Barbara thought she was too old, and Melissa...well...you never asked her.

You knew that you shouldn't ask, so you didn't. Seeing Melissa Schemmenti either turn you down in front of everyone and hate you or accepting your offer and having to see the beautiful woman covered in sweat and looking somehow even more alluring? Neither seemed like a good option in your mind.

You knew that if she started working out there thanks to your offer, you'd have to teach her and everyone else, and you wouldn't be able to teach any of them thanks to your massive love for the older woman.

"Master Y/n?" One of your green-belt students, Quaheir, asked, snapping you out of your slight 5 second trance.

Your head quickly darted over to face the little kid, a small understanding yet curious smile forming upon your lips as he looked up at you.

"Yeah kid?" You asked, lowering your leg as to focus fully on any questions the kids might have and to also help with the form of their kicks.

"Am I doing this right?" He asked, pointing to his very sloppy sidekick.

"Not quite! But you're almost there," You chuckled at the innocence yet determination in each of the kids faces. "I'm gonna adjust your leg alright?" You said, to which the kid nodded as you moved his leg into the correct position.

"So it's actually just like-" You were cut off by another master whispering in your ear.

"Y/n, go to the front office, there's a parent here and I think she needs help," He said, to which you quickly nodded and ran to the front office, making sure to bow before you left the mat.

You walked inside of the front office through the back door of the camp room as to grab a few papers for what you thought may be the problem.

"Sorry for the wait! Master Daniel told me you had a problem with...something..." You trailed off at the sight of no one other than the one and only Melissa Schemmenti.

"Y/n?" The older woman asked, obviously confused as she looked you up and down.

"Melissa?" You responded before awkward silence filled the room which was mainly with you being too embarked to speak over the fact that she saw you all sweaty.

"W-What did you need help with ma'am?" You managed to choke out after a minute, your eyes darting to the desk as you sat down on the chair.

Melissa rolled her eyes with a slight dismissing smile.

"You don't need to call me Ma'am, Melissa is fine and you know it," She said, standing as she looked around the front office. "Anyway...I was wondering how I could help my nephew with extra training?"

That made you choke on your water, her nephew went here? How did she not know you taught here on the side then?

"Oh yes! We do offer extra training on Saturdays after black belt training classes!" You smiled, trying to blow off the fact that you had just done quite the odd action.

"Oh that's actually perfect, I'll be able to drop him off here then," The green-eyed woman in front of you replied, grabbing her phone out of her bra to text Kristin-Marie.

You blushed softly, eyes going to update your schedule as you tried to brush away the thoughts about her bra and how you wished you were the one touching her.

"What are you doing?" Melissa quirked an eyebrow at the sight of you just staring at the paper. "Some sort of invisible language on there?" She tried to joke, licking her lips as she crossed her arms.

"O-Oh- Apologies Ma- I mean Melissa," You muttered as a reply, hands quickly writing down the schedule. "So the extra classes are about twent-"

You were cut off by the redhead pulling a couple twenties and tossing them on the table.

"Sold~" She said with a slight smirk, only making you blush even more as she walked out of the office.

You had no clue what got into this woman, you knew her to be aggressive and tough and maybe a little cock, but she was rarely flirty unless it was towards Gary.

Little did you know how much the older woman was blushing as she left the building and retreated to her car. The sight of you in such a uniform and with sweat down your face was just too hot for her and her stupid libido.

"God damn it Y/n..." She muttered.

She always knew she liked you in a romantic and even sexual way, but God were those feelings increased when she saw you in your uniform and black belt. Your beautiful yet not intimidating face being covered in sweat from helping kids and doing the workouts yourself certainly didn't help.

The older woman turned on her car, fumbling with the radio as she put on some classic 70's music to try and drown out how attracted to you and turned on she was.

Meanwhile you sat in the front office, face buried in your hands as you tried so hard to stop your legs from kicking like an excited child.

"Look I for one admire black actors and I consider myself an ally to the black community, but I think Denzel Washington isn't all that great!" Jacob said, tucking into his breakfast sandwich he had brought from home, about to speak once again before the door to the room swung open.

"Did you guys know that Y/n is a teacher at that martial arts school near the cheesesteak spot?" Melissa asked everyone as she walked into the teachers lounge with an aggressive walk.

"Woah!" Jacob, Janine, and Gregory all exclaimed at the same time, putting their hands up in the air as to show their lack of wanting a violent conflict between them and the redhead.

Barbara just looked up at Melissa along with a couple of other teachers, looking back down as they've seen her angrier and weren't really fazed.

"Why are you upset about it? And yeah we knew, they asked all of us to join the school so she could hang out with us more! Didn't she ask you too?" Janine reasoned, which only made Melissa more confused.

"What? No! H-How'd she-?!" Melissa sighed, plopping herself on the chair she always sat at next to Barbara, who was reading her Bible. "Did you know about this Barb?" She asked the kindergarten teacher, rubbing her forehead as she sipped her coffee that she had from at home.

"Oh yeah, she asked all of us, poor Y/n, I wish I could have gone. I knew I was too old but I didn't think everyone else would deny their offer," Barbara sighed, closing her Bible as to face the redhead. "I don't know why she wouldn't ask you, you're a fighter, you would have said yes,"

"I know whyyyyy~" Mr Johnson said with a smirk as he entered the room with his janitorial supplies.

"Well? Answer before I shove that mop so far up your ass that the strings become your tongue," Melissa growled, looking at the old man who had just entered the room.

"Well first, why don't you tell us why youre so upset that you didn't know~?" He smirked, wiggling his eye brows as he emptied the trashcan in the room.

Melissa placed down her coffee mug with a massive blush. "You've got to be kidding me..." She mumbled, sighing as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Look I just-"

"Wait- Let me guess, you probably saw them in their uniform all hot and sweaty and you got all flustered?" The janitor smirked.

"How the hell did you know? Are you working with the feds?!" Melissa exclaimed, looking up at Mr Johnson as he stood there smirking. "Did one of youse guys decide to film me out of school?" She asked with an angry tone, pointing a nearby plastic fork at each of the camera men, making them all internally shudder from how scary the redhead was.

"I heard through the Janitoral news outlet," He shrugged vaguely,

"What the hell is the Janitoral news outlet?" Gregory muttered to Janine, giving a side eye towards the cameras as to ask them the same question.

Janine also side eyed the camera, and she whispered back to Gregory.

"It's the Mr Johnson way of saying he has his ways and to not question it," The shorter woman replied, to which both of the teachers stared at the camera before turning back to Mr. Johnson.

"Now you wanna tell me why they never told me?" The redhead growled, eyes rolling as her cheeks became laced with more blush.

"It's because they like youuuu~ And they didn't want to see you all hot and sweaty cause it'd distract them from their teaching," Mr Johnson smirked, walking out of the room only for his spot to be filled by Ava.

"What's going on in here? Don't tell me I missed more drama, and if I did yall better tell me what it's about," She said as she strutted in, waving her freshly manicured pointer finger at the teachers in the lounge.

No response.

"Actually, nevermind, I'll get Y/n to give it to me," Ava shrugged, grabbing her coffee as she poured a giant streamline of sugar from a nearby packet into the liquid.

As you walked down the hallway, you heard your name being called by Ava as she noticed you walking by the teachers lounge.

"Hey girl get your silly ass in here! I need you to collect drama from these teachers since they won't tell me what the hell is going on," Ava said, eyes not meeting yours as she stired a straw in her cup to mix around the particles in the cup.

You tilt your head, your hand rubbing your neck uncomfortably as you chuckled nervously.

"Oh okay!" You smiled as you looked around the room, not wanting to deny your boss's request while also not wanting to accidentally increase any drama, not knowing that you and Melissa were the subject of said drama.

"So... ehe...what's the drama that Ava wants to know about...?" You asked with a slight stutter in your voice, rubbing your neck a bit more forcefully, your eyes trying to avoid Melissa as much as possible once you had seen that she was already there.

"I don't know what drama Ava is talking about," Melissa scoffed, rolling her eyes which somehow got you even more flustered.

"Oh I see, then I'll be on my way, see you guys at lunch!" You smiled quietly, taking that excuse as your only chance to leave and waving goodbye with a shaky hand as you quickly darted out of the room.

Avoiding Melissa the rest of the week was hard, you didn't even know why you were doing it! You just couldn't get over how embarrassed you felt everything you were around the older redhead.

But you knew you couldn't avoid her for long, not only had she probably tracked down where you had been going for lunch everyday, but she was bringing her nephew to a private martial arts class that only you were teaching.

It didn't make matters any better when your car broke down in front of the school when it was only just you and Melissa left on the campus.

"Fuck..." You muttered, putting your head on your hands as you sighed, leaning on the car while shutting your eyes in frustration knowing you'd have to ask your stupid school girl crush for help.

Luckily for you, the redhead was only a few parking spots away and had just left the building.

"Y/n? You good?" Melissa asked, walking over to you as she noticed your frustrated expression, trying to ignore her urge to ask where the hell you had been and why you had been avoiding her for the past week

You shook your head in dismay, rubbing the bridge of your nose.

"No...my stupid ass car broke down," You mumbled just loud enough for the woman to hear, causing her to walk over and wrap a hand around your waist.

"Here I'll take you to the studio, we are both going there are we not?" She smirked as to try and get you to laugh, but only managed to make you blush like a schoolgirl who just got asked to play spin the bottle with her crush.

You nodded, sitting down in Melissa's car as she opened the door before she got in on her side, a hand sliding to your thigh as she turned on the car, the sounds of the 70s radio filing your ears before it suddenly stopped.

"Sorry, I'm a little old," The redhead blushed, turning off the radio as she pulled out of her parking space before putting her hand back on your thigh.

You quickly switched it back on, and you quickly shot a soft smile in the woman's direction.

"No please dont apologize, if you like it, keep it on!" You beamed, your endearing smile making the woman who was currently holding your thigh blush a bit harder.

Melissa reciprocated the smile much to your surprise, and you two sat in the car in peaceful silence, your hand creeping up to caress Melissa's as a silent gesture of gratitude for her kindness.

Once you two got back to Melissa's house where her nephew was, who you recognized as one of your more troublemaker students, Wilson, the three of you finally headed to to studio, beginning to finally all talk to each other.

"So you're dating Y/n huh Aunt Melissa?" Wilson asked with a fat smirk on his face.

Before you could even say anything, you were cut off by your co worker speaking in a very stern voice.

"Master Y/n, you will respect them, won't you hon?" She asked, not in a scary way but in a 'I mean business' way. "And no, we aren't dating,"

The blond nodded, looking out the window at that passing trees as you and Melissa began to talk.

"You know, you look really nice in your uniform hon," The redhead complemented you before realizing something. "Hey don't you need it for the class?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the complement you didn't think was true.

"It'll be just us, I'll be able to get away with wearing a spare summer one, " You explained, squeezing Melissa's hand slightly as she went back to resting it on your thigh.

"Yeah...you guys are 100% not dating," Wilson scoffed with a smirk, to which the both of you gave the young man a death glare that shut him up.

Once you guys had finally arrived, you sat Melissa down on the bench where she could watch and you gave her a clipboard incase she had any work to do before you went into the camp room to get changed.

Wilson turned around and looked at his aunt, a small pure smile forming on his face instead of his usual cocky smirk.

"You really like them don't you?" He asked Melissa, to which the older woman replied with just a simple sigh.

"You could say that..." She responded.

"You know they're single right?" The blond reminded his aunt as he began to stretch.

"I know I just-" Melissa tried to reply before the sound of you coming out from the other room emerged.

"Hey, you ready to get started?" You asked Wilson, walking onto the mat as you revealed just what you looked like in the summer uniform to Melissa, making the green-eyed woman look away as to not accidentally start staring at your figure.

Wilson nodded, and the two of you quickly began on working on different types of kicks and forms, focusing all your attention on helping the kid improve, meanwhile Melissa had all her attention you.

She looked at you with love in her eyes, and she simply just knew she was in love with you the moment you had indirectly shown her how good you were with kids for the first time.

Sure, she always thought you were endearing when the kids would gush about you being a cool vice principal, but this was different in some way. She didnt just want you to be her partner. She wanted you to be hers. The more she looked at you, the more she just wanted to kiss your lips and make you feel amazing.

Little did she know you felt the same way.

The older woman always capitavted you with how she carried herself when she was going through different emotions, how she helped kids who seemed helpless, just everything about the redhead truly made you feel like a fan gushing over the newest celebrity.

"Hey its time to go," You heard an unfamiliar voice say as you helped the kid next to you with his roundhouse kicks.

"Excuse me, who are you?" You asked sternly, putting yourself in front of Wilson.

"I'm his mother, Kristin Marie? Do you not remember me you big bimbo?" The blonde woman asked you, giving you a second before you finally recognized her when Melissa stood up.

"Kristin I said it ended at 6:30 not 5:30 you dumbass," Melissa sighed in annoyance.

"Oh my god- I must have made a mistake of some sort I-" You tried to apologize, before Melissa cut you off by pressing her finger to your lips while still facing her sister.

"Youse can leave if you want to, but you and that lazy eye are paying me back," She said sternly before watching Kristin Marie and Wilson leave,

You sighed, and you rubbed the bridge of your nose.

"I'm so sorry Melissa I'll get you a refund I didn't know that she would show up," You explained, leaning back on the wall before getting back up again to fsce the red head woman who had now also stood up from her seat on the bench.

"No need to do that hon, you can just teach me," Melissa shrugged, tossing off her coat at shoes perfectly on a chair with a slight smug smirk that made you feel absolutely soaked in your underwear.

"Are you sure...?" You asked nervously, anxious about having to get close to the woman.

"Mhm, y'know I would have done it with you earlier had you had just asked me and not everyone else," She crossed her arms, licking her lips for good measure as she looked you up and down which somehow made you feel even more turned on.

You chuckle nervously, brushing off the comment before speaking again.

"So what do you want to learn?" You asked with a smile.

"Why don't you show me your...hmm...how about your roundhouse kick?" Melissa replied,

"Uh okay?" You said with a confused and curious tone evident in your vocals.

You got into a kicking stance, before throwing a somewhat hard roundhouse kick at Melissa, only for the older woman to grab your kicking leg and pinning you onto the wall, cupping your face tightly with her other free hand as she continued to lift up your leg.

"Eep...!" You squeaked, blushing massively as you looked away, not wanting to fight back. "M-Melissa...what are you doing?" You whimpered, confused by the sudden boldness of the woman pinning you against the wall.

"I'm gonna give you 5 seconds to slap me, push me away, or whatever you want to do...alright?" She asked before slamming your lips together, "But I don't think you'll refuse this..."

You knew what she meant, and all you wanted was what you were doing now.

You cupped her face with one of your hands, wrapping the other around her waist and up her shirt to tug on her bra.

"Want you..." You mumbled, looking at Melissa with pleading eyes as your thighs rubbed together to create any kind of friction to get some pleasure from.

"Need you..." Was all Melissa replied, taking off your shirt and admiring your sweaty yet toned body from all the working out.

The older woman wasted no time at the thought that this was her chance to finally make you feel as good, as good as you had always made her feel when you were stuck in her head on those lonely nights with just her and her fingers. She quickly began to nop at the skin on your neck, leaving hickeys trailed across your most sensitive spots which only left you more of a moaning mess.

"God your moans are so intoxicating, it's beautiful," Melissa praised you, her eyes trailing your figure as she slid off your pants and shoved you down onto your knees. "And Jesus Christ Y/n, you look so hot all sweaty and tired from a workout...it just makes me want to make you have a whole other type of workout,"

She quickly also sat down on a collection of mats in front of you and spread her legs, turning you a bright red color.

"You may be a master here, but tonight I'll be your mistress..." She smirked, pulling your hair softly towards her as you eagerly took off her pants and slid them away from her body, selfishly burying your mouth into the woman's cunt, but not before you slid off her panties using your teeth only.

You whimpered softly as your tongue met the woman's pussy, she tasted so addicted and you wanted more, you wanted to keep hearing her praises and moans that left her lips.

"Nygh...yeah angel, you're doing good, keep going..." She moaned as the shock waves of pleasure radiated throughout her body.

You continued to eat the woman out with pure passion with each movement your body made, obscene and lewd slurping and licking noises filling the room you usually got your energy or frustration out in other ways.

"Mistress...you taste so good..." You muttered, eyes looking up to meet Melissa's sweaty and blush covered face.

"Complement me later hon, make me cum first," She replied in a demanding tone, her eyes looking down at you before they rolled back into her head from the pleasure.

You nodded and continued to flick at her clit, sliding two of your fingers inside of the redheads beautiful pussy as she moaned loudly from how good you were making her feel.

"Fuck yes~! Angel I'm close don't stop~!!" Melissa exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand as the other kept a tight hold on your head so that you wouldn't stop.

You continued to slurp up all of her cum as Melissa moaned out her orgasm for a couple more minutes, only to be stopped when Melissa pushed you down stomach first into the air.

You let a whimper escape your lips at the loss of warmth and sudden feeling of hitting the mat below you, your mouth and chest were covered in Melissa's doing, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Mistress...what are you going to do?" You asked with a pleading yet curious tone.

Melissa smirked and slapped her hand across your ass, making you moan loudly at the sudden sting.

"Ass up," She demanded, still keeping her soft voice that she only used for you.

You did as told, and were immediately met with the reward of three of Melissa's fingers entering your tight hole.

You managed to choke out a moan as a string of profanities and whimpers left you lips, your pussy engulfing Melissa's fingers as tightly as possible, making it slightly harder for Melissa to move faster.

"Damn princess, you are tight...aren't you baby?" She asked as she sped up the pace of her fingers that were pumping into your pretty hole

You nodded, loud moans and cries of ecstacy leaving your mouth as you felt your climax coming.

Melissa smirked as her fingers felt themselves becoming harder to move thanks to your approaching orgasm, and she just curled them perfectly so that they hit your g-spot, making you scream out her name.

"MELISSA PLEASE!" You screamed, only to met with another slap to your ass.

"Mistress." She corrected you, continuing to smirk as she knew you're climax was coming.

"I'M SORRY MISTRESS PLEASE JUST DONT STOP!" You exclaimed, tears beginning to fall from your eyes and onto the mat below.

"I'm not Angel, go ahead and come for me, I want to taste you all over my fingers," She cooed, rubbing your reddened ass with her other hand that wasn't inside you.

You wasted no time after hearing that, and you just lost all composure as you let out a loud moan and fell perfectly on the mat as you came, Melissa sliding her fingers out of her as you did so.

The red head licked her fingers clean of your cum before pulling you up and putting you on her lap, rubbing your pussy in circles to help soothe the ache you had from such a huge climax.

"Did I make you feel good Angel?" Melissa asked, occasionally bringing her hand up to her mouth to lock off the sticky mess that had collected onto her fingers.

"M-Mhm..." You mumbled, burying your face in her shoulder as you blushed softly.

"So now do you wanna ask me to work out with you?" The green-eyed woman teased,

You nodded very admitally, and you shoved your face in her breasts as if they were pillows.

"I dont know why I didn't sooner..."

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #lisa ann walter #wlw ns/fw #wlw #lesbian #bisexual #pansexual #abbott elementary

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