#on the brink of winter
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On the Brink of Winter ~ Tommy Shelby Angst
[Masterlist] [Taglist]
Summary: Tommy can't bring himself to join the fair and instead thinks of the summer he missed
Note: Written for the wonderful K @runnning-outof-time 2k celebration. Congratulations - I hope you have the best time with your celebration! I feel a bit bad because this is a sad one, but I hope you enjoy it anyways
All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.
Warning: Grief, mourning, mention of sickness, mention of death, mention of fighting and drinking
Wordcount: 1745 words
Tommy leaned the back of his head against the tree, feeling the bark tangle in his long black hair as soon as it touched it.
By now, his spine was aching from how long he had been sitting on the ground, without luscious green grass to cushion the roots digging into him.
This feeling was nothing new, not after countless nights he had spent sleeping under the stars, but it was the first time he didn’t mind the pain.
In fact, in a strange way he got satisfaction from every second he endured it without shifting, or getting up or stretching to relieve even the slightest bit of strain.
Undoubtedly, he’d discover a brand new collection of bruises tomorrow.
They’d look even darker now, he thought, glancing at his hands.
The pale skin was mocking him.
Usually he’d carry the tan all the way into november. He didn’t darken quickly, not like Arthur or Ada, but he didn’t burn easy like John did. After all, Tommy spent every day outside and so his skin had time to adapt to the seasons.
His hands, his neck and face - by July they’d be so dark he could almost pass for an Italian.
Not this year though.
Not this year.
Things were different this year.
Even the good old fairs.
He could see it now, see the dancing and the arguing, could smell the smoke and the scent of cooking meat over open fires, even the sweetness of beer was carried all the way to where he lingered in the shadows.
And he could hear them, the singing and laughing and joking.
It was the same, but it was different too - the men were a little too boisterous and the laughter a little too loud - warped the same way sound was warped when it carried from a distant, unknown shore.
Or maybe he had just forgotten what it was like, after all, most of the fairs were during the summer months and Tommy had not been to one.
In a way, he wasn’t even at this one, was he?
He wasn’t singing, he wasn’t dancing, he wasn’t down there drinking or getting into fights.
He was here - away from it all.
If he tried, he could imagine Polly’s laughter or even Ada’s giggle among the sea of sounds.
Arthur had come with the intention of getting drunk, finding a woman and starting a fight. Undoubtedly by now he had accomplished at least two of these things.
John was down there too, with his Martha and their two children. The eldest boy was undoubtedly trying to keep up with Finn, the way John had tried to keep up with him. Years had passed since they had been the ones running between the campfires, but he was still doing it to this day.
Chasing after me.
That had not been his intention, but they all wanted it - Freddie, Jeremiah, the boys from the factories, even the bloody Lees and Black Country Boys.
With a sigh, he picked up one of the fallen leaves and twisted it between his fingers.
It was one of the brown ones, not the reds, that had fallen prematurely.
It would be a long time before Thomas Shelby would ever choose something red.
He let his fingers brush over the dried leaf, following the lines.
In some stories they spoke of the life inside the trees and when he inspected the fallen leaf further, those thicker lines he felt under his thumb almost felt like veins, like lifelines.
When he heard the crunch, he flinched.
I must’ve pressed too hard.
But even when he removed his thumb with greatest care, he could not deny the hole he had made, a gash, that allowed the golden red glow of the flames to flicker through - showing his shame.
He had torn it and now there would be no repairing.
It wouldn’t have happened the last time he had been outside for this long, back when the meadows were filled with flowers just bursting to show their colours, when the birds chirped and the trees stood in a proud dress of green. Then he could have plucked a leaf and rolled it up without it breaking.
But that had been in spring.
And now the flowers had wilted, the birds had fled south and the trees were shedding the last memories they carried of this year.
Tommy had seen none of that, hadn’t even seen the flowers bloom and hadn’t heard the children’s laughter while spitting cherry cores down on unsuspecting passers-by.
He hadn’t felt the cooling water of a lake on his skin during a hot summer day or enjoyed the slight breeze while galloping over green plains.
It had been John, not him, who taught Finn to swim, and he had only seen the flower crowns Martha and Polly made with Ada in passing, when they were already half dried up and laying on the kitchen table.
He hadn’t seen the trees turn their blossoms to fruit, nor the people scaling their branches to pick them. Soon enough they’d all stand bare and empty, with rot and rain washing away any last traces of the spring that had once been.
It would all be gone.
Closing his eyes, he took a few deep breaths - that way he wouldn’t scream and draw attention to himself.
By the time he dared to open them again, the sun had set completely, and the only light was coming from the silver moon and the red fires.
And the only warmth too.
His legs had gone stiff by now, and his fingers ached.
Down there, the fires and the drink and the people would warm him up - or at least the voice in his head that sounded like Polly tried to convince him.
But Tommy was tired, tired of the noise and the pitiful glances and the meaningless words.
He was tired of all of that, the same he was tired of the pain and the anger inside of him while nothing from the outside made him feel anything at all anymore.
No smells, sounds, tastes or touches - nothing could ever get through the icy cold pitch black darkness inside of him.
With a sigh, he watched the black shaped figures dance together.
Hand in hand.
Arm in arm.
Down there, they celebrated about a dozen marriages, if not two, all in a rush, all hasty and unplanned, with little thought put into it apart from the one: to get married before it was time for the men to leave.
They all wanted something to come home to while all the girls were scared of missing out, meaning both feared that if they didn��t do it now, they wouldn’t get a chance too.
It was ironic really, the way all these people hardly planned anything while they had it all laid out.
They had talked of it, because somehow making plans for the unknown future was easier than revisiting memories from before.
It had even become a joke between them, the kind one clung to in the night to keep the fear at bay and in a way, it had carried a little bit of hope too.
They’d talk about where they would get married, even argued back and forth a little bit, bickering as if they had already been wedded for a few decades. They talked about what he would wear - she had insisted on a proper Italian suit, not just for him but all his groomsmen too. Even little Finn.
And they of course, would get boutonnieres to match her bouquet, and the flower crown she would wear over her mother’s veil.
They talked about the music and the food they would serve after, about their first dance and even where they would go on their honeymoon weekend. He would have had to save up for that.
The only thing they had not talked about was the dress, after all, she had insisted time and time again, the groom was not supposed to see that before the wedding.
Only Tommy had seen it.
It wasn’t a proper wedding dress, not really, but he had seen the white lace with the high collar, and hadn’t failed to notice how it was a little wide even after her mother and sister had pinned it to fit better.
They had buried her in it after all.
By that time seeing a piece of cloth without droplets of crimson on it had become a strange sight to him.
His hands closed around a fistful of leaves each and the sounds of them turning to dust in his grip eased the desire he had to pound the ground until the skin over his knuckles split.
Perhaps he really should go down there, even if he didn’t belong.
It wouldn’t be too difficult to find a woman, even one with soft hands and dark hair. He could find one and kiss one only to stop the words from escaping her lips that would spoil his fantasy.
After all, Tommy hadn't kissed anyone for months.
She had forbidden him from kissing her so that he wouldn't get infected and so all they had were kisses to her forehead, cheek and hand.
Perhaps kissing someone would make him feel something, anything, and even if it wouldn’t change anything inside of him, he could drown himself in the warmth of their body. Warm, not hot like her skin had become towards the end, and not cold as her hand had grown in the night after.
Just warm and soft.
Or he could go down there and start a fight until his blood boiled and the fire of it would get to his head - that would warm him up better than any drink ever could.
Because right now he felt desperately cold.
He scoffed and looked down once more.
In the night, all leaves were equally dark and he had no way of telling if they were brown or treacherously red.
They all sounded the same too and it betrayed them, but it betrayed him too.
They were all dry and lifeless and dead. Just like he felt.
Tommy sighed once more.
Perhaps he really should go down there, get drunk, find a woman or start a fight.
This was the last chance, wasn’t it?
This time next week they’d all have their hair shorn and their jackets fitted, well into their training before it would be time to leave.
~
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed and as always I'd love to hear your thoughts!
Taglist
Overall
@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight @lilyevanswhore @polishcrazyone @zablife @just-a-harmless-patato @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @babayaga67
Tommy
@knowledgefulbutterfly @babayaga67 @signorellisantichrist @lespendy @geeksareunique @look-at-the-soul
#valentineswritings#on the brink of winter#tommy shelby#greta jurossi#thomas shelby x greta jurossi#tommy shelby x greta jurossi#tommy Shelby angst#thomas shelby#peaky blinders#peaky blinders imagine#tommy Shelby imagine#thomas Shelby imagine#root2kfollowercelebration
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no like you guys don't get it Feuilly means so much to me actually so much so he IS me i AM just like him fr
#genuinely i spent like 6 months on the brink of homelessness in a tiny (and naturally overpriced) parisian appartment with no heating in the#dead of winter and it's literally so fucking stupid but being like 'omg this is so feuilly coded' legitimately made me giggle#not bc being broke is fun or anything more like... the irony of it all??? not irony but it was a ridiculous response to a ridiculous#situation and that made it funny#most importantly feuilly is love feuilly is life#les miserables#les mis#les miz#les amis de l'abc#hyanthis speaks#the brick#musical theatre#litblr#feuilly
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Back From The Brink | what a wedding
#no no not this again#Back From The Brink#Back From The Brink ep 1#cdrama#hou minghao#character: tian yao#yang rong#chaarcter: su ying#aesthetics#wedding aesthetics#winter aesthetics#winter
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ph. Winter van den Brink, Quentin Buss for Lampoon Magazine
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Sydrichie systems slowing down. It’s the long stretch hibernation for S3. Thinking abt all the possible new content we’ll be getting by then
Heading back to my roots
#everytime I think abt the fact that there’s a scene of them checking out at the hardware store#my lungs crackle like a pringles can being put through a flattener#I needed the shots of him looking up @ the officer asking abt manslaughter charges#he looks angelic. humanely worn out but he’s got those precious moments eyes#Sydney goes without saying. every day that Ayo walks the earth I get to know we share the same ozone layer#THAT PUFFER WAS ALWAYS SO CURE I WANT ONE SO BADLY winter here I come#it’s gonna put me in debt. I’m on indeed for a night job quick someone help me lie on my resume#gold chain bracelet. bet he calls it a wrist-let. man-let. loser man I love u#the fact that he’s collecting crumpled bills. Sydney’s getting her cards out. they’re both on(in the depths of) the brink of debt#probably fought over paying despite both of them not being set#I’m gnawing on bones here I’m Unwell over them#the bear#richie jerimovich#sydney adamu#their chemistry is playing tic tac to on my neurons & producing dopamine everytime they even glance at each other#SPEAKING WITH THEIR EYES!! SPEAKING VOLUMES W/O A WORD#also… hand size difference oo
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🔹 Winter aesthetics - "Back from the Brink" - ep. 30 🔹
#Back from the Brink#cdrama#chinese drama#winter#wintercore#winter aesthetic#snow#flowers#rose#flowercore#cottagecore#screencaps#original post
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my bff loves beanies n cute sweaters n knitted clothes But unfortunately for him god decided to put him in the lowlands of the philippines
#vic.txt#when he visits hes always on the brink of heatstroke and ill just go Well who chose to wear a fucking sweater b4 walking in the sun .#its like the opposite of ppl who wear skimpy outfits during winter. the price of being a pinterest boy who dresses like a marshmallow#this is all said w love ofc
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Romance A Day🌹
Brinks, Winter Travers
#mybooks#booklr#bookblr#books#romance books#romance a day#brinks#winter travers#adult books#june 2022
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im so glad things got better before winter really hit like i seriously probably would have fukcing killed myself dude
#i love winter but the dark and cold woulda been too much#was already on tge brink repeatedly :| well the final attempt got me to go get medication so yeah
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x : MY DILUC, MY EVERYTHING :*+ﾟ
in which: you tell diluc that klee finds him 'too boring' to be your boyfriend. he can't help but feel like she's right.
warnings: 1.3k words, insecure diluc who needs a little reassurance, mostly dialogue, klee being cute but also a menace, so much fluff with a dash of angst.
a/n: i have not posted anything in so long, but i wanted this to be my first fic of 2024 because i love diluc <3 i hope you all enjoy this little fic!
“What do you mean Mr Diluc is your boyfriend?” Klee asks, tilting her head to the side with an inquisitive look in her eyes as you bend down to her height.
“I mean that Mr Diluc is my boyfriend. My partner. We’ve been together for years now.”
“You mean that Mr Diluc, right?” She raises a tiny hand in the direction where the red-haired in question stands. He’s immersed in conversation with Kaeya and Jean, but from one glance you can tell the estranged brothers are up to no good. Or rather, that Kaeya is having the time of his life provoking your partner.
“That’s the one. I think he’s the only one, Klee.”
Her pointer finger then comes up to her chin in contemplation, and her breath of contemplation materialises as a small cloud, condensating in the winter chill. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“Why is he your boyfriend?”
“Well, why wouldn’t he be?”
“No offence to Mr Diluc, but he’s so cold and boring!” She cries, clenching her fists to her chest, as if being ‘boring’ was a crime to humanity. “And he never smiles. He should smile more but I would find him scarier like that… so maybe he should stay the way he is: a total gloomy bum bum!”
You can’t help but laugh at her honest statement, muffling the noise with your hand. She blinks at you and wonders what she said that made you laugh, but you simply tell her that it’s nothing.
“Maybe, but I love that ‘gloomy bum bum’ just the way he is.”
“But… why? Y/n is so kind and knows how to smile! Mr Diluc is too sad and boring for you.”
Over the course of your relationship with the wine monopolist, you were met with resistance from various people who believed they wanted ‘the best’ for him. These were including, butand not limited to, businessmen, his admirers, and old aristocrats with wealth on the brink of collapsing. You never let their passive aggressiveness get to you, their comments burned to ashes by the way Diluc lights the way for you with his undying flames.
Yet hearing a child, who has no real grip of the world beyond explosions and how not to blow up Monstadt, explain that Diluc shouldn’t be with you because he doesn’t know how to smile is… unbelievable. Her intentions are nothing but pure for her knowledge of the world has not yet been tainted by the nuance of human behaviour. As refreshing as it feels to have her support, any insults you hear about Diluc are unpleasant to hear. Though she may not hold any malice, perhaps her judge of character needs to be deepened.
“Sometimes, the coldest people are really the warmest,” you begin, gently wrapping her scarf around her neck. “Mr Diluc is one of those people.”
“Really?”
“Warmer than a fireplace, or a Pyro Crystalfly, or Jumpty Dumpty.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
“Yes, but please don’t go blowing one up just to see how warm it can be. Jean already told you about the animals hibernating during winter, you shouldn’t go disturbing them.”
She tucks her hands behind her back, eyes downcast and ears flopped.
“Do you remember when Albedo took you to Dragonspine and when you melted a chunk of ice, crystalflies flew out of it?”
“They were so pretty and became super warm! I wish I caught one of them, but they flew away too quickly.”
“Mr Diluc is just like that ice with the fireflies. You just need to warm up to him and when you do, he can be one of the best people you’ll ever meet.”
“Will he fly away too?”
“You could keep an eye on him and find out.”
She nods, determination alighting in her eyes with the new task you assign her. Although you’re pretty positive she won’t ever succeed with it, you’re just happy you’ve found a way to show Klee that your lover isn’t as terrible as she deems. A flash of familiar red hair appears in your periphery.
“Dear?” He calls, capturing your attention. “Shall we head into the tavern now? It’s too cold to stay out here.”
Sparing one last glance at Klee who regards your partner with fire in her eyes, you can’t help but smile at the pure innocence in her heart. With a ruffle of her hair as goodbye, you take Diluc’s hand and stand, waving goodbye to the rest of the group before heading in the direction of Angel’s Share. Shuddering, you sink deeper into the wool of your coat and the warmth of his Pyro Vision, a perfect combat to the winter frost that’s covered Monstadt.
“You know,” you begin when both of you have arrived at the empty tavern and the red-haired has a fire started in the corner. He urges you to continue with a soft ‘hum’. “The conversation I had with Klee just won’t leave my head.”
“Oh? What’d she say?”
Sitting down on a cold stool, you keep your gaze on him as he walks behind the counter. It seems like he’s preparing drinks and snacks for you: some cheese, crackers, and grapes.
“First of all, she only found out today that I was dating you.”
“Oh? Jean or Albedo haven’t told her before?”
“I guess neither of us appear that much in conversation together. But she refused to believe it at first, being like ‘you mean that Mr Diluc?��, ‘why is he your boyfriend?’,” you laugh. “She thought that you were too gloomy to be with me and that I should be with someone who knows how to smile.”
His cheese knife halts, the sound of metal meeting wood slicing through the atmosphere. However, you’re too engrossed in retelling the story to notice the way he freezes.
“How silly. Kids really have the wildest presumptions and thoughts to match.”
Diluc continues preparing the food, stiff hands moving along the counter. You don’t say more than that, saving further conversation for when he’s done. As he sets the arrangement of crackers, cheese, and grapes down, it’s accompanied by a heavy sigh.
“What if… she’s right?” Asks the winery owner, voice no louder than a whisper.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I did, but I don’t understand why you think that way too.”
“Well, smiling isn’t my strong suit anymore and I’ve been told by the knights that the children find my expression too scary.”
“You know anyone can smile, right?” You ask jovially. “It’s not like a statistical impossibility-“
“It’s not just that,” he interjects sharply. Your smile fades, acknowledging Diluc’s sombre expression that clarified he wasn’t joking around like you thought. However, seeing the change in your attitude sobered him and that sharp glance fades, turning into something remorseful and softer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap like that.”
“No no, it’s my fault for not taking you seriously. Please, go on.”
“I’m quite boring, you know.” He fiddles with the ends of his leather gloves. “Did you never think that maybe what Klee said could be correct?”
“Never because she’s not correct. Honestly, Diluc, after all these years of being together and hearing what some people have to say about us, I never thought you’d think like this.”
He casts his gaze downwards. “Because those people don’t know me like you do.”
Two hands come up to cup his cheeks, gently directing him to look up at you and meet your kind expression. All inhibitions he had melt away at the sight of your smile.
“I can only hope they never do,” you reply simply, confidence lacing your words.
Being with him is not easy. He is a busy man, one who manages the entirety of Monstadt’s wine business during the day and takes to the shadows to look after your beloved city at night. Yet, despite working with the sun and moon, he still gives all of him to you. For as long as Diluc will allow it, you hope to be the only person he’ll pick baskets of grapes with, play slow games of chess with, and freely lay out his convictions to.
You’ll be damned to give up your spot beside him without a fight.
Diluc doesn’t believe he deserves the same. “You’re too patient with me. I’ve let you down too much for you to be this forgiving,” he grabs your wrists and gently knocks his forehead against yours. “I can’t give you everything you want.”
“You’re my Diluc, you already are everything.”
© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.
#earthtooz: genshin impact#diluc x reader#diluc ragnvindr x reader#diluc x y/n#genshin diluc#genshin fic#diluc x reader fluff#diluc fluff#genshin x reader
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𝔩𝔢𝔱’𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔲𝔭
18+ Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader
Summary: After arguing with Miguel over a touchy subject, you both come to a consensus.
Content Warning ⚠️: Soft! Dom! Miguel, Dacryphilia?, Praise (from Miguel), little nicknames (Mainly cariño and neña), and a little bit of Miguel being a complete munch. (if you don't know what that means, you're too young to read my content.) The reader is a pillow princess, overstimulation (nothing new), and unprotective P in V. (wrap it before you tap it). Miguel talks the reader through it, and Miguel cries. (I wish I were playing) (NOT PROOFREAD) (OOC MIGUEL)
Word Count: 3.1k+ words (holy shit…)
Author's Notes: Well, this occurred to me while soaking my hair in rice water 😭 But in all seriousness, here’s something sweet but smutty 😗😋 Hope you all enjoy it. If there are some plot holds, I'm sorry. I've been busy recently.
To my girlies who have a praise kink, your secret is safe with Miguel. 💌
It had been two weeks since you spoke to Miguel, let alone share a bed.
Miguel regretted that he yelled at you or how he compared you to Dana, his former lover. The truth was, you were far better than Dana. You were kind, patient, and understanding of his responsibilities as Spider-Man. He didn't know what came to him when he compared you, a literal angel, to one of the worst partners he'd dated beforehand.
You remained a pillar of support and unwavering patience throughout his double life. Despite the countless tasks, you never once complained. You were there to tend to his wounds at the odd night hours, offering comfort and care. During the frigid winter months in Nueva York, you never failed to have a warm and nourishing soup ready to soothe his ailing body. But now, asking him to come home soon was too much?
"Dana would never complain about me coming home late!"
"Well, I'm sorry that I'm not her!"
The same argument returned for the last few days until one instance ended it. It was the same argument managed, but he managed to end it—not as you expected.
"I should have never dated you! You are so demanding. Dana would never be like this." The second he finished, he covered his mouth with his hands quickly and backed away from you. He wanted to take back his words, but you didn't give him that advantage. Your silence felt suffocating to hear and to be around. But the sight of your lips quivering and your eyes at the brink of spilling tears. The urge to run to you and to beg for forgiveness rushed through his veins.
Before even having the opportunity, you are running away from him into your shared bedroom, like a small rabbit running away from its predator to seek shelter in a small hole in the ground.
As soon as Miguel laid eyes on the scene before him, his stomach turned, and he felt like he would be sick. It wasn't just that he had acted up—the complete lack of remorse he felt at that moment truly frightened him. Meanwhile, seeing you trying to hold back tears made the situation unbearable. But when he heard you weeping in your bedroom, the guilt he felt just got magnified.
/
The sound of thunder boomed throughout the apartment complex. Usually, this made you want to grab a soft blanket and snuggle in Miguel's arms. However, the events that led to this said otherwise. He was out in Nueva York while you were bedridden. The sensation of your pillow against your cheek buried away the melancholy and the tears that your poor pillow always caught whenever you got upset.
The now old Victorian complex now creaks and settles down every other occasion. The sound of a muffled evangelical leader seeped through the thin walls, despite the number of complaints Miguel had told the older man to turn it down. But now? The preaching from the frustrated man drowns out your sorrows as thunder continues to rumble throughout the complex.
The window sliding open greets you, snapping you out of the evangelical preacher's words. Veering over your shoulder, you see your boyfriend, Miguel, crawling back into the apartment, closing the old window, preventing the downpour from creeping in and soaking the red oak floors. The sight of him changing into his sweats and undershirt was enough to make you blush, but you ignored your instincts. The simple 'hey' he greets you made you toss and turn on the bed, ignoring him.
Your heart skipped a beat as you heard the words "Cariño, por favor" uttered from behind you. Your mind was racing, and you wondered whether to turn around and face him. The temptation to forgive and forget lingered in your heart for a week, but what he had said had left an unforgettable mark. The hurt and pain were too much to ignore, and you knew deep down that it was time to move on—even though you were too adamant for your good.
A small sigh of defeat fills the mere pregnant pause in the air as the bed creaks under the added weight on the bed before settling down. The blankets bunched around your chest and near your chin comforted you despite the smell of it being your favorite fabric softener combined with his scent. "C'mere…" He groans, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into a spooning position. A loud whine from you wasn't the response he was expecting. He expected a giggle when he did so, but an adverse reaction said otherwise.
"Please don't be upset, cariño. I didn't mean what I said about, well—" Miguel suddenly stops. There is no other way around it. He messed up big time, and can see the hurt in your eyes.
You weren't Dana, something that Miguel always took for granted—the memory of having to deal with someone so parasitic, like a brain-eating amoeba, was emotionally draining. Even thinking about it is enough to make anyone tired. The emotional unavailability was the thing that got to him when it came to her, knowing that she wasn't waiting for him and cared about herself instead. The artificial bullshit was the only thing she desired, such as the dates and the gifts, not the emotional side of things, such as aftercare.
"What I said, it was true. You're not like Dana," A pause filled the space as you waited for him to continue. "You're not her, and it's something I adore." The simple kiss to your temple made you liquefy in his arms, but you remained silent, giving the silent treatment. "And I'm sorry about what I said; it was something I said in the heat of the moment." A nuzzle to the pillow was the only response he received, along with the low rumble of thunder.
As his lips touched your temple, a wave of gentle affection washed over you. The kisses continued to rain down softly, dotting your forehead, cheeks, and finally, your lips, like a fluttering of delicate butterfly wings. A tiny grumble left from you, not wanting to cave into his little kisses and advances that you ever so adored dearly.
The harassment of sweet kisses ended after ten minutes, and you turned your body to face Miguel. "…hey."
"Hey, cariño…" He hums, sneaking a kiss to your lips, which you allow. "…hey." You repeated, not knowing what else to say. "Hi." Miguel chuckled from the back of his throat and planted another kiss on the forehead. You stayed silent for the longest time until you looked up at him from where you rested your head on his chest. "I'm sorry too—" Miguel covered your mouth with his hand, nearly covering your entire face. "No, don't apologize. This argument was all my fault." He pulled his hand away from your lips, and a subtle sigh left.
"I shouldn't have exploded over one little thing. You rarely ask for me to come home a little sooner." His fingers combed through your hair, occasionally fixing some knots. "It shows that you care; you want me to be at home, safe and warm…" The pitter-patter of rain continued to play a steady tempo like a metronome at an adagio, not too fast, yet a bit slow. "I'm sorry for giving a poor excuse for blowing my anger at you. It was… stupid." He breathes out. "I had no reason."
You hummed and nuzzled closer to him. "I forgive you…" You mumbled, soon curling up to him for his warmth. "I should have known that asking for you to come home sooner is a bit too much—" You were cut off once again with a kiss on your lips, muffling your words. After you stopped and returned the kiss, Miguel pulled away after a moment and ruffled your hair.
"No, cariño. None of this is your fault. The blame is all on me." He rubbed the back of your head with his hand, lightly massaging the nape of your neck with his thumb. A small chuckle escaped from him. Seeing your messy hair makes him smile at the sight you gave him. Usually, you would throw a fit about how you looked, especially when the two of you went out. But now, you seemed loosened up and mellow.
He embraced you tightly, nuzzling into your neck as soon as you returned it. "I missed you so much… I don't like being mad at you," you muttered, slowly rubbing your fingertips against the nape of his neck. Then you started playing with his hair. A small smile formed on your lips as you felt his soft waves against the pads of your fingers. "Even with your suit, your hair is always soft. It never fails to surprise me."
Miguel only gave you a chuckle before pulling you to rest on his body and planting a long kiss on your lips, which you happily reciprocated. The soft, supple kisses soon evolved into something hungry and messy. The soft caress around your waist soon became handsy and coping with a feeling of being on one another. "I missed you, nena…" He mumbles in between kisses.
His kisses moved from your lips, leaving a small trail from your neck to your collarbone and, finally, on your plush lower stomach. “Nena… let me, please…” With a rush, you nodded, rubbing your thighs together slowly. "Here, let's help you out…" Usually, the man would rip your underwear off, but this time, he held back. He patted your hips lovingly, gesturing for you to raise your hips. "Raise your hips for me." You obeyed immediately, soon squirming out of your underwear and helping Miguel.
His arms hooked around your thighs, dragging your upper half down onto the mattress and having your pussy close to Miguel's lips. "Look at that, that kiss got you all wet…" Before complaining that you could feel his breath against your sensitive clit, Miguel indulged himself, devouring you slowly and slurping any remnants of your arousal. "My god, you taste so good…" He shuddered in between your folds and soon probed his tongue at your entrance. The light flicks from the wet, active muscles tease you enough for you to grasp onto the duvet underneath you and moan deep from your throat. "Oh fuck, fuck me with it…"
Hum is the only response you accumulate as you feel the wet tongue slowly tease your fluttering hole and soon feel Miguel lightly push his tongue at your fluttering hole. A small, needy moan filled the space while the wet muscle made you arch your back against the mattress. "Fuck, I want it inside…" You urgently whine.
"What do you want, cariño? Use your words, m'kay?" He muttered, slowly pulling away from your pussy and taking the time to savor you.
"I want it…"
"You want what? Please tell me what you want." He cooed to you and rubbed his thumbs against your thighs. The light breathing against your clit and entrance didn't help your case. Your high was making it nearly impossible to get on top of him and to take regime.
"I want your cock… please."
After a few moments of your demands and feeling his soft breathing against your pussy, he slowly slid you back down onto the bed, laying you down on the bed gently. "C'mere…" Miguel whispers sweetly before he gently holds you close and slowly rubs his aching length against your folds. The sensation of the fabric of his sweats rubbing against your bare skin was enough for you to moan at the feeling. "Wait, this feels…" He paused and looked down at you. "Are we okay? I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." You could hear the sheer panic in his voice, but you only nodded, giving him the green light.
Reaching down, your hands worked quickly, and you pulled on his sweats and boxers. A low groan emits from Miguel, feeling his dick get freed from the restrictive clothing. "You wanna hump on my cock like a good girl?" He mumbles out heavily, slowly lowering himself and allowing his length to rub in between your folds slowly. "Oh god, slowly. Slowly, cariño…" He urgently breathes out, slowly letting his bulbous tip rub against your clit. The burning yet slippery sensation slowly builds up. The slow, sensual rubs are enough for more arousal to build up, making it feel like a slippery slide thanks to your arousal and Miguel's precum. "Mierda…"
"Do you want me to fuck you, and do you want my babies?"
You nodded immediately, squirming in underneath him on the mattress.
"C'mon, grab it and slide it in. You know how to do it."
It had been weeks since you'd had sex with Miguel, especially since the argument about Dana; it almost had been a month without any intimate contact. You slowly reached for his cock and lightly tapped his tip against your entrance, a little nervous about how it would be a tight fit. "Miguel?" You slowly whined, still holding onto his aching cock. "Do you need any help?" He hums, slowly getting himself comfortable. "It's been a while…"
He nods before he grabs his cock and helps you slowly push himself in. "Shit!" He suddenly hisses out, barely letting his tip inside of you while you claw at his arms and groan. "You are tight…" You looked down and saw that your poor partner barely kept it together. "Give me a moment, nena…" He murmurs out quietly, slowly thrusting his tip at your entrance.
"Just the tip?" You sweetly suggested, looking down again, seeing how desperately he wanted his length to disappear by simply slowly pumping into you. "Maybe… Just the tip…" Miguel nods, slowly letting his tip probe at your entrance.
/
The sounds of labored breathing and moans filled the apartment, drowning out the evangelical preacher from next door, along with the angry bangs from the other neighbors. "I want you…" You breathed out, slowly feeling him sink in his length until his happy trail brushed against your clit. "Then you can have me. I'm yours to do as you please." His voice was like warm molasses, a sweet honey running down with sweet venom.
Another shout from the older man next door causes Miguel to roll his eyes as he slowly thrusts into you, allowing his mushroom tip to brush against your cervix. "Shut up!" Miguel yelled out to the angry neighbor and returned his focus to you. "Can we go a little faster?" You meekly suggested while slowly moving on his length. "Ay, cariño…"
The sensation of his length twitching inside of you is enough to have the man nearly cave in and thrust into your fluttering walls to end the slow overstimulation on his tip. "Easy, easy…" He breathed out weakly, slowly grasping onto your hips. His talons digging into your flesh felt like tiny needles lightly prickling at your thumb while sewing. "You're a little tight, and it's been a hot minute." His breathy groan filled the space immediately, slowly moving in and out of your fluttering hole. Not listening to his demands, you began to move your hips down and slid with ease, allowing your arousal to cream on his length. "Let's piss the neighbor off."
It was a sick, twisted fantasy to anger your neighbors, especially with the fact that y'all had thin walls in the time-old apartment that could drive anyone crazy. Mainly because the older neighbors around y'all are rowdy and complain about every little noise you or Miguel produced, most the sound of a blender or even if some music played a little too loud to their liking. But to you and him, it was time to get back at them and be as noisy as possible.
His pace was languid yet deep, taking his time while letting out low, rough grunts. “You're doing well, cariño.” You respond weakly by letting out a mewl and only let your fluttering wall convey the message more. “I'm trying…” You whined, bringing him to your embrace. “Can you go a little faster?” You plead, feeling the slow, delicious burn from his girth. “You sure? I don't want to hurt you.” He nuzzled close to your neck, leaving tiny kisses.
“I can handle it.” You pant, slowly sink yourself into him, pushing yourself down on him. The veins running down his length brushed against your clit deliciously, with a loud mewl filling in the apartment. “Please, please, please.” You plead out loud. “I'm on birth control, please.”
“I want you to—” One quick thrust ended your words. A sudden scream of pleasure filled the space, feeling Miguel’s merciless tempo. “Oh fuck! Yes! Keep it at that!” You demanded while being underneath him. “Baby, I'm a little—”
The wanton moans filled the space while the banging of the neighbor on your apartment walls made this nothing but filthy. “Shut up!” Your hoarse demands filled the space while you banged your fist against the wall. His unrelenting tempo continued, feeling that burn you ever so missed desperately.
The wet, squelching noise made the scene more lewd for Miguel, along with your shared bed creaking underneath the two of you, barely holding on with whatever strength it could conjure up. You are underneath him while he can feel your arousal coat his length along with his precum. The pace felt nothing but filthy and desperate. The feeling of tiny water droplets landed on your cheeks, causing you to wipe them off before you look up and see your partner, your usual aloof, stoic partner, shedding tears before you. The rough pace continued as you clawed at his back, leaving faint, red marks before you felt your rippling finish come to you and embraced Miguel tightly. “Please, I'm close…”
With one single thrust, you felt him twitch inside you before putting his heavy load in you.
“You okay?” You peeped out to him while feeling him slowly slide out and wiping away his tears. “Yes, I'm fine. Just overstimulated myself a little.” Slowly, he pulls out, earning a tiny groan from you and immediately pulls you into a warm embrace. “I didn't hurt you, did I?” You shook your head no, taking in shallow breaths. “No, I'm okay. Just a little sore.” You mumble quietly. Little sore was an understatement…
“C’mere…” He pants out, pulls you into a warm embrace, and plants soft, lazy kisses on your temple and cheeks. “You did so good…” The lazy, slow presses of his body against you felt like a weighted blanket, along with his chest heaving against yours. His hands roamed your body, allowing his fingers to trace light patterns and memorize you. “What do you want for dinner, cariño? Do you want me to prepare you something or do you want that one pizza you like on Main Street?” He murmurs from your shoulder, not wanting to get off of you. An incomprehensive mumble is the only thing that responds to him.
“Pizza it is, then.”
#miguel ohara x reader smut#miguel o'hara#miguel x reader#miguel smut#miguel ohara smut#miguel x you#miguel fanfic#miguel ohara fanfiction
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nocturne (interlude) — mizu x f!reader
synopsis: it seems as if you've always managed to bump into your father's regular in untimely situations. it also can't be helped that you think he's absolutely handsome.
content: reader is a daughter of a medic and an apothecary, golden retriever x black cat trope, might contain historically inaccurate terms (not that well versed in the edo period or japanese culture. forgive me), mizu will be referred with he/him pronouns, mizu being emotionally constipated ig, slight mention of violence and gore, fluff, pre-relationship, meet cute, sfw.
a/n: heyaaa :D its been awhile since ive posteddd. considering this as a break from comms and sch!! ill try to be more active in posting as my xmas break is approaching hehe <33 current hyperfixation is mizu from blue eyed samurai. (I HIGHLY SUGGEST WATCHING IT !!!) enjoyy part 2!! (my love mine all mine)
You can still remember the first time you met him.
It was quite easy to recall the memory with ease. It was after all one of the nights where there weren't many customers fluttering about to avail your father's services in medicine due to idiotic accidents and miscalculated duels. You watched your father pull out herb after herb, vial after vial, stitch after stitch as more and more swordsmen of all ranks came in and out of the shop.
You were quite well-known around town as the daughter of the medic—often smiling and huffing about. Some say you were too naive to be comfortable and accommodating to your father's customers but others also claim you were elegant and a ray of sunshine due to your approachable and easygoing nature. None of that mattered anyway, not when the field of medicine was your only focus in life.
Your father doesn't like to call you his apprentice but you knew you were his. After all, with all the knowledge he's passed down unto you, you might as well run your own apothecary but alas, you still had much to learn.
It was also a quiet agreement among men that no one pays too much attention to the daughter of the skilled medic and apothecary. You suppose it's because of your father's standing and reputation that most men would rather cut off their arms than get on the bad side of one of the only medics who can actually do a decent job in life-threatening situations.
Which brings us to the current topic at hand.
It had been a cold winter that night. Your father had been busy making fresh medicine at the behest of a high lord in one of the rich provincial states up north. It was up to you to man the front and be alert in case any wanderers might walk in asking for help.
The harsh breeze of that winter night was your first cue. The doors had swung open which left you scrambling off your seat then a second later, a man with a lean stature stumbles his way through—arm clutching the side of his stomach.
Your breath hitches as he props himself against the wooden pillar. He looks up at you, blue eyes clear and intense that it left you speechless from where you stood.
"I-I," He gasps for air, eyebrows scrunching from the pain. "Help-I need—"
You wasted no time in aiding him as you took wide strides to his injured form, arms holding out to keep him steady as he began to wobble back and forth. You scream for your father, worried that the man before you would pass out at any moment.
Thankfully aware of the situation, your father prepares the receiving area. You look back at the injured patient with worry in your eyes as you further assess all sorts of damage on his figure.
However, you can't help but find yourself entranced by his clear blue eyes. Despite being on the brink of utter exhaustion, he has managed to keep himself awake perched up on your shoulder.
He locks eyes with you, blinking slowly, and just as you begin to get lost in those blue hues of his, his body begins to fall.
"Sir, wait—!"
Then he's out like a light.
The next time you met him had been purely coincidental.
After that night, the man left quietly like the leaves falling gently along the stream. He left quite a hefty sum of money on your father's desk and kept the bed clean at his departure. It's safe to say that your father was overjoyed by the payment.
Your father had sent you on an errand to town to gather some supplies from a supplier he trusts. He had been busy attending to patients and manning the counter to be the one to get the package himself.
"You have nothing better to do anyway, might as well be useful to your old dad," Your father scrunched his nose playfully as he placed a bag of money on your palms. "And if a man approaches you, remember to use that knife I gave you and make clean perforation at the jugular vein—"
You had stopped your father right there.
It didn't bother you that much and this also was an opportunity to get some leisure time. You did as you were told and saved a bit of money for window shopping.
Stumbling upon an artisan selling hair ornaments, your eyes immediately dart toward a golden hairpin with imitations of sakura leaves. Upon reaching out to inspect it, a hand collides with your own causing you to let out a gasp.
"Apologies—" Your eyes dart up to look at the stranger but is met instead with familiar blue eyes, this time under the disguise of orange tint sunglasses. "Oh! It's you."
The man furrows his eyebrows in confusion. "Are you Mr. Gojo's—?"
"Daughter?" You perk up with a smile. You shift from heel to heel at the intensity of his gaze. Somehow, you're feeling quite nervous with this gentleman. "Yeah. I caught you that night."
"Ah," The man nods, awkward in his stance before turning back toward the array of ornaments in front of him. "Thank you."
"I-It was no problem," You stammered, hands smoothing out the fabric of your kimono. "It's what we do after all."
There's a hum of response coming from the man before silence ensues between the two of you. He had gotten back to analyzing other items that the vendor was offering and you could only stand there, discreetly watching his every move.
You didn't have the opportunity to take a good look at him besides his eyes that night. Your father seemed like he had recognized the man before you and ushered you out of the room before you could have the chance to offer help. Though, now, you could see that he had a proportionate height—a few inches taller than you but still tall nonetheless. His shoulders evoke confidence with every move of his body but his face talks of the mystery hidden under the guise of his kasa. He was pretty, yet... handsome. You've never come across a man who could embody both sides of the spectrum.
"Do you need something?" His voice had startled you out of your daydream causing your cheeks to flush. He raises his eyebrow with his ever-perpetual glare. You give him a sheepish smile.
"I've never gotten your name, sir." You purse your lips, tilting your head as he squints his eyes at your request.
"My name? Why?"
Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water at his response. Why? What does he mean why? This man was truly cynical, you think.
"Well, I saved you, didn't I?"
"Correction. Your father did." The man deadpans. You giggle at his tone, eyes crinkling in amusement.
"Alright, no need to get so philosophical with me," You jest, trying to get him to lighten up to you. You take a step closer, trying to gauge his expressions as you give him a lighthearted smile. "Is getting to know people a crime now?"
The man sighs before looking at the array of hair ornaments to your right. He then grabs the hairpin you were looking at and tosses a bag of coins toward the vendor. He places it within your palms before adjusting his cloak. You flinch at the sudden gesture, unaware of his intentions.
"It's Mizu." He says before turning and leaving without further explanation. You stand, agape as the man further blends in with crowd with each step he takes away from you.
This man—No, Mizu, surely is interesting.
This next meeting was one you were thankful of.
Now, it wasn't as if your meetings were solely limited by chance. He became a regular after your father's incredible work on him. You watch him arrive usually at the end of every week, either looking to restock the medicine that your father gave him or get himself treated for an unwanted injury.
You tried interacting with him during his visits but Mizu always either cut the conversation short or grunted in annoyance. He never tried to entertain much of your whims and only left you grasping at straws for whatever possible chance of interaction he might give you.
Although, despite being cold towards you, he still has the heart to help you in mundane tasks whenever he encounters the chance. For instance, upon seeing you struggling with the basin, he immediately walked over and carried to where your father is with ease. He also grabbed your freshly bought basket of fruits and guarded you on your way back home. He even thumped the back of your head lightly with his hand on his way out while you were fixing up the front.
He was an enigma. A puzzle you desperately tried to solve but always failed.
The thought of his gentlemanly actions had always left your heart thumping faster and louder within the confines of your chest. Wanting to know him, get closer to him, see the corners of his lips upturned—anything to see a version of him only you can keep.
It also seems that your father is familiar with his master. You hear talks between them, asking about the well-being of a man named 'Master Eiji', the one whom Mizu calls his swordfather. You ought to know better than to eavesdrop but somehow your attention has always been led towards his very existence.
Your father had always been strict about you ever since you were but a wee girl. He had expressed the importance of having a fruitful marriage with someone who is of your deserving. He, after all, was in a true love marriage with your mother and was together for at least 25 years before your mother succumbed to her illness at the age of 45.
It also didn't help that you were deemed the sunlight of the town, often getting several interested looks from promising men. But all your suitors couldn't take the intensity of your father's expectations. It's safe to say that you won't be getting married for awhile.
"Just stay here, my daughter," Your father sighs as he serves you seconds of your favorite food. "Who the hell cares about marriage anyway."
You laugh, reaching out to pat your old man's hand. "It's going to look bad for you if you don't marry off your one and only daughter, y'know?"
"That's precisely why I don't want to do any of that," Your father grumbles, taking a sip of his soup. "Work here, eat, sleep, go have fun. That's what your mother would've wanted anyway."
You were grateful for your circumstances, yes, but you've always wanted to help out as much as you can for your dad. His reputation as a skilled medic can only take so much before others will come to expect more. So as long as you're in his care, you try to help out around his shop as much as you can.
Although you wonder if your father would allow him to—
Ah, forget it. Convincing your father was a lost cause.
Back to the current task at hand, your father had tasked you to gather some herbs from the forest near your humble abode as it is less taxing for your finances when you have easy access to one nearby. Gearing up for the coldness of winter, you stepped out of your house in pursuit of such herbs. With a hop on your step, you wish to finish your task sooner than later to prepare for a certain gentleman possibly visiting later at night.
The only you thing you didn't account for was the possible danger you'd be encountering.
"Listen, I-I don't want any trouble," You slowly backed away as a group of men began surrounding you. It was uncommon to encounter bandits around this area as this was situated near the town. You're not so sure as to what prompted this criminals to stage a robbery in broad daylight.
"Oh, c'mon little miss," One of the bandits chuckled. He twirled a knife in his hand as he approached you menacingly. "We just wanna know what you're up to."
Your breath speeds up as one of his companions playfully advanced with a jump in his step. You flinched back, heartbeat thumping as the crunch of leaves around you signified their slow advance towards your figure. You clutched the knife your father gave you within your hands, ready to use it in case one of them tries something.
Jugular vein. Neck. Neck. Vein. Keep it fast. Right side.
"Perhaps we could do something fun, darling? I'm sure you'd love it." Wide grins and loud laughter erupted from their lips.
Vein. Lethal point. Could head straight through the liver. Artery. Perforation.
Your head had begun to ramble, your father's words echoing within the depths of your mind. Just as you adjusted your grip on your knife and one of the bandits had began to finally get whatever they aimed for in the first place, a breeze of wind suddenly alerted you of a new presence.
You shut your eyes in fear as one of the men at the far back screamed.
"What the fuck?!" The leader bellowed as he watched his man crumple to the ground, holding what was left of his dismembered arm. The other bandits begin turning towards the new opponent, swords ready as they watched him step over their comrade.
You open your teary eyes, locking gazes with the familiar hues of blue hidden under orange tint. There's some sort of hardened glare as Mizu looked at you up and down, assessing your well-being within a matter of seconds.
"This is Takayama's jurisdiction," Mizu's deep voice bellowed as he placed his hand on the scabbard of his sword. "I suggest you leave."
The leader lets out a scoff as he widens his shoulders to appear more menacing to him. Mizu only looks at him under the guise of his kasa.
"You are outnumbered, samurai," The man smirks. It might've been intimidating with the number of men that surrounded Mizu but you were well aware of his prowess as a swordsman and completely had faith in his abilities. "Your talks of dominance do not affect me."
Mizu chuckles, one hand reaching up to push back his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"We'll see about that."
"Thank you," You smile widely, eyes crinkling as you grab his extended hand.
The bandits groaned in pain as they crumbled to the ground. Some have even passed out from the harsh hits that Mizu had inflicted. You watched him twirl and move with elegance, slicing and hitting with precise angles that left you in awe at his performance.
It took at most 15 minutes for him to finish all of them and another 3 minutes for you to pick your jaw off the floor and fix yourself up.
"It's no problem," Mizu nods at your gratitude. He holds your hand firm as you wobble back and forth to stay back in balance. "Although, I advise that you venture towards areas within the town vicinity. This area is bordering outside of Takayama, thus the bandits."
"Ah," You let out a soft laugh. "There were more herbs here. I thought it was safe."
Mizu doesn't reply back as he gazes at you from the comforts of his glasses. You flush at his stare, still not being able to handle its intensity. You look down to busy yourself with, staring at your conjoined hands before finally taking notice of a scratch on the side of his hand to his wrist.
"You're injured," You whispered as you pulled his hand close to yours. You hear Mizu's breath hitch as he stumbles slightly at the pull of your hand. You look up at him as he furrows his eyebrows.
"I-It's fine, it doesn't hurt." He tries to reason with you but your grip on his hand remains steady.
"You saved me so I'll repay you by treating this. Alright?" You give him your best smile and suddenly the samurai doesn't have the heart in him to say no. At the sound of his reluctant silence, you enthusiastically pull out your satchel filled with medicinal tools. It was handy that you always kept your tools with you no matter where you went.
You applied antiseptic, brushing it with a clean cloth along the wound. Whether Mizu felt the pain or not, he only remained as still as a rock while you worked.
"You're early today," You try to make conversation as you clean his wound up. Mizu stays silent for a few seconds before replying.
"I had free time," He says. "I... was also out of medicine so..."
You hum, nodding along his words as you make gentle strokes to ease the pain (if he ever felt it).
"If you ever need to go out like this again," He picks up the conversation making your heart skip a beat. There's a pause of silence before he continues. "Let me—If I'm there, let me know. You don't need to endanger yourself like this."
You let out a quiet laugh as you finally wrapped his wound with a white strip of cloth. You look at him with softened eyes, reveling in his slightly flushed cheeks and gaze dulled by sincerity. There's a pause of comfortable silence between the two of you, only lost in each other's gazes.
You slowly reach out, hands pausing as you communicate a request for consent. Mizu only gives you a small nod before you reach out to pull off his glasses. Those same beautiful blue orbs stare back at you as you revel in their gaze.
"You're more handsome like this," You whisper as you take a step closer to him. Snow gently falls around you, cascading in gentle flow as you breathe out puffs of air. Mizu tilts his head with an upturn of the corner of his lips.
There it is.
You flush in his gaze as he reaches up to brush a stray hair away from your face. "You're jesting," He says with a quiet tone.
Your gaze at him doesn't waver. "I'd say yes if you asked me to marry you."
Mizu let's out a chuckle, eyebrow raised at your bold response. "You are one dangerous lady, Y/N. Does your father know that?"
You roll your eyes at him. "How could he know when all he does is keep men away from me," You tilt your head playfully, "Although, I do wonder why he often keeps you close. Perhaps, he's found you to be worthy of a man."
Mizu laughs at your praises, shoulders shaking as the two of you stand close to one another, basking in the soft breeze of the winter sky. He lifts his hand up and flicks your forehead. You flinch back, holding your forehead in pain as you give him a glare.
"Ow?!" You frown as he looks at you with a smirk on his lips. "What a way to turn off a lady!"
"You're too adorable to be a lady," Mizu teases as he crosses his arms over his chest. He tilts his head as he looks at you with squinted eyes in thought. "Kind of like a.... puppy."
Your jaw drops at his comparison causing him to release a few chuckles. It wasn't fair that he was out here causing poor things to your heart and raised by a father who was direct and determined to achieve the things he wanted in life, you didn't allow yourself to back down.
With wide strides, you easily reach where he stands before standing on your toes and grabbing his face as you placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.
"Wha-?!" His face flushes a deep red as he moves back holding his cheek. You flash him a cheeky grin as he looks at you with wide eyes.
"I'll be waiting for your proposal, Mizu," You giggle, swaying back and forth with your hands tucked behind you. You put on his glasses before leaning slightly forward with eyes squinted playfully. "Or shall I be the one to propose, hm? Seeing as your blushing from just a kiss on the cheek."
Mizu takes a few seconds before collecting himself. There's an unreadable look on his face before makes careful steps towards you. You watch him, curious as he stops in front of you—hand reaching out to pull his glasses off from your face. You expect him to start berating you for invading his space but what you received after was certainly something you never took into account.
He leans down and gingerly places a kiss on your lips. Your breath hitches as he presses himself close before pulling away all to fast. Your lips tingle as you watch him put on his glasses back with a smile.
"I'm no coward, Y/N," He adjusts your cloak as you remain speechless in front of him. "I don't make promises I can't keep."
And just as he enters, he walks off with quiet footsteps, leaving you grasping at whatever was left of your brain after what he just did. Your face flushes a deep red as your fingertips touches your lips with shaky movements.
Did this man just—
"Are you coming?!" He calls over from the dirt path back to your house. You stumble in your footing as you rush over to him.
"I-I'm coming!" You stammer as you gather your things and rushed towards him. He greets you with a smile and this time with his glasses tucked away. Blue hues greet your flushed form and suddenly an overwhelming realization washes over you.
Oh, I'm definitely not going to let this man go.
a/n: MY WIFE MIZU MY WIFEEE,,,,, planning to make a pt2 idk lemme guys know if u want one. will also fix my archive, tumblr's getting messy. NOT PROOFREAD but will fix if ever i do go back on this after my finals. HOPE YALL ENJOYED THIS!
#arthenaa#mizu x reader#mizu blue eye samurai#blue eye samurai x reader#the blue eyed samurai#Spotify
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Welcome Home, Rooster Bradshaw.
summary: It's been a long six months away from home for Bradley, and you're going to give him the welcome you both deserve.
a/n: ignore that this gif is from the offer, ok? It fits the vibe.
pairing: bradley bradshaw x reader
warnings/content: masturbation (m), facesitting, p in v, creampie, dirty talk, bradley's a vocal lover, praise kink.
word count: 3k
taglist: @nouis-bum @floydsmuse @mamachasesmayhem @avengersfan25 @jessicab1991 @atarmychick007 @b-bradshaw @djs8891 @fall-winter-heart97 @primroseluna @silversprings-mp3 @drxgxnslxyer @gardenavenue
Two more days.
Two more days until Bradley could see your face in person again. Two more days until he could be home and in his own space.
Bradley let out a heavy, tired sigh, reaching his hand under his pillow. He pulled out the picture of you that he’d brought with him on deployment, tracing over your image with his fingers gently. The picture’s edges were becoming curled, worn from being tucked into flight helmets and under pillows, clutched in sweating, sometimes shaking palms, lips pressed to it in a tender kiss on occasion. He admired the photo, he’d taken it on a date you went on before he left.
His dad’s well-loved Polaroid camera, left to him as a kid, in hand, he’d taken you to Mission Beach for the day, wanting to have the full tourist experience with you before he got shipped to the middle of the Pacific again. He found a store in Coronado that sold film for vintage cameras, building up a small stockpile for himself. He’d given you a full photoshoot that day — pictures snapped at every opportunity. Watching planes fly over head, playing games in the arcade, rides on the wooden rollercoaster, rock climbing, lunch dates, mini golf, and rock climbing. He’d snapped a couple of you in your sundress, smiling sweetly at him for the camera, your hair flowing in the warm Pacific breeze.
This photo, however, was the one of you laughing on the beach, your baby blue two-piece swimsuit on, the high-waisted bottoms hugging your curves, the coordinating blue top cupping your breasts in a way that pushed them upever so slightly. He could practically hear your laugh whenever he looked at it, and it made his heartache that little bit more each time.
“Fuck," he muttered to himself, sighing again as he looked around the bunk.
Jake was on deck for the night, leaving Bradley with the shared space all to himself for at least a couple of hours. He laid back on his bed, tugging his grey sweatpants down off his hips. He spat into his free hand, using it to stroke his cock in a slow, steady pace, your photograph in his other hand, eyes fixed on your figure as he masturbated.
Fuck, he missed you.
He shut his eyes, picturing you as he continued to stroke himself, seeing the facial expression you made whenever you rode him, eyes shut with ecstasy, tits bouncing up and down, hips moving, hands pressed to his chest. The mental image alone was almost enough to drive him over the brink. He let out a deep grunt as he finished, your name escaping him in a soft moan.
Two days couldn’t come soon enough.
When he finally got home, Bradley was exhausted. The time difference had caused him more jet lag than it usually did, not that he was sleeping well without you to begin with. He never did. He’d landed earlier than anticipated, coming home a day before he was expected. He unlaced his standard issue boots, kicking them off at the door before heading directly to the laundry room. Stripping clean from his uniform, he tossed it into the washing machine, desperate for a shower and fresh, comfortable clothes.
With a dry towel wrapped around his waist, he bounded up the wooden stairs to the main bathroom. He dropped the towel as he turned the shower on, sighing happily as he stepped into the warm water, letting it wash over him for a minute, enjoying one of the first comforts of being home for the first time in six months.
Stepping out of the tower, he quickly dried himself off and wrapped his towel back around his waist before heading down the hall to the bedroom. Everything was neatly pulled together — freshly laundered sheets on the bed that still smelled like your favourite detergent, his clothes neatly put away for him, fresh flowers sat in a vase on your nightstand, and a new book sat on his, with a note card placed on top.
B, I saw this the other day at that cute little bookstore on Orange Ave. It made me think of you. I thought you’d like to read it now that you’ll have a little down time. - Love, your girl. Xo
Bradley felt his heart swell as he read your neatly printed note. He picked the book up, scanning the cover with a soft smile before setting it back down. A true crime book about a case in a podcast he’d mentioned in one of his emails home — it was perfect. God, you were perfect.
He tugged a clean white t-shirt over his head before reaching into his dresser for clean boxer briefs and a pair of well-loved denim shorts that were beginning to fray around the cuffs from being worn so frequently. Bradley looked out the bedroom window at the landscape, happy to finally be home. He’d missed all the little things while he was gone — the palm trees, the smell of those little laundry scent beads you swore by, your coordinating body wash, shampoo and conditioner that you insisted on buying for him when you’d learned he’d been coasting through life for 37 years with a 3-in-1 bottle — almost as much as he’d missed you.
Downstairs in the kitchen, he got to work crafting himself the sandwich to top all sandwiches. He was starving, and after months of bland, unexciting meals on board an aircraft carrier, all he wanted was comfort food. With his turkey club piled high and a glass bottle of Coke from Mexico in hand, he settled into his favourite chair and began to enjoy himself until you came home from work.
When you did come home, you heard the faint sound of voices coming from the back of the house. You dropped your bag at the front door, running through the house so quickly, you’d forgotten to take your shoes off. In the living room sat Bradley, in his favourite, well-loved chair, dozing as sports highlights played in the background, a plate with remnants of a sandwich and a half-finished bottle of Coke sat on the table beside him.
You leaned in, pressing your lips to his forehead as you stroked his curls, breathing in the smell of his shampoo. He was finally home.
Bradley’s eyes fluttered open, a smile forming on his lips as he wrapped his arms tightly around you, his nose pressed to your neck as you settled into his lap.
“Missed you,” he murmured against your skin, peppering you with kisses.
“Missed you more, B,” you echoed as you raked your fingers through his hair.
“God, I missed you so much, honey. This might have been the hardest trip away from you yet.”
Bradley’s hands rested firmly on your hips as his lips wandered down your neck to your collarbone. He mumbled against your skin, shoving the strap of your tank top down off of your shoulder. His teeth grazed at your exposed, sun kissed skin, causing you to let out a gasp.
“Bradley!” you squealed, laughing as his deep brown eyes looked at you, taking in the sight of your face again.
“Mhmm, I missed that laugh of yours,” he hummed, his large hands moving to cup your breasts. “I’ve missed these tits of yours too.”
“I bet you have, were Jake’s not doing it for you?” you teased.
Bradley scoffed as he pulled your tank top off over your head, tossing it off to somewhere in the void across the room. With one hand snaked around your back, he unfastened your bra in one fluid motion, discarding it to the floor. He grinned at you before pressing his mouth back to your collarbone, thumbs tracing circles over your nipples as they pebbled at his touch.
“No, one’s could do it for me like yours do, honey, you know that. Look at you. So pretty for me. My girl’s always looking pretty, ain’t she?” he purred between kisses to your breasts.
“Bradley,” you laughed, shaking your head, “This is what you want now that you’re finally home?”
“I’ve been wantin’ this since about two hours after I left, six months without you has been torture. I contemplated quitting when I came home. I thought about faking an injury so they’d discharge me. I tried thinking up a thousand ways to come home early — all of them bad.” He nodded, as he looked up at you, hands still cupping your tits.
“Mhmm, you thought about quitting for me? That’s not the Bradley Bradshaw I know.”
“I swear, honey, this time…this time was harder than usual.”
“Well, I’m all yours now,” you nodded, your hand stroking his cheek.
Bradley hummed to himself, tilting his head to the side as he thought for a minute. He looked at you, watching as you bit your lower lip. The sight of you alone after so much time apart was enough to make him hard, but now it was becoming unbearable. He needed you. He craved you.
“Upstairs, now,” he urged, nodding his head as you got off his lap.
You grinned to yourself as you headed up the stairs, walking just slowly enough to your bedroom so Bradley could catch the way your hips swayed with every step, your taut ass bouncing with each movement. It was enough to drive any man insane, but Bradley could barely contain himself.
Fuck, he missed you.
He pushed you on to the bed, crawling on all fours as he hovered over your body with a wide grin plastered to his face. You placed a hand on his chest, steadying him as your smile faltered for a second. You held your breath for a moment before exhaling, nodding slowly as Bradley sat back on his knees for a minute.
“Go easy on me, big guy, it’s been a long six months, I’m out of practice,” you teased, grinning at him.
“Shoot, honey, I thought you were gonna tell me you didn’t want me to-never mind, I’ll go easy on ya. I always do, don’t I?”
“Roo, you do the exact opposite of going easy.” You grinned, rolling your eyes at Bradley.
Bradley repositioned himself over your body, smirking as he took in the sight of you again. His lips began trailing down your abdomen your shorts, sending chills running up and down your spine with every breathy kiss, every drag of his mustache against your skin. With a skillful hand, he popped the button on your shorts open, sitting up as he pulled them off of you. He hooked two fingers into the crotch of your lace trimmed underwear, shoving them out of the way as he ducked his head between your thighs. Feather-light kisses dotted your inner thighs before his mouth found your core. He flattened his tongue against your slit, running it up your folds slowly as he savoured everything he’d missed for the last six months.
“Just as pretty as I remember it, fuck.”
His fingers spread your folds apart, giving him better access to your clit. The tip of his tongue traced shapes along it, pressing varying degrees of pressure into you, the tip of his nose pressing into your puffy cunt, swollen from how badly you’d been wanting him for the last six months. He mumbled something against your skin, his lips vibrating against your clit as he pressed another kiss to you. He sat himself up fully, smirking at you.
“Get up, pretty girl, I have an idea.”
You let out a whine in protest, sitting up on the bed as Bradley now laid down on his back. Shooting him a look, you raised your palms in protest, shaking your head at him.
“Bradley, you seriously stopped so I would give it to you instead?”
“What? No,” Bradley laughed, shaking his head as he gestured to his face. “Take a seat.”
“You want me to…?”
Bradley lifted his head up off the pillow, giving you a lustful stare, his eyebrows knitting together as he nodded his head. “Did I stutter? Take. A. Seat.”
You rolled your eyes, giving your head a shake as you slipped out of your underwear, dropping them to the floor. Climbing back on to the bed, you hovered yourself above Bradley’s mouth, looking down at him as you chewed on your lip. He shook his head, his mustache tickling at your inner thigh as he kissed up your leg. In one swift motion, he gripped your thighs tightly, pulling you down until his lips were directly under your dripping core, smirking as he murmured against your skin again.
“That’s my girl. I’ve missed this pussy so fuckin’ much.” He grunts, nodding his head slightly as he buries his tongue into you, nose pressed to your clit.
“Bradley!” you whimper, your eyes fluttering shut as you reached down, fingers tugging on his dark curls.
Bradley’s tongue worked into you at a breakneck speed, so fast that you wondered how he was able to breathe. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, blunt fingernails digging into your soft skin as he held you in place. His mouth worked on you relentlessly, refusing to let up until he had you a screaming, crying, pretty little mess, just how he (and you) liked it.
“Bradley, Bradley, Bradley,” you babbled, unable to say anything other than his name as his tongue fucked into you.
He grunted into your cunt again, mumbling words of praise into your skin. “Tastes so fuckin’ sweet, honey, so fuckin’ sweet.” He growled before delving his tongue into you again.
Your thighs began to shudder and shake, spasming as you felt your orgasm hit you harder than ever before. You shut your eyes, tears stinging as Bradley continued, not breaking his rhythm once as you came, his tongue quickly lapping at your arousal hungrily. He moved his mouth up to your clit, kissing at it with a couple of powerful sucks before pulling his mouth away. He let go of your thighs, a couple of darker marks forming on your skin from where he got carried away, gripping you a little too tightly. You got up, sitting on the bed, panting as you tried to find your mental clarity again.
Bradley rolled onto his side and surveyed your thigh, pressing gentle kisses to the darkened marks on your skin in apology. Once you found your words again, his big brown eyes looked up at you from where he was laying on the bed.
“Roo,” you nodded, placing a hand on his cheek, “I missed you so much.”
“I missed ya too, honey. Ain’t done with ya yet though.”
With that, Bradley quickly shimmied out of his denim shorts and boxers, kicking them off clumsily. He crawled across the bed, finding the spot between your thighs. His hands smoothed over your legs, lifting them up and hoisting them up onto his shoulders. You curved your knees around him as he aligned his hardened cock with your entrance, easing into you with a soft groan.
“That’s my girl, taking me so well. You missed this cock, didn’t you? Missed me fillin’ ya up, huh, pretty girl?” He purred, pausing as he felt your walls stretching around him.
“Yes, baby,” you nodded, whining as he stretched you.
God, he was right. You did miss him. You missed him more than you wanted to let on, you missed his presence, his voice, the silly things he’d do that pissed you off, you missed the way he made love to you, passionate and caring, full of praise, making it his life’s mission to make you feel good. He took it as seriously as his work - calculated movements, using the same precision and laser-focus he did in the air.
Your eyelids fluttered shut again as you felt him pull out of you, pushing himself back into you again with a powerful thrust of his hips. Bradley tutted his tongue against the roof of his mouth, refusing to move again. “Nuh-uh, baby girl, keep those pretty eyes on me. Want you lookin’ at me when I fuck you, got it?”
You nodded dumbly as he pounded into your entrance again, making your head spin as your walls clenched around him. He began thrusting into you, starting slowly as he found his rhythm again, savouring every movement, every inch of you that he’d missed over the last six months. Bradley gently pressed his palm into your pubic bone as he thrusted harder, faster into you, the sensation heightening with the added pressure he was giving. You could tell by the knot turning in your stomach that it wasn’t going to be long before you were coming for him again, and if Bradley had his way, it wouldn’t be the last time you did tonight.
“Feelin’ so fuckin’ good, pretty girl. That’s my girl. That’s my pretty girl,” he praised, his confident demeanor melting away, leaving Bradley a pussy drunk, babbling mess, unable to say anything other than your praises, repeating your name over and over as if it was a spoken prayer.
“‘M not gonna last, honey,” Bradley shook his head as he moaned breathlessly.
Fuck.
His breath hitched in his throat as his hips slowed, stilling as he came inside of you. Bradley let out the deepest grunt you’d ever heard — the past six months of missing you drawing out of him along with it. Ducking his head down as he tried to catch his breath, his curls slicked and stuck to his forehead with sweat, he panted heavily, gently letting your legs go as you dropped them back down to the bed. He looked up at you, deep brown eyes fixed on your features as he nodded breathlessly.
“Fuck, I missed you, honey. I missed this, and you, and home.”
“Welcome home, Rooster. Welcome home.”
#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x y/n#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw smut#bradley bradshaw smut#bradley rooster bradshaw x you#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw x y/n#rooster bradshaw#rooster bradshaw smut#rooster bradshaw x you#rooster bradshaw x reader#rooster bradshaw x y/n
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a/n: INTENSE rambling about gojo’s dimples / jjk manga spoilers (alluding to a physical feature of gojo, rather than a plot point) + includes manga panels under the cut + mini barbie spoilers? lol, just a warning if you haven’t watched it! / 0.8k ✶
if satoru notices your recent fascination with his smile, he doesn’t say anything, and rather lets your finger trace over the skin of his face. over the stark white lashes of his eyes to the peculiar double eyelids that ran through the gojo clan. your fingers like to leave trails of unspoken admiration over the skin of his pale cheeks, blushed red from the cold of the tokyo winter to the plump, shiny pair of lips — it’s because he liked to lick them so much.
it first starts out when you’re on the brink of death (gojo puts it that way, you were just immensely tired from fighting a regenerative curse) that you’ve made such a startling discovery, poking at the dip in his cheek in an almost robot-like way before you let out one last sigh, fainting from the fatigue.
and later in shoko’s office, you’re doing it again to his sleeping form, angled toward you while he sat in an uncomfortable chair, hand tightly clutching onto yours. the sight melts your heart, moreso when he leans into your gentle finger, drawing over the familiarity of your love.
“baby! baby, oh my god, you’re awake— let me go get s—”
“stay with me, ’toru,” you mumble, already feeling tired again from the toll which took over your body.
the same soft smile that he donned matches the one in the kitchen just a week ago, enjoying the mediocrity of the morning with your lover. gojo is situated between your legs as you brush the hairs from his face, staring at you with a tug on his heart and trembling breaths. your hands have abandoned your coffee cup, left to the side while you just map out the coordinates of his eyes, his sharp nose, the same plump lips that now frequents your strawberry lip balm.
“why’re you so pretty?” you mumble mindlessly, thumbs subconsciously dipping into the dimples beside his smile. the smile that is only reserved for you, like the one in shoko’s office.
gojo’s smile widens into a grin now as he leaves the question unanswered, mainly because he’s wondering why you’re the one asking the question when he feels like you could rival a goddess and win by miles; when he feels like the ache of his knees from worshipping you is worth every bruise.
“should be asking you that, sweetness,” satoru’s voice is raspy from just waking up, scooting closer to the kitchen counter which you’re propped on and pulling your closer, “you paralyse me each time my eyes lay on you.”
you roll your eyes with a giggle, leaning in for a soft kiss laced with dawn’s morning light of blue and purple, humming needily when you feel his hands wander over your body, squeezing and kneading at your waist. and before he turns away to go ahead with the day (not without a little complaining and more kisses — he’s just so drunk on you), he doesn’t miss the way your eyes drop to his lips again, or rather, to the right side of his mouth.
satoru makes a mental note to ask you about it the next time you do it, a stroke of luck when you’re having movie night two days later and instead of staring at ryan gosling yell “SUBLIME!”, you’re admiring gojo’s smile once again and the slight tip of his head when he giggles at the movie.
“you’re not entirely secretive, y’know?” the other simply pulls you closer, satisfied with having you under his embrace and relishing in being able to see how your cheeks heat up with his six eyes. he’s watched barbie once already, so he doesn’t exactly need to pay attention.
“why’d you keep poking my cheek, baby, hm?” gojo is not opposed when you straddle him on the couch, bringing two thumbs to the corners of his mouth and pulling, an exaggerated smile spreading across his face that you can’t help but let out a loud laugh; he catches your wrists and laughs with you, littering little kisses to your fingers.
“why do you like my smile so much?”
“nothin’,” you whisper, “it’s more of your dimples, actually.”
“oh?” gojo’s lips stretch into a smile he usually gives his students, finger feeling around on his cheek for the familiar dip. to be honest, even he didn’t really pay attention to his features, pressing incessantly at the area once he’s found the dimple. “didn’t even know i had…”
“oh, you do!” satoru trails off as he lets you ramble about the many many times you’ve seen it, focused more on the way your eyes gleam in the dim living room light. he’s fixated on the smell of your shampoo and the illumination of your body from the tv’s light.
at least, in this hour, the sorcerer could wish for everything a normal life could bring; a life where he isn’t weighed down by the title of the strongest, where he could listen to you talk about the features on his face and watch barbie with you.
gojo satoru learns more and more about himself through the lens of your eyes — a love letter sealed with the saccharine strawberry you apply every morning and your whispered confessions that hold a multitude of suns to leave his fingertips blazing and heart soaring.
god i love him sm :(
#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen gojo#jjk fluff#jjk x you#jjk drabbles#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#gojo fluff#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x you#satoru gojo x reader#jjk gojo#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojou satoru x reader
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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Eighteen
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: Nothing super specific, but things get pretty dark (at least in my opinion). Mentions of torture.
The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist
Masterlist of Masterlists
Azriel grabbed Rhys by the front of his jacket, hands shaking horribly despite all his efforts to stop. It had started this morning, when another disastrous attempt to talk to Andrian had left Azriel with his mind in shambles, knife pressed against his own throat. It had been going on for weeks now. Someway, somehow, Andrian would find a way to break through Azriel’s defenses and force him to relieve his worst memories. Sometimes he dreamt of his burning hands. Mostly he thought of you, and the day he’d nearly killed you.
“Tell me you didn’t,” Azriel growled desperately. “Tell me!”
It was too easy for him to pick out when his brother was speaking with Feyre, and something about the way Rhysand had been looking at him— like he was a fraction of a second away from splintering into a million pieces — told Azriel enough about who had been sent for. You were the only one who could calm him. The only one who could do what he and Rhys had failed to do.
Violet eyes shone from a perfectly handsome face. A face he knew too well. A face that he wanted to punch right now.
“I’m afraid I can’t, brother,” Rhysand responded gravely.
Azriel slammed his fist against the wall instead, taking out a chunk of granite that spit grey dust into the air. He swore beneath his breath, pacing the hallway and trying to steady his racing heart. He’d never wanted you to see this place. He’d never even wanted you to step foot on the island above, its rolling peaks a stark contrast to the tunnels below where Azriel conducted his business. Business that stained his hands a thousand shades of red.
“You’ve been working yourself ragged, Az, and Andrian still hasn’t said anything. Not to you. Not to me. We need to know all we can about Koschei. Vassa’s on the brink of madness. Henna’s dead. I can’t even get past Andrian’s mental wards. What the fuck are we meant to do?”
“So you thought to go behind my back and bring Y/n into this?! She’s not something for you to use, Rhys.”
“She’s already in this mess.” Rhys reminded him, as he often did. His eyes softened as he looked to the locked door at the end of the hall with its small, rectangular window. Bars breaking up the lamplight glowing from within. “And you know she’d agree this is the best course of action. She’ll be able to do it.”
Azriel’s hands shook. “Give me another week and I’ll get us the information we need. Tell Feyre to turn around. Don’t bring Y/n here.” Don’t let her see this part of me.
“The boy doesn’t have another week. He doesn’t even have a day.”
The shaking traveled throughout Azriel’s entire body. His eyes darkened and he began the process of hiding his heart away within the void that curled inside of him. That wicked beast that was always on the verge of swallowing him whole.
Feyre winnowed you both to the outskirts of the northern territories and you went from sweating in your fur-lined leathers to shivering in the knee deep snow. The Illyrian Mountains rose behind you like predatorial rows of shark teeth and the endless sea stretched in front, slate grey and empty except for lonely ripples of sea foam. Through the frosty haze you could make out a smattering of islands, each with their own tooth-like tips capped with snow and ice. Feyre looked at you, her eyes leaning more towards blue now that she’d tapped into the Winter Court’s power to stave off the cold.
The Warren was protected by wards that made winnowing impossible, so you let Feyre scoop you up in her powerful arms, wings growing from her back like unfurling shadows before the ground dropped away from her feet and she took off into the sky.
You clung to her shoulders, eyes slamming shut so you wouldn’t have to look down at the churning black waters and the rocks they crashed against. If you were to fall now, you could only hope you drown before the waves ripped your body to pieces against the rocks like meat torn between a pair of canines.
You stayed frozen and tight as a coil until the rush of wind stopped and you no longer felt your stomach creeping up into your throat. You could have dropped to your knees and kissed the ground if you weren’t sure your lips would freeze there. You did shove your hands into the gritty sand though, breathing slowly through your nose until you finally had the strength to stand.
Feyre led you down the long stretch of beach, waves whistling in the wind — a haunting, beautiful melody, like a woman crying.
Azriel had discovered The Warren centuries ago. After a particularly brutal brawl that had left him with a broken arm and cracked ribs, he’d taken to the skies, desperate to escape the hard packed floors and burning scent of sex mixed with alcohol that seemed to invade every corner of the Windhaven barracks. He’d been fighting over a woman, a woman that had been dragged into the rowdy common room trembling with the telltale sign of a whisky haze over her burnt umber eyes, dress ripped and muddy.
Did it even matter that he’d brought her back untouched to that leaning house with its wooden slabs frosted over and the chimney coughing up black smoke like a diseased lung? Azriel had wondered as he flew without a destination in mind. And when he’d finally collapsed on the island, frozen ground beneath his hands and knees and spitting out blood from his cut up gums, his shadows had tugged him towards the gaping mouth of The Warren, urging him to explore a darkness that was his and his alone. It had been his escape. A safe place in the world that had so few. But when Rhysand became High Lord and he the Spymaster, Azriel hadn’t hesitated to give up The Warren in the service of the Night Court, adding it to the long list of sacrifices he made so that he might actually start to feel like he deserved his place with his family.
You stilled in front of The Warren’s entrance, black walls glittering and damp from sea spray. Jagged, cracked bone rocks hovered overhead like axes ready to fall, jutting out of a cliffside and curling over the beach in the shape of a hunched back or an unhinged jaw. Wind whistled from within like asthma — high-pitched and keening.
“This is where you keep all your prisoners.” You weren’t asking a question, merely stating a fact.
Feyre had had little time for explanations back at the House. She’d focused on defending your body against the frigid cold to come, her mind split between you and Rhysand as he worried over Azriel from miles away.
“Not all of them. Only the ones Azriel finds useful.”
“The ones he plans to torture for information.”
From somewhere deep within the earth you swore you heard the clanging of chains, a growl, and a desperate groan that had the hair on your neck rising.
Feyre’s usual warmth was gone, replaced by something with more tact and less care. “This isn’t a place for the faint of heart, Y/n. And neither is Azriel. He’s tried to hide this from you, but it’s as much a part of him as anything else and if you care for him as much as I believe you do, you’re going to need to get used to this.”
There was the faintest flicker of doubt in your heart. “Andrian… he’s just a boy… you haven’t—Az hasn’t—”
“No,” Feyre said quickly. Horrified. “Azriel found him weeks ago trying to slip back into Day Court. We brought him here because it’s the most heavily warded place in Prythian and because the world needs to be protected from him as much as he needs to be protected from the world.” She grabbed your hands. They felt cold as ice. “Y/n. I swear to you, we haven’t hurt that boy. We won’t hurt him.”
“I know. I just… I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Already you felt sick to your stomach just for asking. Azriel was many things — dangerous, cruel to those he felt were deserving of it, maybe even murderous at times — but he was still Az… and you weren’t afraid. Not even as you let Feyre lead you into The Warren, and you were swallowed whole.
The mouth of the cave quickly narrowed into a tunnel before turning at a severe angle and twisting like a corkscrew downward. If it weren’t for you and Feyre’s glowing bodies, you might have missed one of The Warren’s slick steps and tumbled down forever.
You passed by two offshoots, each branching out into their own secret tunnels that whispered and echoed and smelled faintly of blood. Coppery and sour.
One of the rooms you walked through smelled like metal and limestone. The rust-colored ground and drain in the center of the floor told you all you needed to know about its purpose and before you could stop yourself, before you could even think about whether this was truly a good idea, you found yourself pressing a hand against one of the chains hanging from the ceiling.
If Feyre was right and this was truly a part of Azriel — something horrible that needed to come with all of the good that he was — then you wanted to know. You felt that you had some right to know, and if it was the power the Mother had granted you, then you would use it when you saw fit.
Feyre froze when your power flooded the room without warning, feeling the energy and fury radiating off your skin without even turning to look at you. You kept the memories a safe distance away, but drank in the knowledge of every horrible hand that had hung from that ceiling like you were reading a list of names from a book. You read their crimes. You read every drop of blood that Azriel had spilled on the ground.
“Y/n?” Feyre asked tentatively, fearfully, when you blinked and released the chain.
She had every hope the bond would snap in place for you soon and that you’d help end Azriel’s centuries of loneliness. That you might be the one to finally show him he was deserving of kindness. But to love Azriel as he was, with all his rough edges and the pain he could inflict as much as he carried… it was not for the faint of heart.
“I understand why Azriel wanted to hide this place from me. This part of him,” you said quietly and to no one in particular. Not even to Feyre. “But he shouldn’t have.” Your eyes turned harder than stone. “They deserved it. Each and every one of them.”
Feyre stood, shocked into silence, and it wasn’t until you gripped her arm and nudged her into the next room that she found she was able to walk again.
You passed by more hallways and more rooms, some disturbingly clean and empty, others with chains hanging from the ceiling or littered on the floor. But the strangest part was, you could smell Azriel within these cramped walls, and that alone made you quicken your steps.
You chased that familiar scent, walking confidently through the dark and passing Feyre until you were spit out in a long, neat tunnel with one metal door at the end. Tendrils of shadow flickered from around the corner.
“Azriel?”
Your heart pounded in your chest when you saw him leaning against the wall, hands folded behind his back. Rhys’s eyes flickered to you, then to his mate as she followed closely behind. Azriel stiffened, his eyes locked and heavy. Shadows tugged at his eyes and accentuated the sharpness of his cheeks. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the day he left you… which wasn’t so far from the truth. Because the whole time he’d been here, he’d been thinking of you, and the ways you might hate him for what he did and the sick corners of his soul. For—
You sailed into his arms, wrapping yourself around his torso and pressing your face into the hollow of his neck. Part of your mind chastised you, calling you silly and desperate as it reminded you it had only been ten days since you’d last seen him. But you didn’t care. It felt far longer than that. Too long.
You needed this almost as much as he did.
You disappeared behind his wings, cocooned safely in membranous folds and shadows that kissed your skin. Azriel himself buried his face in your hair, feeling some of his worst worries dissipate. You hadn’t run away. You hadn’t been so disgusted as to leave just yet.
“Y/n,” he murmured your name before kissing your temple. “Gods, I missed you.”
“I would hope so.” You murmured into the curve of his jaw, “I might be a boring bookworm but I’m better company than this place.”
Azriel winced. “You have no idea.”
You missed the pointed look that Rhys and Feyre threw your way, but Azriel didn’t. He was tall enough to see over your head as Feyre pointed to the door at the end of the hallway, eyes glistening. They had come here for a purpose, and the sooner it was over with, the sooner they could all go home.
Azriel’s arms tightened around you. “I didn’t want you to come here. I didn’t want… I didn’t want you to see the things I do.”
“I know.” You traced the curve of his jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheek. “But I’m not afraid, Azriel.”
His eyes flickered from fear to relief to love, like one of those picture books you had to flip through to see the scene play out.
“You’re not?”
You shook your head no. Then you kissed him on the lips and whispered the words for him and him alone. “I trust you. You’re the most terrifying thing here anyway, and you’re mine.”
Yours.
Azriel quitel liked the sound of that.
Even here in the dungeons burrowed beneath empty frozen lands, Azriel found it within him to hope. Horrid creatures might be hidden elsewhere, creeping like slugs under the earth that he’d have to crush beneath his boot or tear treasured secrets from, but for now you were still by his side. For now you were still his and he would always be yours.
You looped your arm through his and moved towards that door at the end of the hallway, steeling yourself for what you already knew was behind it.
The light from the barred window flashed warm and cool then warm again. Light warped and pranced. The scent of rot hung in the air, humid and choking. You touched the door handle, feeling the magic fall away like it recognized you and opened up into a makeshift, but quaint bedroom. There were no windows here for there was nothing to see below ground, but some of Feyre’s landscape paintings hung on the wall. Faelights bloomed overhead, throwing light and heat on a child’s bed with green sheets, a table, and a bookcase overflowing with an assortment of puzzles and novels and toys. You felt your blood turn cold. They’d once belonged to Nyx before being repurposed for the little boy trembling on the floor.
You stared at him in horror.
The little boy who’d been so violently bright that morning in the marketplace was dull. Although he was wearing fresh clothes, his skin had turned a stone gray, black marks dotting his once silken, silver skin like a disease. He was aware of his condition, weeping on the plush rug cut in the shape of a flower as he batted at his arms, willing them to turn healthy again.
“No no no no no no,” he sobbed. He grabbed at his pillowy hair in frustration and tugged. A cloud of fragile strands came away and he cried harder, trying to stick them back to his scalp.
Rhysand’s face was broken and pale. He tried not to look at Andrian. He was too young. Reminded him too much of his own son.
“You were right.” Rhysand’s voice was hollow, laced with a pain that grabbed your throat and squeezed. “Koschei did kill him. He’s been dead this whole time.”
“NO!” Andrian screamed. “HE DIDN’T! HE PROTECTED ME!”
Fat tears rolled out of filmy eyes, dusty and brown as pond water. Rage filled him with new energy and he tried to attack your mind as he’d already done with Azriel. But there was something altogether different about your magic, something flexible that morphed and rearranged your mental walls until it felt like he was trying to attack himself.
He gave up when your walls didn’t fall, and chose the physical route instead. You recoiled as he took a swipe, bony arms reaching out in an awkward lunge. But his legs were too weak and crumpled beneath him. He looked like a fish laid out to rot on a summer day — bloated and slick.
“Koschei brought him back to life for his powers—”
“HE LOVES ME! PAPA LOVES ME!”
“To use as he saw fit when the time was right.”
“But he can’t survive being separated for so long from Koschei’s power, can he?”
Just like Vassa. Left on their own without their maker they couldn’t handle the curses that had been placed on them. They’d bend until they broke… unless they found another way…
“The killings,” You murmured as the pieces slowly fell into place, “He killed those Librarians and the tailor and the florist…” You didn’t want to be right about this. You prayed to the Mother that you were wrong.
But Azriel read the thoughts in your eyes and nodded. Feyre could only stand still and Rhysand couldn’t do more than speak out in that dead voice of his.
Andrian had killed those fae, not just to send a message, but because that was the price for going against nature, for being brought back from the dead. Power demanded balance. To stay alive, Andrian had needed others to take his place. Those Librarians and the Velarians hadn’t been murdered. They’d been sacrificed.
What Koschei had done to this boy — what he’d turned him into — made you want to crawl into a dark corner and stay there forever.
Andrian’s sobs died out. A crack of lightning followed by unnerving silence that had Azriel’s blood freezing in his veins. Andrian wasn’t much older than he’d been when he’d first been tossed into that dark cellar. When his brothers had set his hands aflame.
“He loves me,” he declared, as if saying it would make it true. He stayed curled up in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth on his heels. “He stayed when Henna left me. He wasn’t afraid of me like the others. He took care of me.”
But Koschei hadn’t taken care of him. He’d taught Andrian to love him. To worship him, because that’s what he craved above all else. He’d helped the boy control his powers and had allowed him to live so he could send him off to die when it was most convenient. You’d thought Henna was Koschei’s perfect soldier, but you were wrong. Andrian was. He’d been broken and molded into something that should never have existed. He’d been sent to Prythian after his sister’s death to take her place. A boy who would have no choice but to return to the lake or die trying.
And he was dying. You could see it clear as day. Two teeth clinked onto the floor and Andrian’s hands flew up to his mouth. He whimpered, eyes locking on you like you might be able to fix this.
You wanted to beg Rhys and Feyre to do something, to fix him, but it was a useless endeavor. They wouldn’t have brought you here if they could just reach into Andrian’s mind and end it all peacefully. Andrian was too powerful for that. But you could use another way.
You approached him like a wild, injured animal, grimacing when he tried to run at you only for his ankle to twist and then snap. He fell to the floor in a pathetic sprawl.
“Hey there, little feather.”
Andrian paused at that familiar nickname, watery eyes looking up. You said it just like Henna had once upon a time. The same inflection in a differently pitched voice. His lips trembled.
“She left me.”
You shook your head before kneeling on the ground in front of him. He smelled of death. It clung to his linen shirt and trousers. It clung to the few strands of hair still woven into his scalp, skin so thin you could make out his skull.
“She didn’t leave you, Andrian.” You poured your voice out over him, as soothing as you could make it, forcing the tears down. “She thought you’d died and that you’d stayed dead. She had a little ceremony for you out near the willow tree and buried your favorite toy beneath it with a handful of water lilies. Do you remember it? The little wooden doll you dressed up like a soldier with the red cap and the silver shoes?”
He clamped his hands over his ears, shaking his head while his weak neck teetered dangerously atop his shoulders.
“Andrian—” You pulled his hands away and in a bold, dangerous move brought them to your temple and slowly lowered your mental wards. You didn’t give him free reign, but rather guided him through snippets of memories you’d taken from Henna before her death. They all revolved around him. Before, and even after Koschei had poisoned their minds, Andrian had remained her true priority.
The boy’s eyes flashed from anger to confusion then, finally, to despair.
“She didn’t leave you.”
Andrian waited a few moments that had your heart seizing, then rushed into your arms, tightening them like a vice around your shoulders and burying his face in your hair. You held your breath, but tightened your grip. You weren’t his sister, but you were the closest thing he had.
Slowly, like sand falling through an hourglass, you felt his arms weaken and fall from your shoulders. He stared at you, wide and terrified as his hand snapped off at the wrist and fell to your side in a grey heap.
“Make it stop. Please make it stop.”
You smoothed back his hair, shoving down the tears that threatened to fall. His eyes were white now and unseeing. “It’s ok, little feather. It’s ok.”
“I don’t—” Even his voice was crumbling apart. Raspy and broken like cracked glass. He had little time left. The fight in him gone. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go to that dark place. Please don’t make me go.”
Azriel had been watching the entire time, trying not to picture the little boy with dark hair, weak wings, and bandaged hands. He went so, so still.
“Hey, hey, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok.” You promised. You forced your trembling lips into a smile.
He took in a rasping breath. “Will you go with me this time, Henna? Please.”
You gritted your teeth, brows furrowed in an effort to stay here instead of turning and sprinting back to the surface.
“I will. That’s why I came” You brushed his hair away from his forehead, saying nothing when the wispy white strands were torn away from his scalp like silk… just like the memories of Koschei’s lake you plucked from his mind without him knowing. You swallowed the pain of what you knew was coming. “I won’t let you be alone.”
He went quiet after that. Maybe his voice had deteriorated beyond saving, maybe he finally felt at peace. All you knew is that you needed to keep brushing his hair and holding onto his hand when he laid down and placed his head in your lap. He was like a little windup doll that had run out of string. He kept breathing until he finally stopped.
<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->
______________
Author's Note:
So... this was a rather sad one, bit of a tonal shift if you ask me, but I wanted to wrap up the stuff with Henna and Andrian before we continue on to other things.
BUT, you have to appreciate when Y/n walks into what's effectively a torture chamber and goes "yeah, nope, still in love with Azriel." It's just one of those things that gets brushed under the rug but like... this guy's WHOLE JOB is inflicting pain upon people.... and you know what, it's a fantasy book, so who the hell cares. We stan Y/n being supportive of Azriel's career lol
#the shadowsinger and the inkbird#azriel x reader#azriel x y/n#azriel x you#acotar fanfiction#azriel x reader slowburn#azriel shadowsinger
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EEN KOMISCHE ONTSNAPPING UIT VEENHUIZEN IN BEELD
“Het belooft een regenachtige zomerdag te worden. Het is stil om 4.00 uur op de slaapzaal van de gevangenis Esserheem in Veenhuizen, waar ca. 50 gevangenen in hun stalen kooien liggen te slapen. Even later breekt een van hen geruisloos het slot van zijn stalen kooi open en verdwijnt onopgemerkt via het hekwerk en de gracht, die rond de gevangenis ligt.” Daar begint het beeldverhaal van Wouter Winter. Zoals het script voor een film ook losjes op het boek ligt, zo heeft Winter een ontsnappingsverhaal van Clemens van den Brink uit zijn Veenhuizen Trilogie in beeld bewerkt. Het is een korte interpretatie van een langer verhaal, waarbij enkel de meest dramatische momenten in beeld zijn gezet.
Meest opvallend is het slechte weer tijdens de ontsnapping, het regent pijpenstelen en dat kleurt de stemming. Het eerste plaatje van de strip toont een eend achter een geknipt gat in het hek. De eend staat onder meer symbool voor begrip en onschuld. Zal de bajesklant menen onschuldig te zijn en daarom de benen nemen door een gat in het hekwerk? In elk geval gaat hij op de vlucht en slaat een voorbijganger van de fiets, neemt zijn kleren en laat de man ongekleed achter in de stromende regen. Dat is een dramatische bewerking van het oorspronkelijke verhaal, waar de vluchteling een onbeheerde fiets ziet staan en een shirt en broek van de waslijn pakt.
De bewakers die de uitbreker op zijn weg tegenkomt hebben helemaal geen zin in hun nachtelijke doornatte klus. Want Sjon wil liever alleen het hoofd uit het raam hangen wanneer hij iets verdachts ziet. Zijn compagnon heeft meer plichtsbesef. Maar dat de dienst om 6 uur ’s morgens de lege kooi in de slaapzaal had ontdekt blijft achterwege. Dat er een grote zoekactie op touw wordt gezet blijft onbenoemd. Het is de milde confrontatie tussen de enkele mens, het goed en het kwaad. De kern van het verhaal blijft hetzelfde. De gevangene die de bewakers om de tuin leidt. De man blijft kalm onder de druk van de bewakers in hun VW-dienstbusje. Hij laat zwijgend zijn voorband leeg lopen en veinst bij de bewakers een lekke band. Daar zij geen fietsenmakers zijn verwijzen ze hem door naar een boerderij verderop. De boer helpt hem aan een fietspomp voor wat wind in de band, waarna de man fluitend zijns weegs gaat.
“De fortuinlijke fietser hebben ze in Veenhuizen nooit meer teruggezien…”, zo eindigt het verhaal van Clemens van den Brink. Terwijl Wouter Winter de bewakers in het laatste plaatje laat opmerken dat ze niet verwachten dat “een boef zo dom is om op twee agenten af te stappen wanneer hij net ontsnapt is”. Winter heeft daarmee de essentie van het verhaal gepakt: de ontsnapping en de onnozelheid van de bewakers. Dat doet hij in een losse tekenstijl op een zwart raamwerk, waardoor het pakkende verhaal nog boeiender wordt. De donkere achtergrond en de regenstrepen op ieder plaatje maken van de strip een welhaast lugubere gebeurtenis. Winter bouwt de spanning telkens op, iedere pagina van de 6 pagina’s tellende strip heeft een opwindende cliffhanger.
De strip is een levendige vertaling van het verhaal. Dit verhaal is in de volle lengte terug te lezen op de website Bajesverhalen waar meerdere herinneringen van gevangenen en bewakers over Veenhuizen te vinden zijn. Hij is zoon van een gevangenisbewaarder, deze Clemens van den Brink, en groeit op aan de rand van het beruchte gevangenisdorp. Zo kon hij de verhalen welhaast uit de eerste hand verkrijgen, noteren en uitschrijven. Clemens stelde uit al die getuigenisverklaringen een trilogie op. Drie lezenswaardige en meeslepende boeken die de lezer een blik geven achter de schermen van het gevangenisdorp Veenhuizen. Dat wat eigenlijk onder de pet moet blijven krijgt in de bajesverhalen van Van den Brink een podium.
De strip van Wouter Winter, die in dit verhaal van de komische ontsnapping inspiratie vond, is terug te vinden in het maandelijkse stripblad MaXiX. Dit is een betrekkelijk nieuw stripmagazine dat naast gevestigde artiesten ook ruimte biedt aan nieuwe makers. Elke maand brengt de van oorsprong Belgische uitgave een 68 pagina’s vol nieuwe beeldverhalen uit het Nederlandse taalgebied. De spannende vervolgverhalen, verrassende korte verhalen en grappige korte strips verschijnen dan ook zowel in België als Nederland in de stripschappen. MaXiX zegt met de beste strips voor jong en oud een dwarsdoorsnede te geven van wat er op dit moment in stripland te ontdekken is. Naast een keur aan beeldverhalen geeft de redactie ook nog tips om zelf aan de slag te gaan met het maken van strips. In de rubriek “strips tekenen van A tot Z” worden allerlei aspecten besproken.
Wanneer dit beeldverhaal “Bajesverhalen” aanslaat zal er zeker een vervolg op komen, zo meent de schrijver. Er is dan ook voldoende voedingsbodem en genoeg inspiratie voor de tekenaar van 2Wcomics in de boeken van Clemens van den Brink te vinden. Meerdere verhalen zijn zo beeldend geschreven dat ze wel een stripalbum verdienen. Van den Brink is er klaar voor, of Winter dit avontuur wil aangaan is voor hem een avontuur op zich. Het lijkt mij een goede zaak dat de tekst een beeld krijgt, zodat het mysterie van Veenhuizen eindelijk zal worden opgelost.
Veenhuizen, in the middle of nowhere, of in goed Nederlands een of ander godvergeten gat. Het bestond al langer, zelfs van voor de middeleeuwen, maar in het begin van de 19e eeuw werd het echt op de kaart gezet. Een landstreek in het veen tussen het Friese Oosterwolde en het Drentse Assen, waar zich ooit al eens enkele boeren hadden gevestigd in de hoop er goede grond te vinden. De filantroop Generaal Johannes van de Bosch zag er een geschikte plek in om er zijn liefdadigheid te botvieren. Hij stichtte er in 1818 een zogenoemde kolonie om mensen die langs de rand van de maatschappij stonden, zoals landlopers en bedelaars, er een onderkomen te bieden.
Eerst waren het de “nietsnutten” die nut kregen in Veenhuizen. Later, toen de armoede meer naar de achtergrond gedrongen werd, kreeg het dorp een bijzondere plek op de kaart van Nederland. Het werd een bajesdorp, een plek waar mensen met een criminele inborst voor korte of lange duur gedwongen onderdak vonden. Veenhuizen staat ook nu nog te boek als gevangenisdorp. Hoewel vandaag de dag het complex voor een groot deel als museum is ingericht om de unieke plek die Veenhuizen in de geschiedenis inneemt ook in de toekomst te bewaren, want Veenhuizen boeit. Nog altijd.
Beeldverhaal “Bajesverhalen” in stripblad MaXiX. Tekst Clemens van den Brink, tekeningen Wouter Winter. Juli 2022.
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