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waitingonher · 1 month

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ korra and her love languages

i. korra whose love language is physical touch. korra whose love language is physical touch because she finds solace in the warmth of your touch.

if she could, korra would spend the rest of her life like this, with you nestled in her arms as the sun rises to paint republic city in hues of oranges and pinks. there’s nothing like waking up to a beautiful girl next to a beautiful sunrise. korra lays there silently, playing with a strand of your hair.

in about an hour, she has to carry the weight of the avatar, but right now in this quiet corner of the world, korra wants nothing more than to just be ‘(y/n)’s girlfriend.’ and so she does.

her eyes roam over your figure, drinking it all in. how did i get so lucky? from your cascading hair, to your plump lips, to your soft hands that just seem to flawlessy fit in her own, korra never knew it was possible to be this perfect. all her life people have only seen her as just the avatar, but you were the first to see her as just korra. you were the first to treat her as if she wasn’t some expendable end all be all to the world's problems.

“(y/n),” korra starts, the back of her hand grazing your cheek. her voice is barely above a whisper, “i know i don’t say it as much as i should, but you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. i love you so much and i-”

beep. beep. beep.

“stupid alarm.” she mutters, reaching to shut it off.

with a soft groan, your eyes flutter open slowly, the warmth of korra's touch lingering on your skin. as consciousness filters in, you feel the strong arms of your girlfriend pulling you close.

“good morning, baby,” she whispers, placing gentle kisses on your forehead.

with a contented sigh, you gaze up at korra, smoothing out her tousled hair, “mm, good morning.”

she chuckles at your groggy voice before placing a final kiss on your crown. making efforts to rise from her position, she untangles herself from the bedsheets, “i’ll get the tea going. we’ve got a busy day ahead of us,” she sighs.

“korra,” you draw out her name. reaching for her arm, you gently tug on the sleeve of her pajamas, a silent plea for her to stay, “please my love, stay. ten more minutes?”

you flash her your signature puppydog eyes, your lips pulled downwards, eyes widened. and as easily as that, korra’s resolve falters. how can she say no to you? especially when you look so beautiful, your tired eyes looking up at her so sweetly and your open arms inviting her back to the comfort of your touch.

“well…” she gives you that saccharine smile you’ve always been fond of, and that’s when you know you’ve got her, “i guess the world can wait another hour for their avatar.”

and she climbs back into bed.

ii. korra whose love language is quality time. korra whose love language is quality time because amongst all of her avatar duties, she'll always want to come home to you.

the arctic hen sizzles beautifully on the pan as you take in the fragrant aroma of the kitchen. it’s savory from the arctic hen, yet delicately sweet from the cookies in the oven. you dance around, tending to the sea prune stew and seaweed stir fry. checking the clock, it reads 6:46pm, serving as a gentle reminder of korra’s anticipated return by 7:00pm.

everything is perfect.

after all, it is korra’s birthday. it has to be perfect.

you begin plating everything, attempting to replicate the elegant plating from a mover that you had watched over the weekend. a little smear of sauce. some accent dots. and finally…seaweed flakes for garnish. clapping your hands together, you take a step back from the dining room table, admiring your hard work. as if on cue, you hear the front door slide open.

“babe, i’m home! wow it smells really go-”

“happy birthday, my love!" you exclaim, catching korra off guard as you dash over and envelop her in a tight embrace. stepping back slightly, you tenderly sweep a stray lock of hair behind her ear, your eyes overflowing with affection. leaning in once more, you share a deep, heartfelt kiss, your whispered words carrying the weight of your emotions. "i love you so much, korra.”

she swears she’ll never get used to you doing that, her rapid heartbeat a testament to that. korra chuckles, her hands finding purchase on your waist, “i love you too. now, what smells so good?”

her gaze wanders the kitchen, taking in the familiar sights, as you gently grasp her hands, guiding her toward the dining room. as korra enters, a gasp escapes her lips, and she feels a rush of emotion at the sight before her. the table is adorned with an array of dishes, each one a cherished memory from her childhood, meticulously prepared with love.

with a sheepish smile, you guide her to the two wooden chairs at the table, “now i know it’s not a lot. but i asked your mom for the recipes so i hope you like-”

korra shuts you up with a kiss. her hands again find their way to your hips, holding you. and by the look in her eyes, you know that she's been needing this. korra knows she’s never exactly been the best with words, so she hopes you understand what she’s trying to say, “(y/n), it’s perfect.”

you lean into her side, a sigh of relief escaping you, “oh good, i was so worried you’d hate it.”

your girlfriend turns to you, an expression of disbelief painted on her face, “what? babe, i’d love it even if you were a bad cook.”

“what about the time i burned the seal jerky?”

“okay maybe that’s the exception. how do you even burn jerky?”

“hey! you were distracting me!”

iii. korra whose love language is acts of service. korra whose love language is acts of service because when she’s not out there saving the world, she’s making sure her baby is taken care of.

if there were a competition for the worst worst day ever, today’s events would take the cake. first, you and korra totally overslept, thus causing you to be late to your crucial work meeting. after a solid ten minutes of your boss’s scolding, of course, your coworker just had to call out sick, and just like that, you had to complete his portion of the work project. oh and for the cherry on top, your favorite lunch spot was inexplicably closed.

today was not your day, you conclude.

with a heavy heart, you trudge homeward, with nothing but your bothersome chores in mind. fold the laundry, dust the shelves, reorganize the desk…each task more dismaying than the last.

unlocking the front door, your ears are met with the quiet melody of an upbeat jazz tune. that’s strange. there’s never really music playing unless you’re home. then you’re greeted by naga, her gargantuan head nuzzling your side. and it’s even stranger, usually korra’s the first to welcome you home, “naga,” you stroke the top of her head, white fur as fluffy as always, “where’s korra?”

the polar bear dog offers you a hushed bark as her nose points you to your shared bedroom, “thanks girl.”

you find the door closed, the music resonating softly from the room. as the door swings open, you’re met with korra precariously balancing on her tippytoes, diligently dusting the shelves. the rest of the room seems to be spotless, the laundry basket empty and your desk absolutely pristine.

“korra?”

at the sound of your voice, your girlfriend whirls around, almost surprised, “(y/n)! hi! you’re home early.”

you chuckle, her crooked smile on display, “yeah, i spilled stew on my pants so i got to go home,” you gesture to the brown stain on your thigh, “but wait, wasn’t i supposed to do all of this? you only had to do the dishes and clean the bathrooms.”

“yeah, i know,” she lilts. korra’s grin widens as she hops down from the wooden stool, meeting you where you stand. her hands come up to rest on your waist and she plants a sweet kiss on your lips, “but i did them all anyways.”

your astonishment quickly melts into gratitude. maybe today isn’t as bad as you had thought, “but…but when did you even have the time? didn’t you have to meet with the city council?”

korra nods, savoring your reaction, “mhm, but they cancelled, so i came home and got a head start on everything. and plus, i wanted you to come home and not have to do anything for once. i know how much stress your work has been putting on you recently.”

as you stand there, taking in the scene before you, another wave of gratitude washes over you. tears begin to well in your eyes, a floodgate opened by the weight of the day's trials and tribulations, mingling with a profound sense of appreciation for your girlfriend. korra knows all too well what you’re feeling—what it's like when the dam breaks. once more, she pulls you into her tight embrace, sturdy arms enclosing your waist.

“i’m sorry,” you begin, attempting to hold your tears back. korra gives you a sympathetic smile, “i’m happy, i promise. it’s just…everything today was such a big mess. so, thank you.”

“it’s no biggie, babe,” korra states, her hands gingerly wiping away your tears. she places a soft kiss on each tear stained cheek before taking hold of your hand, leading you out to the living room, “bolin’s new mover is out. wanna give it a watch?”

#yay first korra fic #also not proofread at all help #fuck it we ball #the legend of korra #korra x reader #korra x y/n #korra x you #the legend of korra x reader #avatar korra #korra #tlok korra #tlok #tlok fic

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volturissideslut · 6 months

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Lmk if you want a part 2 where they take you to see things and show you their hobbies

Yes Please

𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 (𝕻𝖔𝖑𝖞)

Part 1

"This way, Cara Mia" Aro's arm is linked with yours as he gives you a tour of your home. You had spent many days like this, being choeffered around by your mates as they helped you navigate the maze of hallways they lived it, but this time was different.

This time, they could show you. You could see the marble details that run throughout,you could see the historic relics they had collected and put on show, and you could see the many portraits of the members, your mates and you.

"This one os my favourite" Caius whispers, chin resting on your shoulder as he shows you the newest one he put up. It was you, in a swarm on blues pinks and greens - a distinct redness to your eyes as you stood side by side with Marcus in the gardens.

"When did you have time to make this?" you turn to kiss his cheek, only for him to face you and make you miss and kiss his lips instead.

"this morning" his voice is smug from the affection and the adoring look you give his work.

"You said you paint a lot... Can I see your studio?" there's an excitement on your face that makes him feel alive again, only to leave him pouting when Marcus answers for him.

"Of course you can, Tesoro. But first, it's my turn to show you something, " his smile of warm, a contrast to Caius' blank stare at having the moment interrupted. "would you like to go and see a play? It's something I think you'd enjoy, given your love of stories"

Aro, stealing the thunder, claps and gasps in the background "Oh, Cara Mia! You'll just love what we've picked!"

Somehow, it's becomes twisted and turned into a competition between the three men, Marcus offering to show you all the flowers in the world, Caius offering a global expadition, and Aro insisting he take you to see the stars and tell you about them all.

And though your heart is dead and unbeating, it has never felt so warm.

(you take their bickering as an opportunity to sneak away and put face to name with the guard, sneaking back in just in time for them to tell you the curriculum they've come up with for you. It's great, really, but you may need to convince them that you don't need to see everything in a day. You have all of eternity together)

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daisies-daydreams · 11 months

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Hey, how are you doing?! btw I like your work and If you don't mind can you please write were 141 + könig is defending they're kids while ur scolding at them 👉👈 🥺💞 can you write plz

Word Count: 1.6k+

A/N: Hello! I'm doing fine and dandy today, thank you! And thank you for your request! Honestly, I can see all of the 141 and König being such good papa's. 🥰 I hope you enjoy!

D/N = Daughter's Name, S/N = Son's Name

Simon “Ghost” Riley

“What were you thinking?” you scowled. Simon stood next to you as he shifted his attention back and forth between you and your daughter. (D/N) pouted as she stared at her feet. The walls of your hallway were covered in crayon markings, from unicorns to dinosaurs. You had just put a fresh coat of paint on them a few days ago, too.

“I-I’m sorry,” she sniffled. Your brows furrowed as your face turned beet red.

“Still, you shouldn’t have drawn all over the walls. Mommy worked hard to make it look better and you just messed it up,” you spat. Your daughter suddenly burst into tears. You blinked, regretting instantly flooding your chest. Simon knelt down on one knee just as you opened your mouth.

“(D/N), why did you color on the walls, baby?” he asked while staying at eye level with your little one. She rubbed her eyes and sniffed.

“I-I wanted to make it look pretty l-like Mommy was doing,” she hiccupped as she pointed at the messy mural on the wall. Simon turned to you, raising a brow. You sighed as you dropped to your knees as well. Your husband patted your back, then squeezed your shoulder with one of his rough hands.

“See? She didn’t mean any harm, love,” he said. (D/N) nodded, tears and snot streaking down her face as she gasped in between her sobs.

“I’m sorry I got mad, (D/N). Will you please forgive Mommy?” you asked. She nodded before she came up to hug both of you.

The three of you spent the evening cleaning up the drawings, though you made sure to spend some time coloring with her on actual paper afterwards.

König

Your son’s shoulders were slumped as he held his hands behind his back. You thrummed your fingers against your forearms and you crossed your arms. Shattered glass lay on the hardwood floor, a gaping hole in your living room window. A baseball rested near the opposite wall.

“I-It was an accident,” he stammered. Your nostrils flared as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“You need to be more careful, (S/N). What if that ball hit someone?!” you scoffed. The boy’s eyes were misty as he swallowed a lump in his throat. Your husband suddenly stepped through the back door, a baseball mitt in his hand. He clapped a hand over your son’s shoulder.

“Please, don’t be upset with him, Maus. I was the one who missed catching the ball,” he claimed. Your eyes shifted back and forth between your two boys. You sighed and shook your head, your facial features relaxing.

“Alright-but you’re going to have to clean up your mess while I call about replacing the window,” you said. König nodded. Your son looked up at his father before running to grab the broom and dustpan from the linen closet. You tilted your head as (S/N) gazed up at you.

“It was our game-so we should both clean it up,” your boy said with a firm nod. You and König exchanged small smiles as he grabbed your husband’s free hand and bounded off to clean up.

John Price

Your jaw felt sore from how long you had it dropped. Your son giggled as he did a little dance in place, his entire body covered head to toe in peanut butter.

The same peanut butter you just bought from the store.

Your jaw clicked as you looked at the empty tub at his feet. You took a deep breath.

“(S/N)…What. Did. You. Do?” you asked through gritted teeth. His smile faltered at your sour tone.

“I gave myself a peanut butter bath!” he beamed. “Now you don’t have to clean me up later, Momma!” he giggled as he raised his arms. Your entire body radiated with frustration.

“No, now I have to give you a longer bath because you got yourself all dirty!” your voice suddenly raised several decibels. (S/N) winced.

“What’s all this, then?” your husband, John, asked from behind you. You whipped your head around, tongue twisted too much to even explain what happened. Your son bounced up and down when he saw his father.

“Look, Papa! I gave myself a bath!” the boy giggled. John blinked before bursting into laughter, tears of amusement pricking at the corners of his eyes as he grabbed his stomach. Your anger quickly dissipated as you reflected your husband’s expression, letting out a small chuckle of your own. John wiped at his eye as he stepped forward, scanning your son up and down.

“Your a cheeky lad, you know that?” he mused. Your son laughed as John picked him up and spun him around, not minding the substance that clung to his clean clothes. His sea-green eyes lingered over to you.

“He didn’t mean anything wrong by it, hun,” he shrugged. Your son nodded before licking at the corners of his peanut-butter covered mouth. You laughed.

“You’re right-I’m sorry, (S/N),” you apologized as you came up and kissed his temple. He giggled and swatted at you playfully.

“Momma! That tickles!” he squealed. John chuckled as your son hid his face in his father's shoulder. “C’mon, (S/N)-let’s give you a proper bath,” John said.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

“FUCK!” your daughter’s small voice screamed. Your eyes widened as you snapped your head up. She still wore a cheeky grin as she spilled a few more grapes on the floor before repeatedly shouting the explicative at the top of her lungs. Your brows furrowed.

“(D/N)! No ma’am!” you frowned as you shook a finger at her. The young girl’s smile fell as you proceeded to chew her out. “We don’t use those bad words!” you barked. Her bottom lip trembled as she hid herself under the table.

“It’s not her fault,” your husband said from the adjacent hallway. You turned to him as he walked towards the table. He knocked on the surface a few times. Your daughter replied after a few seconds of silence with her own rhythmic knocks. Johnny smiled as he crouched down and guided her back to her seat. He kissed the top of her head before looking at you. You raised a brow, expecting an explanation.

“(D/N) may or may not’ve heard a certain word from a certain someone…that someone being her daddy,” his cheeks turned slightly red as he rubbed the back of his neck. You frowned.

“You son of a-”

“Careful. Don’t want her learnin’ any more words,” Johnny said with a raised brow and a smirk. You instantly closed your mouth. Your daughter stared at you sweetly, her head slightly tilted.

“Right,” you muttered. You turned back to your daughter. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, (D/N). You’re not a bad girl-we just can’t say bad words like that because it can hurt other people’s feelings. Okay?” you said. She nodded, her face lighting up slightly.

“Okay, Mommy,” (D/N) smiled. She paused for a moment as she hummed to herself, deep in thought. “Can I say ‘ass’?” she asked innocently. Johnny hid a smirk behind his hand as he stifled a laugh.

You're going to kill him.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

(S/N) swung his feet as you strapped him into the booster seat. Your husband cocked his head as you slammed your door shut, your nostrils flaring.

“Everything alright, love?” he asked. You raked your hands over your face as you glared back at your son. He bobbed his head along to the sound of the song playing on the car radio.

All of you were on a family day out when you remembered you had to grab a few things from the store. Your son wanted to come into the store while Kyle had to take a sudden phone call from Price. Your son pointed at the cashier and asked “Momma-why is that lady so fat?”. You couldn’t erase the shocked look on the woman’s face even if you could try.

You apologized profusely as you took your receipt and quickly hurried out of the store, your son complaining that you were holding his hand too tightly. You frowned as you stared at the young boy.

“Nothing. Let’s just go,” you waved as you rubbed your temples. You didn’t have the capacity to have a talk with your son at the moment. You’ll wait until you get home. Kyle shrugged as he put the car in reverse. The ride back home was rather quiet, minus the songs playing and your son singing along. Your husband pulled up to a stoplight, slipping his hand into yours.

“Why was that lady so fat?” your son asked. You slapped your other hand on your leg as you spun your head around.

“(S/N), we don’t say things like that, ever!” you shouted. Your son shrunk in his booster seat, his lips curving into a frown. “That is very, very rude! How would you feel if someone said something like that to you?” you demanded. Your son sniffed as he wrung his hands together.

“Love, please,” Kyle said. Your face was completely red as you looked back at him. “He’s only four-he doesn’t know any better,” he said calmly.

“I-I was just trying to be honest like you told me, Mommy,” (S/N) pouted. You unclench your jaw as you look into your son’s misty, chocolate-brown eyes. You exhaled through your nose as your shoulders lowered.

“It’s good to be honest, son. But we can’t say certain things because it might upset people. We need to be careful with our words,” you explained. Your son tilted his head as he resonated with your words.

“Okay, Mommy!” he said before going back to dancing to the music on the car radio. Your husband smiled at you, squeezing your hand gently as he moved the car forward.

____

Thank you for reading! ❤️

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wally-darling-hyperfixation · 1 year

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The Show Must Go on Darling. Part 2: Wally x Parent GN Reader

@malamilkbeats made this artwork. I like it so much. I hope you like the story. Someone on here has been making boarders and I absolutely adore them and use them. I’ll reference them in another post. I’m now. Making Wally part blue.

You wake up from a jolt in your bed. Your daughter Zoey is bouncing up and down. “ Today we go to the studio! Today we go to the studio,” she squeals jumping up and down. You let out a chuckle and grab her tickling her causing her to grab her stomach. “Yea we are my little silly monkey. We going to have a wonderful day together,” you say laughing as you tickle her. She laughs and surrenders so you stop and she rushes to get dressed for today. You laugh and go the the closet. You have these billowy rainbow pants you been dying to wear but they weren’t work appropriate so you put them on with this nice loose long sleeve white shirt. You put an ascot on (it’s either in your hair as head band or pony tail or on your neck). You slip on some nice leather shoes you had. Comfy and head out to the kitchen where little Zoey was in her tie dye dress waiting. You hum and cook breakfast real quick. Just some eggs and toast and fix her a glass of apple juice. “Go ahead and eat and we will head on out ,” you say setting a plate in front of her biting into your toast. She quickly eats her food gulping it down super fast. You pat her back so she don’t choke. “I’m all done! Can we go ? Let’s go!!!!” She says excited putting dishes in sink running out to car. “Wait , I’m coming,” you laugh grabbing your keys chasing after .

Wally was rubbing his hands nervously. Ronald had made sure that the parent and the little girl were the only ones to show up today. He was pacing on the stage back and forth. The others were so confused about why he was pacing. “Hey Wally, are you ok? You are passing across the stage. You look like you are about to have a panic attack,” Julie says worried. “We just having a shooting today,” Sally says confused. He honestly didn’t want to say why. Not really sure what he was feeling. He just really liked how a parent loved their kid. He was just really excited about the idea of seeing you again. It felt really weird this new feeling. “You can do this Wally,” he says this to himself. He fixes up his hair and looks toward the window fidgeting when he sees the two walking in.

You were confused walking in seeing how y’all were alone . Zoey was so excited. They could get front row and be close up to the window to watch. “Come on. Come on. Let’s sit down (P/N). Please ? ,” she grabs your hand pulling you to the front and y’all sit down. You fix her hair gently and the show starts . This episode seemed to be about painting but you were freaked out cause it seemed like Wally was staring at you. But Zoey was enjoying the show. She watched everyone draw what they loved and they all put pictures and you were just happy Zoey was enjoying it. Wally thanks the viewers for watching and heads into Home. Zoey claps her hands. As you and her head to leave , Mr. Ronald stops by and starts talking. “Did y’all enjoy the show,” he asks. Zoey sets down her bag and starts aching all excited. She explains how she wants to paint and was so happy about the episode and her love of the puppets.

Wally sneaks off the stage and was in the room. He watches the people talk and sees the backpack. He sneaks over and gets over to the backpack. He unzips and climbs in. He really wanted to get to know them. The back pack was picked up and he was watching as they leave. He gives a thumbs up to Ronald as they leave and hides in the back pack. As they drive , he loved listening to your voice. He watches as y’all stopped to get burgers and such to go home. He really wants to see where y’all live. He was so comfortable listening to your voice. He fell asleep for the rest of the way .

Enjoy!!!!!!!!!

#wally darling #wally darling x reader #welcome home #welcome home fandom #welcome home wally #welcome home x reader #welcome home x y/n #wally darling x self insert #wally x y/n #wally x reader

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faeskiss · 24 days

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MY EVERYTHING ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Zaros x reader!

I am not a stranger to weary days, in fact I’ve been nothing but weary for the past couple of weeks…

I cannot for the life of me recall the last time I could peacefully allow myself to lay my head down and give in to sleep, it’s been so long since I’ve had a pleasant dream, cruel and unbearable ones plague me instead, making my nights excruciatingly miserable.

How am I supposed to study and give it my all in the trials if I’m not well rested? Everything in life worries me and I feel utterly powerless, it’s funny actually, how can an earis, someone who’s birthright is power itself, feel devoid of it? It’s all just a big joke

I can clearly hear the storm outside grow worse and worse, lightning cracks and rumbles relentlessly, I usually enjoy rain, but this, this is absolutely terrifying and it’s fuelling my unease by the second

I keep tossing and turning, trying to breathe and collect my thoughts, but it’s no use, it seems my own mind hates me just as much as everyone else.

After a few more torturous moments of pure agony I decide to go outside, I know the storm is raging and growing like wildfire but I can’t stand to be cooped up in my room like this…

I step outside of my room and as soon as I do I am met with a breeze that’s fervently cold, the walls of this palace echo the rage of the storm, it’s truly a ghastly night

I pull my shawl closer to me and wrap my hands inside of it, trying to grasp whatever warmth I can, I slowly pace the halls, passing various rooms, my feet can’t help but abruptly stop in their tracks…

I find myself standing just outside of Zaros’s room and a wave of nostalgia washes over me, I remember all the times we hid from the uproar of the sky, he HATED storms..

I don’t know what’s happening, but it feels like I’m not in control of my reflexes, I immediately go up to the door and knock, knowing full well someone might see or hear me, knowing I’d regret it later

“The earis invited themselves into Zaros’s room the other night, it seems his notorious ways are finally rubbing off on them, what a shame”

Heaven knows what other things these nobles would say, why don’t I ever learn?

The horror of what I’ve done suddenly seeps into me, and before I can even turn around to save face, I am much too late

He opens the door….his green eyes look tired and worn down, the usual charm and gleam is missing in them

“Uhm…..hello?” He asks, obvious confusion painted on his face

I clear my throat, and try to answer

“H-Hello, I- uhm” I reply, absolutely failing to come up with an excuse as to why I am here, in the dead of night, unannounced, barely decent

“You are the last person I would ever expect to show up at my door, in the thick of night” he says with a soft, unexpected laughter

“Trust me, I am just as confused as you are” I reply with a faint laugh

“It seems that I’m finally rubbing off on you huh?” he says slyly

“Oh please! it’s not like that, I-‘’ before I can finish my sentence a loud clap of thunder booms and reverberates through the halls, startling us both

“I JUST don’t want to be alone, during this outpour…….I’m sorry but I just didn’t know where else to go” I say, surprising myself

His eyes soften, and a warm, empathetic smile forms on his face, something I thought I’d never see from him, ever again…

All of a sudden, he reaches for my hand, gently and slowly pulls me in the room, and I just let him

He then shuts the door behind us

I cannot believe that I’m in Zaros Atha’llin’s room……..at night…… the nobles would have a field day if they ever caught wind of this, but the truth is, that I don’t care, when I know I should and that gravely concerns me

“Look, I’m so very sorry I interrupted your sleep, I didn’t-“ I say

“It’s okay, I was awake anyways” he cuts me off

“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask

“You of all people should know how much I loathe storms” he adds

“How can I ever forget” I reply softly

“I see you haven’t grown to like them either”

“Ha! Never” I reply

“I think we should sit down” he says as he moves towards the bed

“ah yes, of course” I reply as I follow him

I seat myself beside him, another frantic wave of nostalgia crashes against me, I always sat next to him back in school….

“I know there’s something troubling you, something other than the storm” he says in a calm yet stern voice

“I- I just” I try to reply, but I just can’t, it’s quite abnormal being vulnerable to him, the last time him and I had a heart to heart was quite simply a lifetime ago

“Please do not feel obligated to talk about it, take your time” he says

“I just have the worst, most obscene amount of anxiety these days, and it only gets worse and worse as the weeks pass” I reply, this took a lot of courage and valour, it took all the strength in me to even say these words to someone

“I-I understand you more than you might ever know, it seems that these trials have not been kind to either of us, the stakes are unachievable and the water’s rough, you are not alone, I feel it too” he says in a somber tone, his expression is filled with gloom

His words shoot right at my heart, making me feel understood and protected, I would have never imagined that anything he’d said would have this affect on me, but I don’t despise it, not even a little bit

“I wouldn’t wish this entire ordeal on my worst enemy…..which,would be you I suppose” he ends his sentence with a unexpected burst of laughter, which in turn makes me laugh too

“I suppose so” I reply, giggling like a child

Me and Zaros, actually laughing together, as if nothing’s ever changed, I never would’ve imagined

“From best mates who are absolutely inseparable to enemies who are fighting for the throne, how the tides change” he says, looking directly at my face, I am unsure of the intention behind his tone

“It’s all written in the stars, what can us mere mortals do about it?” I reply, fidgeting with my fingers

Silence creeps into the space between us for a few moments, it’s absurdly comforting, sitting next to him, I can feel his warmth, it’s familiar and safe, it feels like home….he feels like home

“I cannot believe that I’m actually about to say this, but I feel as if I have to, for my own sanity” he says

“What are you trying to say?” I reply, puzzled as ever

“I-I really wish I never left, I wish I stayed by your side, I wish I never lost the eight years I could have had with you” he says, desperation laced in his voice

I look at him with wide eyes and shock painted on my face, I have a very strange feeling that I know what he’s about to say

“Zaros, plea-“ I try to interrupt him

“No, just don’t!” he snaps

“I have felt this way for quite a while now, and sometimes, it’s all I can think about, I wish we never had that wretched fight in the first place!” He exclaims

I am left utterly speechless by his words, nothing could have ever prepared me for this

“I really wanted you to trust me more!” he adds

That sets me off, how can he ever expect me of all people to trust him? After his relentless insults and torments, he is so delusive

“Don’t start!” I snap

“What? Are you that scared of the truth?” he interrupts

“Well you have not made it easy for me, have you now?” I sneer as I jolt up, out of the bed

“What do you mean?” he replies as he gets up

“How in the name of Gods can you expect me to trust you after everything that’s happened? You agreed to contest against me, we are competing AGAINST each other or have you forgotten? How can I trust you any which ways? You are my rival!” I say with all the anger my voice can muster

“I had no.other.choice” he replies sternly

“And besides is that all I am to you? Just a rival, an enemy you want to overthrow? Or did you forget us and everything we were before our fallout, did all that mean nothing to you? You are deeply imbedded in all my memories, all my feelings, all my thoughts, there isn’t a corner in my soul where I can’t find you….you, you were everything to me, still are” he says

I want to absolutely scream at his words, he can’t just say that and the worst part is I can’t decide if I’m angry with him or yearning for him

“Please….don’t do this” I say, almost in a whisper, my voice shakes a bit

“How much longer are you going to pretend that you were never in love with me?” he snaps

I can feel my heart stop, my mind starts to fog up and I can barely breathe, a dull, crushing gust of pain swims across my chest…that is until I feel a violent rush of anger flow through me, red and fiery

“You…“ I rage

“I-I’m sorry, I went too far, I shouldn’t have-“ he says

“And you want me to “trust” you, I should’ve never come here in the first place” the hurt in my voice is evident and loud, and I might just burst into tears any second

I abruptly turn and sprint to the door, but before I can open it, he yanks my hand and pulls me to him

“I am so sorry, I know I’ve crossed way too many lines, I am a reckless fool, please forgive me, please stay” he says in the most desperate tone I have ever heard

“Give me one good reason why” I hiss

“I can’t” he replies

“I know I’ve caused you nothing but pain ever since I came back, I can see it on your face every single second, minute and hour I am near you, I have no excuse and no reason, I-I won’t force you to stay or do anything you don’t want to, but just know, how very sorry I am, for it all, we don’t even have to speak if that’s what you want, I care about you way more than I can ever express and I can’t handle seeing you so upset, I won’t hurt you, ever again, I promise, no matter what happens after the trials, it won’t change how I feel about you, nothing ever will” he says

I don’t reply, not because I don’t want to but because I just do not know how, my heart is heavy with a feeling I’d rather not feel, especially not for him, but I can not help it

“I don’t expect you to forgive me and-“

I don’t know what comes over me, but I wrap my arms around him in frantic desperation, as if he’s going to run away from me, as if I’m going to lose him all over again…

He slowly envelopes me in his arms, it’s very gentle, I can feel his heartbeat against my own, his warmth is infectiously addicting, I could practically fall asleep like this

“Don’t ever leave me, ever again, do you understand?” I assert

“I promise you with all my heart, I am never going away, my sweet earis” he replies in a soft, honeyed tone as he places a kiss on my cheek

“Zaros” I call to him as I pull away

“Yes?” He replies as he looks at me eagerly

“I have something very important to confess” I say

“What is it?” he replies as his expression grows more serious

“I am so very sorry I called you a leech” I say, not being able to hold back the mischievous smile forming on my face

At that we both erupt into laughter, and I embrace him once again, feeding off of his warmth

“And I’m sorry I called you a palace brat…though you still kind of are one” he says in a playful mocking manner

“Oh please , you love it” I reply in a calm, unbothered tone, my head resting his shoulder

“Yes, yes I do” he replies as he holds me tightly in his arms

#sakuverse #zsakuva #zsakuva zaros #zaros #zaros x reader #this was going to be a soft fic but I don’t know what happened 😭?#I’m sorry if this is bad😭#miss my bby girl zaros so bad

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actual-bill-potts · 9 months

Text

(Continued from this post)

After breakfast, Earwen cleared the plates away. Finrod had attacked his food like one who was starving - and Finarfin supposed he had been, long ago and far away, when he had fallen in the dark - and had seemed a little in shock afterwards. Perhaps it was the absence of the desperation he had felt in his last weeks - Finarfin shuddered again at the borrowed memory - or the ease with which what he wanted could be obtained. Or perhaps he was merely still unused to eating, after so many years without a body. Finarfin had heard that it could be so.

Still, his son leapt to his feet and offered to help. “Please,” he said, “I have done nothing to help you, all yesterday and today.”

Earwen shook her head and clapped him companionably on the shoulder. “You have been back for so little time that I keep stumbling over the sight of you. I insist you let yourself rest, and do nothing for at least one six-day.”

When Finrod still looked doubtful, she had looked over at Finarfin and laughed. “Besides, your father would never speak to me again if I assigned you such a menial duty, when he is looking at you like you hung the Valacirca and set Tilion’s course yourself.”

Finrod met Finarfin’s gaze, startled, and Finarfin blinked back. He realized belatedly that he had indeed been staring at Finrod for far too long. It was just that he was so familiar! So familiar, and so dear! How - how - how had he gone an Age without seeing his children? He did not know. The grief for his other dear ones warred in his heart with the rising crest of joy that would not be denied: his eldest was home! Home, and safe, and himself. It was nearly unbelievable.

Finrod looked as if he were about to say something; but after a moment he dropped his gaze. His eyes so often fell away from Finarfin’s face, as if afraid of a blow, or a rejection. As if there could be one, as if Finarfin would be capable - !

He wanted to explain, to take Finrod by the shoulders and tell him of all the messages he had choked down within himself for years uncounted: for him, for all their children. In the early days he had wandered about the rooms of their old family home like one whose fëa had departed, thinking, my children, my children, I am sorry if I ever said you were too loud; come back, for this house sounds like my father who is dead.

He had sat upon Ingoldo’s bed and thought, my eldest, my son, what will I do without your laugh; had wandered in upon a half-finished painting of Artaresto’s and felt all the colors run together in his mind; tripped blindly over Angaráto’s hunting bow and Aikanáro’s bangle of necklaces, tangled together in the hallway; come upon a little mirror that Artanis had crafted at but twenty years of age and stared into it for an afternoon as if her face would suddenly swim into being, laughing: see, Atar, I have hidden from you again! You are not very good at finding me.

And then the many years after, holding messages for his children that would never - as he thought - be delivered. For Findaráto, it had most often been stories of the court: little exasperations, or funny moments that he thought his eldest would like. For so long, he had turned automatically to Findaráto with little observations or the beginnings of ideas, for his son had a gift for spinning out his tangled thoughts into a beautiful weft and then handing it back to him all shimmering. It had taken him so long, nearly a hundred years into his long exile - for it was an exile, sealed away from his family as much as they were trapped away from him - to break himself of the habit.

But now Finrod was here.

Finarfin shook himself; mustered all the gentleness that was left inside him after forty years of war; smoothed away the lingering frustration and grief that Finrod could not trust him; and said, “Shall we find you a comb?”

Finrod laughed suddenly, and Finarfin nearly jumped. That sound - he had not heard it in so long! The clearness of it!

Finrod laughed again, and said, “I suppose my hair must be a sight. Yes, let us - and help would be most welcome, if you are still willing.”

“Of course,” said Finarfin, and led Finrod up the stairs. He made his way to the chambers he shared with Eärwen and rummaged about for a little before finding what he sought. Then he bustled out again, meeting Finrod, who again was hovering uncertainly in the doorway.

“Let us go to your room,” said Finarfin, brandishing his prize. “There is a new style of brush which is all the fashion in Tirion now. Rather than being sung or carved into shape from wood, it is made of goats’ hair. One rubs a little oil into the bristles before brushing. I have found that it does wonders for how my hair lays, and it makes the braiding much less painful later.”

Finrod’s eyes lit up. “I have seen this before!” he exclaimed. “Well - not this exact comb - but the Dwarves used a very similar implement to care for their beards. I believe it was made of boar-bristles. I wonder that we never thought to use it on our own hair!” His smile turned wistful. “But then, perhaps it is not so surprising. Relations could be - difficult, and there was much else to think about.”

Finarfin thought of the Great War, ended not four hundred years past. He remembered how the dirt and the blood and the filth had worked their way into every crevice he possessed, caking his hair and face - how he had wanted to cut it short, and only kept it long thanks to the advice of his Sindar advisors. He remembered the tiring dull periods between battles, and how there were always warring factions to be kept in check, commanders to be pacified, supply lines to organize, little squabbles to calm, and of course his appearance desired everywhere, for all wanted to know that the king was there, and that he had heard their grievances, and was confident the war was not going ill…

“Not surprising at all,” he agreed at last, softly. “War is - terrible, and tedious, and all-consuming. And you were fighting for a very long time.”

The smile dropped from Finrod’s face. “How easy it is to forget,” he murmured, “that you too went to battle. My gentle father! I am sorry. All our effort, all that pain, and in the end it was - useless.” He looked up at Finarfin, eyes pleading. “I really believed it, you know,” he said. “I believed it, when we set out on the road. That we stood a chance. That we could defeat the Moringotto, or at least hold him back from our home. That I could build a safe place for our people. Yet all was in vain, and you were wiser than I.”

Finarfin stood in the hallway, brush in hand, and felt the words strike to the heart of him. How he had longed to hear that, from anyone! For years uncounted as he had labored alone to build anew the trust between Noldor and Teleri, as Eärwen had looked coldly at him and then turned her face away, as his father was silent in Mandos and his mother retreated from him in grief. He had longed, in anger and then in despair, for someone - anyone - to come back, and say, You were right. I was wrong. I am sorry.

But now it rang hollow. Finarfin did not want that. Not if it came from his son, standing before him tired and in disarray. Not if it was paired with yet all was in vain. Not if it came at the price of Finrod’s tired eyes and hollow cheeks.

And besides -

Finarfin brushed past I am sorry with barely a thought, and said, “You shall not stand before me and name your efforts useless.”

This was another thing he had wanted to say to Finrod, and there was nothing now preventing him.

“Do you know,” he said, “have you thought - how terrible was the onslaught of the Valar in Beleriand! How bright the armor of the Maiar, how shining the eyes of my mother’s people! Círdan trusted us, for Ulmo’s sake; but even Gil-Galad was wary. How much more so the Noldor who were Doomed, the Sindar who refused the call West - to say nothing of Dwarves and Men! We very nearly found ourselves arrayed against an alliance of mortals and Avari before we could strike a single blow against Morgoth. And I do not blame them! How could they trust us, who were so tall and so strange, and came dressed for war?”

He paused to breathe, chest tight. Finrod was staring at him transfixed.

“And then,” Finarfin continued. “They saw me. Or rather - they saw you. They saw you in my face. And at once they laid down their arms.”

He stopped again. The moment was graven in fire on his heart: stepping out bareheaded and pleading in front of a crowd of shaking and dirty Beleriandrim, hoping they would just listen. The utter silence that had fallen. The clatter of falling weapons his son’s epitaph.

“Everywhere I went, I heard the whispers. Felagund. Atandil, Edennil, Friend-of-Men. Angolodh. You came before me and smoothed the way, as a father should do for his son - not a son for his father! There was not a place I could go where I was not gathered close to the hearts of the people. From everyone, I heard of you; by everyone, I was asked about you. Do you know - did you know - how you were loved?”

“Yes,” said Finrod. His breathing was ragged, and grief had settled upon his shoulders like the heavy mantle of his House: proudly worn yet wearying. “Yes. It was the greatest gift I have ever been given.”

“Then - then do not say useless!” said Finarfin. “For it was not. You were not forgotten. The Dwarves of Nogrod allied with us for love of Felagund; the Men of Brethil, for love of Nóm; the Sindar for Finrod the Beloved. I was - I am - so proud. My son! My son, who has surpassed his father!”

Finrod was looking at him with wet eyes. He did not move.

“I did not expect this!” he said at last. “I expected - I do not know. Fury, perhaps. We parted in such anger; and if, as you say, our efforts were not vain, they yet led to pain and death.” His eyes were distant. “My little brothers! Yet you are kind.”

Finarfin, still clutching the comb, crossed the distance between them and gathered the other in his arms. Finrod’s chest rose and fell against his own; his golden head was laid upon Finarfin’s shoulder.

“If you think,” Finarfin said, “that I could ever love you any less, or welcome you with any feeling other than joy, then I think that you have not been paying attention.”

Finrod was still; and after a moment Finarfin stroked his son’s bright head, and said gently, “Come, hinya - let me at least take care of your hair.”

#finrod #finarfin #once again just detailing every fucking minute of finrods return cuz i have incurable brainworms #silm fic #my writing #earwen

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strangemagicc · 6 months

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WADWSH | Chapter Three - Unexpected Visitor

masterlist | <prev | next>

pairings: 2000s!actor!Steve x fem!Reader, 2000s!bestfriend!Eddie x fem!Reader, love triangle, (based loosely on the movie Win a Date with Tad Hamilton)

summary: A Thursday night at The Hideout is interrupted by an unexpected visitor

author's note: Happy Thanksgiving! I'm sorry if this is a day late but life was throwing some curveballs yesterday. I hope you enjoy this chapter 🖤 I did my best to edit it while cooking so if you see mistakes…maybe you didn’t 🥹🖤Comments / reblogs are always appreciated! I will be out of the country so if I don’t respond please don’t think I’m ignoring you xx

warnings: angst, pining

w/c: 4.3k

The Hideout was packed, sweaty bodies pushed together in a crowd close to the makeshift stage that sat near the back of the hole-in-the-wall bar. You sat by the front entrance with Holly, the two of you nestled at a table lit only by the dim glow of the candle placed in the middle.

“So tell me again how he smelled,” Holly leaned in, chin perched in her hands as she looked at you excitedly. It had been nearly a week since your date with Steve Harrington. Nearly seven days spent in normalcy that made the weekend before seem like a dream, something that you’d made up entirely in your head. But there was no dreaming up the way Steve Harrington smelled, the way his hand felt on the small of your back, or the way his lips felt pressed to yours. Soft and sweet like honey. Despite the night of bliss, you’d returned to reality, crash landing into your day-to-day unable to daydream when you got a taste of the real thing. You’d divulged the details of your date to Holly several times over but always excluded the way the night ended, deciding that memory was meant just for you. You laughed at her now, the way her eyes were wide with anticipation. As though this was the first time she had heard it. As though she hadn’t made you smell the array of colognes at Star Court until you found one that was similar.

“Hmm, like bergamot and laundry detergent. Earthy but also like home?” You had trouble putting it into words but it stuck with you all these days later. Holly sighed dreamily, and you took a sip of your drink. Wincing slightly as the liquor hit your throat and the warmth settled into your stomach. You rubbed your sweaty palms over your jeans and tipped your head up as the crowd cheered, Corroded Coffin taking center stage. Eddie had an enigmatic energy about him, brown eyes hidden behind curly bangs taking in the crowd. One that had grown from five drunks to a swarm of people from out of town and he ate it up. Satisfied grin slotted into place as he greeted them. Exposed alabaster skin glowing under the stage lights, ink creating shadows on his arms. You cheered from your space at the back of the bar, the same place you’d sat since high school so he’d know where to find you. He looked your way, grin growing wider as he spotted you. His best friend and forever fan. You raised your drink up at him, your smile matching his. Wide and sincere. Happy and exuberant. The lights lowered to a deep blue painting everyone in a ghoulish glow.

“I hope we have some Radiohead fans here tonight,” the crowd roared and you clapped with a raised brow.

“I’m glad,” Eddie chuckled, “we aren’t in the habit of playing covers but I thought we might mix things up tonight,” he cleared his throat and looked towards his bandmates.

“Anyways this is Thinking About You by Radiohead,” the crowd clapped again. An acoustic guitar started, a turn from their usual sound. Eddie’s eyes were closed, foot tapping lightly as he listened to the sound. You rested your chin in your palm and watched him. Eyes tracing the lines of his strong shoulders and the swell of his biceps. His voice came through the microphone, a smooth baritone. Captivating and melancholic. He always had a presence on stage, one that pulled everyone in and kept them focused. Hypnotized. And you were always just as affected. Heart hammering against your chest as you heard his pain.

But I'm still no one

And you're my star

What do you care?

Eddie kept things close to chest, he never talked about crushes or dates. Never discussed make-outs or hookups, the entirety of his dating life shrouded in mystery and you wondered who this was about. Who had affected him, caused the sorrow in his voice as you watched him scan the room. His amber eyes were on you and everything else faded, blurred around the edges.

But I’m playing with myself

And what do you care when the other men are far, far better?

You swallowed the lump that had formed, blinking rapidly until you were back in the room with everyone else. Eddie’s eyes were still on you, watching as you chugged your beer. Chest heaving. And then your gaze met his, held it the rest of the song. He wondered if you knew, if you understood that it was for you. That it was about you. This song and the ones that he wrote.

“What a set,” you greeted Eddie beside the stage, hands placed in your back pockets as you looked up at him. Holly stood back, chugging her beer as she scanned the room. Looking for someone to help keep her bed warm tonight. Eddie’s bangs stuck to his forehead in sweat, exposed pale skin glistening as beads of perspiration rolled down his abdomen. His jeans hung low exposing the deep v line that disappeared into the denim. You swallowed hard as you looked at him, traced the muscle of his abdomen and the long stretch of his legs wrapped in tight black accentuating the muscle of his thighs. Eddie watched you, smirk growing the longer your eyes lingered on his frame. He cleared his throat, watched as your gaze went wide and cheeks grew a shade darker.

“If only those record execs thought the same of our demos,” he laughed, “What did you think of the first song?” He questioned, hands busy as he worked to help pack away instruments.

“I just need to know who I should fight for making my best friend sad,” you squished your eyebrows together so you’d look intimidating but he only found you that much more adorable.

“She’s a sweetheart, doesn’t deserve to catch those weapons,” he pointed to your hands and tried to hide the way his grin sank at the realization that you still didn’t get the clue. Holly looked at the two of you, lips circling her beer bottle as she chugged and watched both of you dance around his confession.

“Doesn’t seem like it if she makes you feel like that,” you shrugged and Eddie only chuckled. Humor not quite meeting the melodic sound.

“She is, trust me,” he winked at you and finished winding amp cords and packing away instruments. You opened your mouth to ask more but Holly stepped in, arm resting on your shoulder as she shook her empty bottle at Eddie.

“Eds, why don’t you be a gentleman and ask your favorite bartender for some freebies,” the blonde blinked up at him and he shot her an annoyed glance.

“Not happening tonight,” he brushed her off.

“Please,” she begged.

“What if I play you for a free round?” You joined in, loving the way he hated this game.

“Only one game, loser has to buy drinks,” he pointed a stern finger at you as Holly clapped her hands in excitement. Eddie threw a shirt on, black material clinging to the spots where he was still wet and led the way to the dartboard, grabbing the darts before handing them to you.

“Ladies first,” you reached to grab the darts from him but he pulled away, brown gaze trained on you.

“And no cheating this time,” he stated sternly and you rolled your eyes.

“I never cheat, you just always lose,” you teased as you grabbed the darts and stood behind the line of tape that marked your spot. Your first arrow landed single bullseye.

“Lucky first throw,” Eddie waved a dismissive hand and watched as you threw the second. It landed on the triple ring giving you twenty-four more points, totaling forty-nine.

“I don’t know Munson, looks like you’re getting us some free drinks,” you were cocky and he loved the way it painted your features. A smirk pulling on your plump lips, single eyebrow raised as you stared him down. He would lose over and over again if it meant that you’d always look at him like that. You threw another dart but it didn’t land and fell to the ground.

“Tough luck, sweetheart,” Eddie whispered from behind you and your breathing faltered for a brief moment. You threw your last one, watching as it landed. Another single bullseye.

“Beat that,” you turned to look up at him from beneath your lashes. Gaze a little taunting.

“Easily done,” he walked towards the dartboard and pulled them out, bending down to pick up the one you’d missed. You stood next to Holly, chugging down the last of your drink as you looked around the bar. Taking in the familiar faces, head bobbing to Todd Rundgren playing on the jukebox. Eddie lined himself up, black boots hitting the tape. He concentrated, the sharp lines of his face smoothing as he aimed. You walked up behind him and watched over his shoulder, chest pressed to his back. Lips inching closer to his ear.

“Miss, miss, miss,” you taunted and watched as his dart landed in the wood of the wall next to the board. Holly cheered and your hands shot up in victory. He only had three other chances to beat your score. Eddie turned to you, a glare set into his features.

“You are such a cheater,” he remarked, finger pointed at you once again. Your shoulders met your ears, feigning confusion at his accusations.

“I’m literally just standing here,” you laughed at him. The way his eyebrows were slightly quirked and his lips were twisted as he looked at you. Quiet murmurs filtered through the bar, people stilling in their seats or where they stood. You were caught up in your game with Eddie, poking at him every time he turned to throw a dart. Completely ruining his game. Holly gasped and caught your attention, her blue eyes trained on the front door. Both you and Eddie turned towards the entrance, watching as a figure walked through the crowd. A head of caramel brown waves you’d recognize anywhere. Steve looked around the space, eyes brightening when he finally spotted you. Eddie watched as you walked towards the actor, mouth slightly agape and surprise written on your face. Steve approached you, hands in the pocket of his blue jeans. Green shirt tight on the muscle of his biceps, the color accentuating the emerald in his hazel eyes. He was a little more sun-kissed than when you saw him last weekend, slightly more shy than your first introduction. Unsure of himself.

“W-what are you doing here?” You stammered, eyes darting to the dozens that were now on the two of you. Steve brushed at the back of his head, eyes focused behind you. Eddie’s glare not lost on him.

“I came to see you?” It came out like a question, as though he was worried he was overstepping. Your widening grin erased any doubts, your happiness contagious and he mirrored your smile. Holly was blubbering from her spot at the table, unable to form a coherent thought let alone a sentence. You turned to her and back at Steve.

“Steve this is my friend Holly.” The blonde jumped from her barstool and pulled her jean skirt down as she approached him. Hand extended to shake his.

“Nice to meet you, Holly,” he greeted and she giggled uncontrollably as their palms met. Schoolgirl giddiness taking over and you eyed her with concern. Unable to produce an explanation for her short-circuiting but Steve was used to it. You turned to Eddie, confusion creating lines in your forehead as you registered his expression. Annoyed and bothered.

“Um, this is my other friend Eddie,” you introduced them apprehensively. They shook hands, Steve shaking and flexing his hand when he withdrew it. As though Eddie nearly crushed it in his grasp.

“We were just playing a game of darts,” you pointed out, “Eddie was going to get us drinks if he lost.”

“I can buy us a round,” Steve offered and Eddie smacked his teeth. You turned to him curiously but he was looking towards his bandmates. Seeking an escape, his perfect night ruined.

“Count me out, the band and I have to get the equipment back.” Eddie pointed his thumb towards his group mates who were drinking at the bar. In no way looking as though they were prepared to leave.

“Um, okay. I’ll see you at work tomorrow?” You stepped away from Steve and stood in front of Eddie. His expression softened as he looked at you and nodded.

“Yeah see you tomorrow,” he pulled you into a quick hug, eyes trained on Steve. You wrapped your arms around him, squeezing his middle before you let go and turned to Holly.

“What about you, staying for drinks?” She looked between you and Steve, a knowing smirk and a shake of her head.

“I’ve had my eyes on the brunette sitting at the bar, think I’ll try to get her to get me one,” she shrugged and turned to grab her things. She kissed your cheek and whispered in your ear.

“Be careful,” and you nodded in response, watching as she slid into the seat next to the dark-haired girl with her elbows perched on the bar. You turned back to Steve, a smile working its way back onto your features.

“I’m sorry if I crashed your night,” he grimaced but you shook your head.

“A very pleasant surprise,” you insisted and looked around the bar. Several pairs of eyes were still on the two of you.

“Do you want to get out of here? Maybe grab a bite?” Steve looked at you with a broadened grin, one that made your knees a little weak the longer his eyes were trained on you.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” The two of you weaved through the small mass of people, his hand on the small of your back like a habit and you mellowed in the warmth of his palm. Steve showed you to his car, an older convertible BMW. Maroon and sleek. Pristine for its age. He opened the door for you and closed it behind you after you were comfortable in the leather seat. You watched as he jogged around the front and slid into the driver’s side. The tension was present, palpable, a buzzing in the air that exploded when your gazes met.

“Should we go to Benny’s?” And you forgot that this was his town, that he knew it just as well as you did.

“Are you hankering for another burger?” You teased, avoiding his gaze as you looked out the window. The breeze welcomed against your flushed skin.

“And we can share a shake,” he suggested, putting the car into reverse and leaning into the center console. His scent hit you, bergamot citrus and a hint of his laundry detergent. He smelled like summer nights, sunset walks and home. Comforting.

“Only if it’s a chocolate one,” he turned to you. Smile wide, breathtaking. God, he was beautiful.

“A chocolate shake it is,” and the two of you drove off. Breeze rippling through the opened cabin, stars shining down on the two of you. He kept his arm placed in the middle, palm up. An invitation, a silent question and you inched closer. Working up the courage to take his hand in yours. Your fingers danced across his skin, working into the slots between his until they were flush. A perfect fit. As though his hand was molded for yours. Your pulse thrummed in your wrist, butterflies soared in your abdomen and it wasn’t because he was Steve Harrington, a-list actor. It was because he was Steve Harrington, the first guy to make you feel like romance wasn’t just made for the movies.

Benny’s interior was much the same as when Steve was younger. The blue vinyl seats had a few more tears, laminated floors a little more scuffed but the waitress was the same one he saw the last time he was in town. Red hair with gray streaks forming at the crown, a crooked smile with a small mole just above her lip. Uniform a little more snug than before and accentuating her curves. She greeted Steve with an ecstatic smile, wrinkled hands gripping his forearm as she did.

“Stevie!” And he returned her excitement.

“Jude, I didn’t know you still worked here,” he placed his palm over her hand and squeezed softly.

“Oh, how could you? Packed up and left us ordinary folk behind. Became a big star,” she waved her hands in the air as if to accentuate her point. He nodded at her, politely agreeing with her observation.

“I’m very happy to see you,” he remarked instead.

“And you brought someone with you?” Jude peeked over Steve’s shoulder at you. Glossed smile meeting her eyes before she turned back to Stevie.

“Still bringing the girls here, huh?” She whispered though you heard her clear as day. You saw his ears go red, and you covered your laugh with a cough. His old reputation as King Steve not lost on you.

“This one is different,” he tried to whisper back but failed just as she did and she nodded at him.

“Of course she is,” she agreed, “real pretty too.” Jude grabbed two menus and began walking towards a far-off booth. There were only two other booths occupied, one by an old married couple and the other by a group of teenagers. Each group looked at the two of you curiously as though they were trying to place the two of you, wondering why you both looked familiar. You watched as recognition dawned on them and their eyes lit up, mouths widening as Steve Harrington walked past them in their town’s nearly dilapidated diner. Despite his roots, there was an air about him that screamed he didn’t belong. Steve slid into the vinyl seat opposite of you and grabbed his menu from Jude.

“I’ll get you some waters to start,” and she was gone. Leaving the two of you in silence and staring at your menus. The butterflies were an endless eruption at your center, wings unfurling as new ones blossomed. It felt like the first drop of a roller coaster, stomach flipping and heart racing as it tried to catch up with the rest of your body. You couldn’t think about eating, too many questions swirling in your mind. Too many things you wanted to know.

Steve laid his menu down first and rested his elbows on the table. He played with his bottom lip, pulling at it absently as though he was also debating what to say. You placed your menu on top of his and hid your hands under the table wringing the hem of your shirt. Jude returned with your waters, straws plopped between the perspiring glasses.

“Already decided on what you’re going to eat?” She pulled her notepad out and clicked her pen looking at you expectantly.

“I’ll just take a basket of fries and a chocolate shake,” Jude scribbled the order down.

“Two straws?” And you looked to Steve who smiled at you encouragingly, not going back on what he said in the car.

“Please,” you nodded at the older woman who then turned to him.

“And for you handsome?”

��Double cheeseburger, no mustard. And could you bring two plates?”

“Sure thing,” she ripped the order from the pad and walked away towards the window that separated the front of the house from the kitchen. Bell ringing as she alerted the cook to the new order.

“So,” you began and Steve raised his eyebrows at you.

“What brings you into town?” You ignored his previous confession, not able to believe you were the only reason he was here. He pulled at his hair, muscles flexing with his movements.

“Uh, just needed to get away,” he laughed awkwardly.

“And you came to Hawkins for a vacation?” You giggled and grabbed for your straw, unwrapping the paper and plopping the plastic into your water.

“Hawkins has a certain draw to it,” he shrugged and looked to you. His hazel eyes conveying a message he was working to put into words.

“A certain draw?” You leaned in, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it again.

“Wanted to see you again,” he moved closer to you, elbows sliding along the tabletop.

“One date wasn’t enough?” You let out a choked laugh and took a drink of your water. Heart thumping as you began to pull at your fingers. He grabbed your hand more easily, thumb rubbing across your knuckles.

“No, truthfully it wasn’t,” he shook his head, eyeing the tabletop as he continued.

“On our date, when we were at the beach, it was the first time that the world around me faded away. God, I know that sounds cheesy but it was the first time in a long time that I didn’t care about the pap shot or the next day’s headlines. I just felt at peace, the version of myself that I want to be,” he looked back up at you now. A little more exposed, mossy eyes vulnerable and anticipating your scrutiny.

“And what version is that?” You rubbed your thumb against his palm in encouragement.

“Just Steve,” he let out a small chuckle and you squeezed his hand.

“I like just Steve,” you agreed. Before you could say more you were interrupted by Jude announcing her presence, reciting your orders as she pushed your plates onto the table. You hummed as you dipped a fry into a dollop of ketchup and savored the saltiness. Steve split his burger in two and slid a half across to your side. You looked up at him a little confused.

“In case you wanted more than fries,” he pointed at your half with his knife before placing it down and digging into his. You smiled to yourself in satisfaction as you nibbled on your burger and drank long drags of your chocolate shake. Not sharing as much as you’d promised but Steve didn’t mind.

The two of you walked hand in hand back to his car, the small glow of the moon guiding you. You weren’t ready for the night to end or for Steve to let go of your hand. He stopped in front of the passenger door and smoothed his palms up your arms, goosebumps sprouting where they touched.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” You nodded instinctively and eyed the plush of his lips.

“I can pick you up in the morning?” You nodded but then remembered.

“No,” you shook your head and hid your face.

“Is the afternoon better?” He asked a little confused as you continued to shake your head.

“I forgot that I have to work tomorrow,” you looked at him with a jut of your lip, disappointment coloring your features. Steve rubbed reassuring circles into your flesh and brought you closer.

“That’s okay, we can do something after if you’re not too tired.” You nodded at him, eyes trained on his sincere gaze.

“I won’t be too tired,” you promised.

“Great, I will pick you up at eight,” he leaned closer to you. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your pout, the whisper of his lips against yours.

“Sounds perfect,” you agreed and pushed onto your tiptoes to close the space. His lips melded into yours. Slow and sweet like cinnamon. His hands moved to your face, thumb brushing against your jaw and fingers curling in your hair. Your hands tangled into his shirt pulling at him as the kiss deepened. You wanted more than before, needed more. His thumb pulled at your mouth asking for permission and you granted him access. Tongue flat and wet against his. You hummed in bliss, getting lost in his kisses until you were lightheaded and in need of air. He pulled away, pupils a little blown, fingers splayed against your cheek. Rubbing against the softness of your skin. Your chest was heaving, lungs desperate for oxygen but eyes locked on his.

“Fuck, I’ve been thinking about kissing you since the night at the beach. Wished I had kissed you more,” he confessed and you smiled a little dumb. Goofy grin wide at his sincerity.

“I’ve been thinking of you too,” you revealed. He kissed you once more, a soft peck against your lips before he pulled away to open your door.

“I should get you home,” you slid into your seat, fingers rubbing against your lips as if you couldn’t believe it. Steve plopped into his seat, started the car, and drove you home. Your hand wrapped in his, the wind whirring as the two of you drove in starlight. He pulled up in front of your trailer and helped you to the front door. An excuse for another kiss, a proper goodbye.

Eddie had heard the noise of a car, saw the headlights stopped in front of your place and became curious. He moved to the front window of his shared trailer and pushed the curtains open. Heart in his throat when he noticed you tangled in Steve’s arms, lips locked together. Eddie dropped his head as he closed the curtains, turning towards the kitchen and grabbing a beer before he moved the couch. He stared at the remote propped on the makeshift coffee table, a little sullen. A storm raging in his head. It wasn’t just a little crush, Eddie loved you something big but he could never admit it. Worried about ruining your friendship but now he agonized over the truth because now either way he stood a chance of losing you. He chugged the rest of his beer, adamant that he’d confess.

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minhosimthings · 6 months

Text

Fault

Prompt by @banghyunchanji : Imagine when Chan finds out that your manager is making you perform the day after you have a miscarriage.

Pairings - Idol!Husband!Chan × Soloist!Fem!Wife!reader

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, reader has a miscarriage, angst with a shit ton of comfort, mentions of food, chan has a nightmare

A/N: saw this one gif and I just had to write it! I don't like the way I wrote the ending much but I think this was my favorite descriptions to write. Thank you to @banghyunchanji for the prompt! I hope all of you like it.

"Channie-" you gasped for air. The lilac painted room, your favourite colour, seemed to be whirling around and you swore you could see the moon dancing up in the sky through the magnificent windows. Why was the moon shining tonight? Why were the city lights still turned on? Why were the buildings still stinking of coffee? Why wouldn't the world stop for you?

More under the cut

"Channie- I-Im-" Chan immediately pulled you into his chest, engulfing you in a warm comforting fire, as all the crystals you've held in your eyes started coming out. Chan felt the fabric of his shirt getting wetter and wetter, but he couldn't care less. His eyes were bloodshot, illuminating his dark circles, from all the days you got him back home at midnight from the studio.

"Shh princess. Shh, it's alright it's alright." Chan rubbed circles on your wrist, always a way of calming you down, "I'm here. I'm here." He tried to keep his voice from cracking.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Your voice tried to be stable, and your soul tried to stop itself from bleeding. Chan's heart broke into a more than a million pieces, probably enough to scatter the entire world. "Baby no~" he shushed you, his voice as warm as a freshly baked pecan pie, your favourite wasn't it? "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's. No shhh don't cry baby, you're still very weak." He held you tighter, as your tears dried up, "you'll only get weaker. Have some water, come on."

Chan got you up slowly, hands resting on your waist, trying not to float over to your stomach, where stitches lie, tightly packed, but still bleeding gold. He pressed a glass of water to your lips, gently lifting it, so that your throat could get a drop of hydration.

"thank you." You whispered, laying back down on the bed. Chan smiled gently at you, a weak attempt at calming you down. You could see the rotten pain in his smile, his dimple shining less than it usually did. "It's alright." He mumbled into your ear, as you wrapped your arms around him, as he spoke a lie which would perhaps become a disguised truth, "Everything's gonna be alright."

The next day

"Alright Mrs Bang," the doctor clapped her hands together, rearranging her stethoscope around her bruised neck, "Your tests are looking good. I think you're free to go home today! But please-" she turned to Chan, who had his hand wrapped around your shoulder, "-make sure she doesn't do any physical activity. I know, her being a top class soloist is hard, but she absolutely cannot do any physical activity until her next checkup." Chan smiled gently at the doctor and shook her hand bracingly. "Thank you Dr Yang. And I'll make sure she doesn't even move a limb until you say so." Dr Yang laughed heartily and moved out the door, chan following behind her, while a nurse removed all the saline bottles hooked up to your veins. "Thank you." You said, as she threw all the bottles into the bin. She looked like a warm presence, with her hair tied into a bun, exactly how your mother used to do it. "It's alright." She fidgeted with her fingers. She mus'nt have been older than you, probably three or two years younger. "Uh Ma'am?" She approached, "I know it's insensitive to ask you in such times like this. B-but-" she looked down at the floor, "my little girl, she's 15 and she really loves your songs a-and her birthday is coming up and I saved up enough to buy her one of your albums." Your heart warmed at her words, distracting you from what happened the night before. "It really would mean the world to me if you could sign the pc. I would love to see her this weekend, since we haven't been talking much." You smiled at her and took the pc she offered you. You traced the frame of the pc and laughed at your younger self posing for the photo, dressed in a tube top that would barely fit you now. "Here you go." You handed the pen and the pc back to the nurse. "May I ask, you seem so young to have a child? Were you-" you lingered in the last words as the nurse smiled again. "Got pregnant when I was 16." She let out a chuckle. "Couldn't let my baby go, so I endured it for nine months, and now she lives with another family. I visit her from time to time to give her gifts and remind her I still exist. She's started calling me mom now!" Your heart engulfed in flames hearing the nurse's words. The excitement with which she talked about her daughter was so melodious to you, like hearing one of Chan's songs before the rest of the kids did. It was like that word you read once what was it what was it? Ukiyo! The Japanese word. To be unbothered by the duties of life, when your heart tells you to. A beautiful word, you thought. Languages really are pretty, more prettier when you notice for the first time, that you weren't alone.

"Baby can I lie down on the bed for a minute?" You had finally reached home after what seemed like the longest drive of your life. It felt lonely, to have nothing in your arms instead of having a crying baby. You didn't mention a word of it to Chan. True, letting go is easier than keeping it in, but as you looked at his bloodshot eyes and remembered Minho telling you in secret about how much your husband wept, you decided to keep it in just a little bit.

"Sure darling." Chan guided you slowly to the bedroom, his arms holding you so tight yet so fragile, "I'll wake you up when you need to eat alright?" He kissed your forehead as you hummed in response, drifting off into peacefully troubled sleep.

"Ahh fuck." You groaned as you woke up. You checked the time on your phone. It hadn't even been fifteen minutes since you slept. You decided that it was best to wake up and go outside to your husband, instead of laying in bed with your pillow giving you the worst ideas.

"Ch-channie?" You voiced out, nervously stepping into the kitchen. You couldn't see a broad shouldered figure clad in black anywhere in the kitchen, so you gave up your search there and instead strolled over to the living room.

There he was. Dozing off on the sofa, without a blanket. You smiled at him gently shivering every now and then. You could hear him muttering something in his sleep.

"No- not- fault", he kept muttering, "ocean-give the". He started shivering a little more violently, and you could see his fingers start to fidget. You sighed and went over to his sleeping figure, and upon closer inspection you saw that his eyes were twitching uncontrollably.

"Baby?" You shook him gently, to which he groaned but still didn't open his eyes. "Channie wake up." You shook him more harshly this time. "Wh-what?" He mumbled, slowly opening his eyes and blinking up at you, as he usually did on the rare times that he fell asleep. "Baby were you having a nightmare?" You plopped down next to him on the couch and wrapped a blanket around both of you. As if it was a natural response, Chan wrapped his arms around you and buried his head into your neck. "Just had a dream about the ocean." He mumbled into your neck. "Alright Mr Huggabear." You chuckled, feeling his breath on your neck, "How about we order something hmm?" Chan nodded, still not removing himself from the crook of your neck.

You picked up your phone and quietly tapped your fingers on it, ordering all of Chan's favourites, without him knowing, as he was still deep in your neck. "I'll pay." You heard him mumble, trying to stifle a yawn. "It's alright baby." You stroked his curly hair, "I already paid so you don't hav-"

The sound of the bell echoing through your house slightly startled you. Was the delivery man already here? That was certainly quick, you thought as you decided to give the delivery man a tip for his speed.

"I'll go darling. You sit." Chan finally got up, rubbing his eyes. You smiled up at Chan and got up anyways to turn the tv on, switching to the last episode of Hannibal.

"Uh baby?" You heard Chan call your name from across the house, "Paul's here!"

Paul was one of your many managers, the main one you could say. And yes, only ONE of your many managers, because a world class soloist has got to have atleast a hundred of them right?

"Hey Y/N!" Paul walked in casually, followed by some members of staff. You felt slightly uncomfortable having so many people in your house, but like a good Samaritan, you kept it in. Chan followed behind.

"Nice of you to drop in Paul." Chan smiled, "Please do sit down." Paul plopped down on the sofa opposite you as Chan sat down next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. "What can we do for you Paul?" You smiled gently. Paul brushed a hair out of his face and pulled out a paper, giving it to you. "So I got the schedule for your shows." Paul smiled brightly, "Tomorrow you'll be performing in Busan and for the next month-" "I'm sorry can we pause for a moment?" Chan's stern voice shut Paul up. "She can't perform." He took the paper from your hands, and gave it back to Paul, "She's on maternal leave you know that right?" Chan eyebrows were furrowed and anger was starting to creep up to his face. You put your hand on his, a weak attempt to calm him down.

"Now now-" Paul laughed awkwardly, "no need to get angry Mr Banhg. But this is entirely Y/N's buisness not yours." "Excuse me?"

You felt Chan visibly shake beside you. "Channie-" you whispered, in a vain attempt to calm him down. "This is my buisness, she's my wife incase you didn't know. And she just had a miscarriage, so could you atleast pretend to be sympathetic, you fucking Asshole?" Flames seemed to erupting from Chan, as Paul scoffed, looking offended. "Mr Bangh I really suggest you not use such language." "And I suggest you leave right now." Chan fired back, as you watched the scene unfold, not being able to do anything, "Tell PD Nim that she cannot perform and whe most certainly will not."

"Mr Bangh." Paul started, but Chan was quicker in his words. "Nothing you say will convince me to let her go so please I suggest you leave."

"Whatever." Paul scoffed, getting up along with the rest of the staff and swinging his bad over his shoulder. "When she loses her fans because of her laziness, don't tell me I didn't tell you so." You could have punched Paul right then and there and you were going to if Chan hadn't gotten to him quicker. The glass vase on the round table fell off and shattered noisily as Chan slammed Paul into a wall. You heard gasps from the rest of the staff members and you rushed over to Chan, holding him by his arm and whispering "let him go Channie he's not worth our time" into his ear. Chan begrudgingly let go of Paul who adjusted his collar quickly and scampered out the door, along with the staff. "Hey!" Chan called out to the last staff member who was about to leave. She turned around quickly and bowed to Chan. "Tell JYP that Y/N will be on a hiatus for the next three months and Bang Chan from Stray Kids will also be on hiatus for very related reasons. Put emphasis on the related. Got it?" The girl nodded frantically and rushed out the door.

"Chan" you sighed heavily, "Alright that slamming into the wall was hot, but what was the hiatus about?" Chan meekly smiled up at you, a total contrast to how he was five minutes ago. "You're not going anywhere nor are you doing anything related to performing in three months. You're staying at home and I'm feeding you chocolate and hugs and kisses until you die." You laughed heartily and plopped down onto the couch, getting the food that had magically appeared at the doorstep.

"I love you Channie." You rested your head on his shoulder, leaning into his warmth. "I love you too babygirl." Chan kissed your forehead, "More than you could ever know."

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popjunkie42 · 6 months

Text

Enchanted, Enthralled

I couldn't help it, Halloween weekend is upon us so I wrote you some smut as a treat.

(This is meant to be 3 chapters but tbh I do not have an ending yet, so please enjoy it as a little one-shot for now!)

Enchanted, Enthralled on A03

On a cold autumn night in Velaris, Feyre comes across a beautiful gift in her studio. But as a painting takes on a terrifying life of its own, Feyre begins to realize that not all is well. The question is: how long will her mate and friends take to notice, and will it be too late?

Or: Vampire!Feyre is let loose on an unsuspecting Rhysand.

Tags and Heads Up: Vampire!Feyre, vampire sex (with blood), dubcon (Feyre is possessed)

@rosanna-writer and @thesistersarcheron peer pressured me (they did not) and thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher and @xtaketwox for brainstorming with me!

Feyre wandered the streets of Velaris, chasing the fading sunlight, her boots crunching on fallen leaves.

The fall night air was chill as it twisted through the streets and snuck beneath her coat, the fabric of her skirts. Above her, the full moon hung low and heavy in the sky, its light shimmering off the cobblestones damp with mist.

The air around her was full of the scents of autumn, of cider and smoke and mulled wine.

Feyre loved Velaris in the autumn, the brisk cold beaten back by glowing hearths and warm meals at her table. So different from before, when she was hungry, when autumn was the harbinger of winter. Of harsh times and empty pantries.

Or…after that. In endless Spring. Where all was quiet and stagnant, even in ever bloom.

She rounded a corner and took a moment to appreciate the Rainbow, glowing before her under the cold starlight.

In the evenings, when there wasn’t dinner with the Inner Circle or some formal social event demanding a High Lady, Feyre liked to come to the studio. Knew she would have the place entirely to herself.

The door shut with the ring of a bell and she lit the fae lights in the room, the rest illuminated by the burning night lights of the city street.

The High Lady smiled as she doffed her coat and wandered through the maze of easels covered in the children’s paintings. She pulled off her gloves and scarf and set them gently down on her work bench on the far side of the room.

And paused. The usual mess was here, brushes and new supplies and paperwork and little gifts from the children. Sometimes Ressina teased her for the disorganized piles, but Feyre liked it. This was one of the few places she could spread out and destroy as well as make, without Nuala or Cerridwen or hell, even Rhys sometimes, following after her, picking up.

But what caught her eye was very out of place in the chaos. Atop the desk was a beautifully carved ornate wooden box. Though the wood was polished and immaculate, something about it screamed ancient .

It was common enough for the children to bring her gifts, and often the parents. But never anything as grandiose as this.

Patience never much of her strong suit, Feyre flipped the latch and lifted the heavy lid of the small chest until it hung back on its hinges.

No card, no engraving, no initials. Just twelve bottles of vibrant, fresh paint.

A soft smile played on her lips. Perhaps these were from the Continent, or one of the Master’s studios in Day? She was glad she was alone. Whoever had brought this perhaps had a sense of how embarrassed she would be, accepting such a luxurious gift.

The bottle of brilliant blue unscrewed easily and she grabbed a palette knife to mix the heavy pigment back in with the clear binder floating on top.

It was…mesmerizing. Bright and almost glowing. She wondered where they ever found the pigments to make something so otherworldly.

There was a lightness in her chest as she looked at the other bottles, each as vibrant and rich as the first. She had come here to paint, after all.

/|㇏^•ᵥᵥ•^ノ|\

The city streets outside were bursting with life, even in the chill. The sounds of conversation and the clap of shoes against the cobblestones grew as patrons left the latest show out at the theater up the street. Music swelled from the city square just beyond, and street vendors hawked their wares.

But when Feyre painted, it all faded into the background.

For too long, she thought, shaking her head as if from a dream. She arched her back and groaned at the crick forming from her bad posture.

Her brush dunked in the water glass beside her as she rubbed her stiff neck. Had it really been so long? She was mixing the paints, brushing on a tinted under layer, and then…

Finally her eyes returned to her canvas and she gasped.

Sworls of choppy blue, green and white centered the canvas, looking like rippling waves. She could have sworn they moved. And around them, bands and bands of dark black. A frame. A mirror. A door.

She didn’t remember painting a single stroke.

The painting seemed to ripple again, and maybe it was the light but she could have sworn…there was something behind the brush strokes, depths upon hidden depths.

She felt a familiar feeling, a dread in her belly and prickling of her skin. So like those first steps Under the Mountain, tiptoeing and peeking around each corner, knowing something terrible was inevitable around one of them.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

The sounds of the street faded away again as her eyes focused and unfocused. Feyre felt her arm lift, her fingers picking up a brush. As if on its own. She took a dab of paint and the world faded away.

/|㇏^•ᵥᵥ•^ノ|\

The second time, she still didn’t know how long she had been under. Because that’s what it felt like, thrashing under deep waves, being tossed back and forth. And somewhere, deeper still, a voice. Soothing and gentle. Telling her, just let go.

Sink .

-Darling?

It was the voice of her mate that brought her back with a start.

-What are you up to? I’ll be winnowing back from the camp soon.

-I’ll meet you at home, she quickly sent down the bond.

The painting had changed. Her heart pounded between her ribs.

Looking back at her was a single slitted eye, red as hot coals.

And she heard it whisper,

Sink .

/|㇏^•ᵥᵥ•^ノ|\

Rhys panted as he rolled his hips upward, the chill night breeze from the cracked window doing little to cool the heat of his skin, dripping with sweat.

Above him Feyre moaned, her hips grinding against his, her head tilting back to the ceiling with her mouth parted, tasting the air.

Only a single candle lit the room from the bedside table. The cold moonlight cast in, a sharp line through the curtain, the silver light piercing over her neck, her peaked breasts.

Rhys’s eyes were wide. Enchanted . She was so fierce and free tonight, taking everything she wanted. Feyre moved on him, her hand lifting to grasp her breast and he gasped as she clenched tighter around him.

She had been rough tonight, desperate. Throwing him against the wall and ripping away his fine black jacket the moment he stepped into the bedroom. He had barely had time to grin, to tease her for her lascivious hands and lips until he was thrown onto the bed, his clothes roughly stripped from his body.

He gripped her hips, trying to guide his body deeper into her. His pleasure was a wild, feral thing, setting off sparks in his mind the more he felt the wanton drag of his cock through her slick wetness.

Feyre opened her mouth in a gasp as her back arched, the light catching on her pointed canines. Her hands went to cover his on her hips, and he felt her talons growing and scratching against his skin.

Though he was inside her, touching her everywhere, his body only cried out more, more.

Her skin was pale, almost blue in the moonlight, but her body was burning, scorching him under his palms and where they were joined at the hip.

Through his lusty haze, he felt the sudden pangs of a hunger so desperate the breath caught in his throat.

Feyre whimpered, a delicious sound, and leaned forward on her knees to pitch towards him and suckle at the pulse throbbing in his neck.

“Rhys,” she panted. Her voice was deep, desperate. “I’m so hungry.”

He gasped as the feeling struck him down the bond, her aching emptiness traveling through the golden tether between them and gripping his heart.

Between his pleasure he felt the flashes, of a girl starving and cold in the woods, of moldy bread in a dank prison cell. All the times she was alone and he hadn’t been there to provide. It was driving him mad. He felt the urge to let his power rise, to turn back the sun and moon in the sky until he was there every moment she was alone and desperate and surround her with his wings. To place delectable morsels on her waiting tongue, let her suck the taste from his fingers.

That tongue was lapping against his neck, licking off beads of sweat, replaced by the scrape of her teeth, sharp against his skin.

Though she was in his arms, her cunt fluttering around him, his heart was breaking with her hunger, her need. His mate was starving. A primal urge rose within him, to provide, to satiate.

“Darling ,” he cried, his voice breaking. “What do you need? Tell me,” he pleaded, his arms wrapping around her back, hot and slick with sweat.

She nipped at his neck. “ I’m so hungry,” she said again, nuzzling at his throat.

“Yes, yes,” he cried. As if he could, would ever deny her anything. Certainly not with his cock buried deep inside her and her voice this needy whine. “Take what you need,” he whispered into the dark.

Her body stilled at that and his own cried out at the lack of friction. But he felt her smile against his neck, and then her teeth scraped, and then she was biting, her sharp canines piercing through his flesh to reach his hammering pulse beneath it.

All feeling in his body rushed, like an errant wave, and he came with a hoarse cry as he spilled himself inside of her.

His vision is blurred and his mind is hazy as he comes down from his climax, the thoughts filtering through his mind like wandering clouds across the night sky. Feyre’s mouth is hot against his neck, a heady, burning sensation running down from her lips to his limbs, his body tingling. The feelings down the bond are glowing, warm, thankful.

Instead of relaxing back into the bed, his body, he feels he’s moving up, and up, floating above the mattress. He feels a drip of something, blood or sweat, escape Feyre’s lips and travel down the muscles of his neck. Her teeth are sharp but her mouth is warm, her tongue dancing over his skin.

And oh, she’s so content. She hums against him, the sound reverberating through his neck to his skull. She’s taking and taking and all he wants is to give her more, to fill her up. She pierced his skin and all his strength, the swirling madness of his darkness rushed out to satiate her need.

She sucks harder and he feels his limbs going loose and light, his whole body weightless and attuned to every place they are connected. He groans with her ecstasy, her joy. Gone is the starving human girl in the forest, bitter and trembling. He is feeding his mate, his Feyre, and here on top of him she is safe and warm.

Just when his body feels like it might sink, might fall through the mattress and into whatever dark earth lies beneath it, she breaks from his neck with a gasp.

Feyre throws her head back towards the ceiling, panting, the moonlight cascading down her body once again. He watches, enraptured, feeling like he’s outside of his body, vaguely charting the dribble of blood dripping from her lips to her chin to her throat, pooling in the hollow of her collarbone.

He is so tired now. He files the vision of her blood stained teeth deep within him for another time. All he feels now is her pleased murmurings across the bond. A deep humming contentment in his chest. The male, now content, who dreamt sometimes about that ancient High Lord, dashing his body and blood against the stone streets of Velaris, to keep it safe.

He groaned as she slipped off of him, but his hands wouldn’t quite work the way he wanted them to. The mattress dipping beside him as she collapsed. She was still breathing heavily, licking her lips. He turned his head and wished she would do the same, needing to drink in more of her.

And finally she did. She looked at him and smiled, a glint in her eyes that was strange but, her smile, that was enough to send a shiver down his body. His eyelids heavy, he smiled back.

“Are you happy, darling?” He whispered.

Safe and warm and fed.

Her smile widened as his eyes slowly drooped. A buzzing in the back of his head was the only thing keeping him from slipping away completely. His mind clung to the feel of her sharp talons, softly scraping against his skin. Drops of blood pooled with her sweat and finally drifted across her collarbone and down her shoulder.

“I’m so happy,” she said, and he fell into the darkness with a soft sigh. “You taste so good, my love.”

#acotar #feysand #acomaf #rhysand #feyre #acotar fanfiction #fanfic #vampire smut #feysand fic #feysand smut #happy halloween #spooky vibes #vampires

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babyhatesreality · 11 months

Note

What did her daddy’s do to get to know her better in the beginning? ☺️

Thank you for your questions dearest, and thank you for your patience!! I'm desperately sorry that it's taken so bloody long to answer, please know I love you <3

They started by just frequenting the cafe you worked in, always asking to sit in your section. As you realized that they were frequent customers, you just gradually got to know them as friends, and the three of you would laugh and laugh and laugh while they were there for lunch.

One time, they happened to be the last table at the end of your shift. So they asked you if you wanted to take a walk in the park with them to keep the conversation and the laughter going. The way your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree for a split second solidified what they had secretly guessed about you this whole time (but were still a long way off from discussing).

After that, it was coordinating schedules for more walks, or dinner plans, or movies with ice cream afterwards- basically any activity they could do with you where you all could talk. They began bringing you little presents of stuff that reminded them of you, and you'd squeal and clap your hands and give them the biggest hugs. No matter what it was, you whole-heartedly loved absolutely everything. You didn't have a lot of money, but you loved to draw and paint, and would bring them little sketches of things that had happened while you all were together or funny things based off what you all had talked about. You got to know and trust them, and they became your best friends. You all began spending as much time as possible, doing everything and nothing. Your favorite times were the trip to MOMA, getting a huge slice of pizza at their favorite pizza joint, and watching the Macy's parade together (oh my god you didn't shut up for DAYS over that one).

One night, they invited you to the Tower for a home-cooked meal, and afterwards the three of you sat on the couch and finally discussed the elephant in the room. They'd noticed you were a little but were waiting for the right time to bring it up. You knew they had absolutely every capacity to be the best caregivers ever, but would never have brought it up without them saying it first. Once the ice was broken, though, the conversation was warm and caring and exciting and passionate on all ends. You really wanted this not just for yourselves, but for each other.

You all took it slow, starting with an afternoon in the safety of your apartment or theirs. A lot of coloring, reading books, watching cartoons, and making mac and cheese. Then it would become a weekend with more of the same, and a small outing (most often, walking in the park together). Then you all agreed to try it for a whole week. It was the best week the three of you had had in a very long time.

And the rest is history :)

#daddy!bucky #daddy bucky #daddy!bucky x little!reader #daddy bucky x little reader #daddy stucky #daddy!stucky #daddy stucky x little reader #daddy!stucky x little reader #daddy steve #daddy!steve #daddy!steve x little!reader #daddy steve x little reader #daddy steve rogers #daddy!steve rogers #daddy!steve rogers x little

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flowerpotmage · 1 year

Text

You Think I'm-? (Part Two)

Summary: The day after the reader helps a drunken Osferth to bed, the party leaves Wintancaester.

Notes: From number two on this prompt list. Contains old timey town spellings, Finan being bestie, reader being good with horses, and freaking out. Fluff! Gender neutral and entirely undescribed reader. Unbeta'd and lightly edited. There will be a third part!

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

Your sleep had been fitful. The adrenaline and shock of what had occurred with Osferth kept you wide awake and jittery, and as a result you had gotten little rest in the few hours between then and now, where you lie on your rented cot staring at the ceiling, the morning light filtering through wood and straw to paint the room in a dim warm glow.

Osferth had kissed you.

Osferth had kissed you!

And you had kissed him back!

“Oh, Lord preserve me,” you whisper, pressing your hand over your eyes. He had been drunk when he kissed you. “Fuck.”

You roll yourself out of bed, re-donning the rest of your layers, boots, and sword, and make your way to get a table to share. You have your pick, as early as it is, and you take one off to the side to wait for the rest of the men as a cup of hot cider is brought to you.

“Any food?”

“Yes, but I’d like to wait for the rest of my company first.”

The first to join is Sihtric.

“Morning,” you greet as he slides onto the bench opposite you. His eyes scan you so quickly you do not see it as you fidget with the handle on your cup of hot cider.

“Good morning,” he replies simply, smiling in thanks at the serving girl that brings him a cup of his own.

“Was Finan much trouble last night?”

He smiles, laughing. “Not more than usual. Osferth?”

You shake your head, losing the fight against your growing smile. “No. Just clumsy.”

He starts to raise his eyebrows, opening his mouth to say something, when Finan appears and slides into the bench beside you, clapping you on the back.

“Well if it isn’t baby monk’s nurse-maid,” he teases, trying to block your elbow with his two hands and a laugh when you go to jab him in the side. Not that it’d do much damage anyway, his torso protected by leather much the same as Osferth’s. “By God, did you get any sleep?”

“You’re shockingly upright and bubbly for a man who had to be helped home yourself,” you shoot back, ignoring his comment about your sleeping habits, or lack thereof.

Sihtric ignores the two of you, smiling into his cup. It's a common enough occurrence, and the other men that travel with and fight under Uhtred have grown used to this antagonistic expression of friendship. Much like Osferth, Finan had trained you to use a blade in your early days with the group, and you had developed an almost familial system of shit-talk and mutual protection.

The serving girl returns with bread, cheese, and meat slathered in herbs and sauce. Finan thanks her with his usual bright and charming smile, and the three of you begin to eat.

“Where’s Uhtred?” you ask.

“No doubt being lectured by Alfred once again, or given some accursed errand to drag us on,” Finan says, mouth full of a just-taken bite of bread.

You sigh. “I should have expected as much.”

Uhtred, ever the timely man, appears behind you and Finan.

“Where is Osferth?” He asks the table.

Finan turns to look at the man, pauses, and slowly turns to you with the beginning of a grin. “Yes, where is our dear baby monk?”

You shrug. “Probably sleeping off all the ale you lot drowned him in.” You turn to look at Uhtred, immediately recognizing the look on his face. You sigh. “I’ll go ready the horses if Sihtric goes and fetches Osferth.”

Uhtred nods. “Thank you.”

“Why not send me to wake the monk?”

“Because your face first thing in the morning will just scare him into thinking he’s in Hell,” you say, and you and Finan exchange playful hits as you get up from the table and head off to the horses.

You make sure the beasts have been fed, even taking some time to brush dirt from one or two of them with fistfuls of straw, before checking hooves and saddling them. You work efficiently, bringing the mounts out to wait outside the inn for your companions. You are picking an errant piece of straw from your mare’s mane whilst detangling it when Finan and Sihtric exit, coming to load bags onto the horses.

The two of them are laughing about something when Uhtred follows.

“Osferth is finishing up,” he says to the group as he goes to his own horse and checks over the bags that Sihtric tied on.

You happen to look up when Osferth is stepping out the door. Your eyes meet, his steps falter, and he starts to smile before his eyes flick behind you and with pink ears he puts his head down and hurries to join the group.

Frowning, you look behind you to see Finan and Sihtric quickly turning their attention to their horses, having only moments ago been looking between you and the young warrior monk.

You groan quietly, rolling your eyes to the cloudy sky, and mount your horse as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

“Where are we off to?”

Uhtred follows your example and mounts his own horse, the other three following soon after. “I’ll tell you on the road.”

And off you go, horses walking through and out of Wintanceaster.

The size of your party makes it difficult for you to keep to yourself, and ironically, prevents you from taking any privacy to sort out your thoughts. Still, you cannot help but continue to turn over the previous night in your mind, flashes of sensation and the echoing sound of Osferth’s sighs in your mind warm your stomach.

You are riding at the side of the middle of your tiny group, and Osferth’s robes in your periphery shine like a beacon in spite of their soft and drab color.

You focus on the sight of the back of your horse’s head.

Your group stops at midday to stretch, eat, drink, and take your turns relieving yourselves. The horses graze as you lean against a tree in the shade, and you swallow a deep gulp of air as you lower the waterskin from your lips.

Finan has gone off to piss, Sihtric as well, and Uhtred is adjusting the bags on his horse when Osferth returns from where he’d left to relieve himself as well.

You can feel his eyes on you, see his hesitating figure from the corner of your vision, and can practically hear him debating with himself.

You have to consciously school yourself into an air of nonchalance when he walks up to you, joining you in your patch of shade under the broad branches of oak. He says your name in greeting.

“Osferth,” you greet in return, and You risk a look at him. Your breath catches when your eyes meet his, the blue ever bright under the miniature furrow of his unsure brow.

You offer him your waterskin, and he glances back up to you to make sure it's alright that he takes it—as if you weren't offering—and then accepts it from your outstretched hand. You watch as he tilts it back, eyes caught on the movement of his throat as he swallows, and then quickly look away as he starts to lower it once more.

You accept it back silently, recorking the opening.

He says your name, again, hesitantly. “Last night–”

And then Finan and Sihtric return.

You give him a quick look, one you mean to say Don’t worry, Osferth, we’ll talk later, as you push off from your lean on the tree trunk. You only catch a flash of his dejected face before you're walking back to the main part of the group, doling out jerky and small rips of bread to carry you all through dinner.

It is a few hours of riding later when Finan trots his horse up next to yours, saying your name in greeting.

“Finan,” you return.

“So, I have to ask, what have you said to our baby monk?”

You turn and look at him, confusion plain on your face. “What?”

His eyes hold yours, and he sucks his teeth before speaking again. “He’s been all morose and pretending otherwise since midday, and last I saw it was you two who were talking before he got all gloomy. So it must have been whatever you said to the lad.”

Finan does not break eye contact as he speaks, swaying along with the rhythm of his horse. You huff through your nose, and cannot help but turn in your saddle and look back at Osferth.

He is, typically, quiet on his horse as it walks beside Sihtric’s, but you cannot deny the air about him. The aforementioned Dane sees you twisted around to look at them and raises an eyebrow. You return to sitting normally.

“He looks fine to me.”

Finan simply raises an eyebrow in an uncanny mirror of Sihtric, and you sigh in frustration.

“I’ll talk to him,” you say, pulling your horse around to loop to the back of the group. Osferth looks at you in confusion when you come up from behind him, having moments ago been ahead, and starts to protest when you lean over to grab his horse’s reins—thankfully the animal doesn’t startle, familiar with you as it is. You pull him back and off to the side, away from the others.

“What are you-?”

“Finan says you’ve been acting glum,” you say, letting go of his horse now that you’re separated from the group a bit more.

His mouth opens slightly in surprise, words stalling in his brain. “No I haven’t.”

“Look, I’m sorry if–” Your words fail you at the confused furrow of his brow. “What?”

“Sorry for what?” He says, bewildered.

“You were drunk,” you say simply. "I wasn’t. I shouldn’t have-”

He laughs. The little shit laughs.

He says your name again, smiling, before glancing to make sure your companions are out of earshot. He knows how you value privacy. “I was the one who kissed you. I had come to apologize to you at our rest, earlier.”

You blink. “Are you serious?”

He inclines his head, indicating that yes, he was.

You lean over to slap his arm, his horse dancing away when your light smack hits his shoulder, and the two of you laugh.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, you fool,” you shake your head.

“And neither had you,” he says, smiling his sweet little smile.

You glance back to the rest of the group. They’re looking back at you two now, slowing their horses to a stop so that you are not left too far behind.

“Come,” you say. “We’ll finish this after supper, now that we’ve cleared that up.”

Osferth agrees, and the two of you nudge your horses forward to rejoin the group.

#osferth x reader #osferth x gn!reader #gn!reader #osferth x you #tlk x reader #x reader

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drunkewok · 8 months

Text

Tiger Inside Chapter Thirteen

Stray Kids Mafia (ongoing)

Masterlist

Likes, reblogs and feedback always greatly appreciated

WC: 3k

Pairing: Lee Know x reader

Genre: Series, Enemies to lovers, non-idol AU, Mafia AU

Synopsis: After years spent away from the family, two strangers start frequenting your place of work, only to bring daunting news. Flung back into the world of the mafia, you try to adapt to your new normal and work alongside a team of eight skilled members to uncover a mystery and take down an unknown enemy.

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, drinking, swearing, violence, weapons

Disclaimer: Any portrayal of Stray Kids or any other idols in this story is purely fiction and does not at all reflect their own personalities or how I view them as a person, it is purely for the sake of the story.

Please do not copy or repost my work

The room was in silence separate from the squeak of marker to whiteboard as Chan scribbled further instructions, his back turned from the rest of the group surrounding him in a room that began to darken with each passing moment. The sun was quickly setting, and exhaustion was starting to take its toll on the group. Everyone’s day had promptly been consumed by meetings, deliberation and the debate on the best course of action for when the time came to infiltrate.

Felix’s ability to finally locate the warehouse had put things in motion, the extent of the situation finally starting to sink in that this was very real, and very soon I’d be truly in the thick of things. It was time to fully delve face first into the business in which the mafia operates.

I sank back into the couch, my eyes feeling heavy as I tried to rest my head on Hyunjin’s shoulder, struggling with the battle against maintaining my consciousness. Chan’s messy handwriting on the board was starting to morph into a blur as he erased, and rewrote the occasional line, making alterations as needed. He stood back, running his fingers through his hair as he scanned over what appeared to be his final draft. Turning to the rest of the group, he clapped his hands together, startling me back into attendance.

“So here’s what we’ve decided.” Chan’s eyes scanned over to the two I sat between, flicking between the two of them. “Hyunjin and Felix will take a trip out there tomorrow night, Hyunjin looking for high points for him and Jisung, Felix you’ll keep an eye out for any security points and any points of entry.” He then pointed his marker towards Seungmin next, pinning him in his line of sight. “You’ll need to prepare yourself for whatever we’re going to end up finding in there, you’ll know those compounds better than any of the rest of us.” Chan followed by instructing Jisung and Jeongin to start preparing things here at the house, making sure bags were ready to go. He didn’t look back to me as his eyes met Minho and Changbin sat next to each other at the end of the opposite couch. “As I said, Jackson told me a while back he’s had some new supplies come in that may be of use to us, I want the two of you to bring y/n with you tomorrow and meet up with him. I’ll let him know you’ll be stopping by.”

“Do we really think the best option is to bring her with us?” Minho spoke against his leader, all eyes now falling onto me in a painful silence besides his own.

“And why would it not be?” I couldn’t tell if the frustration painting Chan’s face was from exhaustion, or irritation at Minho doubting his call.

“She isn’t even going to know what she’s looking at.” Minho refused to look in my direction, my eyes darting between him and Chan in silence.

“Exactly why I’m sending her with you. She’s learning, is she not?” He turned back to the board, capping his marker and placing it on the tray before glancing back over his shoulder at Minho.

“Plus, she needs to make connections with Jackson, this isn’t up for debate Minho.” A subtle snicker emitted from Hyunjin before I quickly dug my elbow into his side in an attempt to silence him, clearly finding amusement at the sight of Minho being shut down so instantly.

The next morning started peacefully despite my looming schedule for the day. I pulled my knees into my chest as I sat in the lounge out on the deck, cup of hot coffee in hand, as I basked in the morning sunlight. I knew shortly I’d need to freshen up and get ready for the trip out to the supplier, but I wanted to soak in as much of my restful morning as possible, to savor the last shred of what might possibly be the last calm moment I had.

I contemplated how things would turn out once we finally arrived at the warehouse, we still weren’t fully positive on what we would be finding there, if anything. I had volunteered to be a part of the ground team when the time came, but still I questioned if that would end up being a decision I ended up regretting in the long run. The overwhelming doubt on if I had the ability to carry out these tasks sitting heavy on my shoulders. Up until now, it was nothing but training, the possibility for such outcomes only being an afterthought in the back of my mind. My thoughts are cut short as the door opens behind me, turning to see Changbin peeking his head out.

“Hey, we’re taking off in 30.” I nodded my head as I pulled myself from the chair, downing the last of my coffee, and making my way inside to prepare.

The winding dirt road felt like it stretched for miles, each divot and bump bouncing me in the back seat before the car began to approach a rather unassuming home. It was nice, a monochromatic modern style, but nothing quite as opulent as one might expect from someone in this lifestyle. But as I expected for the car to come to a stop, the driveway instead wrapped us around back, coming to a halt in front of a warehouse style building tucked away behind the home. Two large garage doors sat open, within one the figure of someone hunkered under an open hood of a car, elbows deep in the engine. The man looked up as Minho stood and shut his door, Changbin quickly getting out to open mine before I had the chance.

As the three of us made our approach, the man I can only assume to be Jackson grabbed a rag and started wiping the dirt and oil from his hands. His figure seemed to drown beneath his oversized jeans and tank top, the weather seeming too hot to provide reason for the beanie placed on his head. He pulled the sunglasses that were hanging from the collar of his shirt and placed them on his nose, a small toothpick bouncing between his lips as he played with it. His smile was strong, teeth holding firm to the toothpick as he greeted us with open arms, the rag still dangling from his hand.

“Well isn’t this a sight for sore eyes, haven’t seen you two in what feels like ages.” His smiling eyes fell on me as we came to a stop before him. “But can’t say we’ve met before, Jackson Wang.”

“This is Choi y/n.” Minho quickly cut me off as I opened my mouth to speak, earning himself a glare from me in his direction.

“Oh no shit” Jackson’s eyes grew as they flicked between me and Minho from above his sunglasses, clearly startled by his response. “I heard you had come back but didn’t know I’d have the pleasure of meeting you so soon.” Jackson tried to wipe the remnant of dirt and oil off on his jeans before glancing down to his hands in defeat and shyly smiling back at me. “I’d shake your hand, but I can’t imagine you’d like the motor oil.”

“You’re just fine.” I chuckled with my response. “It's nice to meet you too, Jackson.” The two of us shared a smile back at each other before Jackson quickly snapped out of it, acknowledging the other two that were with us again.

“Well let me go and show you guys back.” Jackson threw the rag into a bin as he spun around, the three of us following behind him towards a back door in the shop. “I was happy to finally hear from Chan, told him a while back that I got this new product in, but I’m surprised it took him so long to send someone down here.” He held the door open, ushering the three of us inside and following us in.

Initially the appearance of the room felt like your basic workshop/warehouse combo. Unfinished metal walls, industrial shelves with various cardboard boxes, some work tables with an assortment of projects sitting upon them unfinished, and a dismantled motorcycle in the corner. The beeping of Jackson pressing buttons on a security system catches my attention before he opens another door, flicking on a light and making his way down a set of stairs with a bit of bounce in his step.

“I can’t say we’ve been in need of anything for a while, but we’ve had some business come up that we need to take care of.” Changbin followed closely behind Jackson, Minho stepping back to hold the door open for me as I followed the two downstairs.

The basement held a far different atmosphere, concrete walls and floors having sound bounce off them and ricochet off the different surfaces. Dark metal safes lined one of the back walls, at the end a glass door next to windows looking into a miniature shooting range. Black metal shelving units lining the other walls, filled with different containers and bins, multiple tables throughout the room. Jackson rounded one, facing us and leaning his hands onto the surface.

“So, what are you guys in the market for today?”

“Chan told me you had some guns that haven’t hit the market quite yet, is that right?” Changbin asked with a raised brow.

“It sure is.” Jackson turned back to the safes behind him, beginning to unlock them one by one, and opening them like an armoire. Within each one sat an organized collection of guns hanging on the doors and sitting upon shelves, ranging in size and style. Changbin wasted no time joining Jackson in checking out each one, asking questions for quality and purpose. I used the moment to slip away, making my way around the room and observing the assortment of supplies placed around it. I’m drawn to the corner in which multiple vests in which I assumed were bulletproof were hanging, next to those a variety of holsters and harnesses.

“Does she have what she needs back at the house?” Jackson turned his attention toward Minho, who shook his head in response.

“No, we’re gonna need a vest and the whole 9 yards for her.” Jackson crossed over to me, leaving Changbin to browse the stock, while he flipped through different vests, checking the sizing of each one before pulling a few from the rack. Jackson placed them on the table beside us, before looking at the hoodie I was wearing.

“Are you wearing a shirt under that? You’re gonna wanna try these on.” I nodded as I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and set it to the side as Jackson removed the first vest from its hanger. He neared closer as he lowered the hole of the vest over my head and settled it on my shoulders. It was heavier than I expected as my body adjusted to the additional weight now being carried as he pulled tight the strong velcro along the sides. Jackson was close enough that I could smell the blend of a citrus woodsy cologne mixing with the slight smell of motor oil radiating off of him. He reached up and used his fingers to check the spacing between the vest and my shoulders, settling it into place and turning to Minho. “I’d say this one is a safe fit for her, what do you guys say?”

As I turned to face the other two, Minho’s eyes were sharp on Jackson, before slowly pulling them to me and observing the vest with a nod. Changbin turned to me, a small spin of his finger instructing me to turn and give him a 360 view of the vest.

“It’s looking good to me, perfectly snug.”

“What about you? How does it feel? Not too tight is it?” I turned back to Jackson, a soft smile on his face as he stayed oblivious to the clear glares from Minho in his direction. I shook my head, feeling tight under Minho’s watch, but Jackson’s smile grew at my silent response. “Fantastic, you can go ahead and take it off then, I'll send you guys with that one.” He turned back around to the rack, grabbing a few items. “And here’s some different holsters for you to use.” He laid the array out on the table before me as I pulled my sweatshirt back on. “These ones are adjustable, but there’s some chest and hip ones as well, and there’s some thigh ones, both for guns and knives. You know, in case you gotta hide it under a dress or something.” He gave me a slight wink and I chuckled as I collected the spread. Jackson stepped over to one of the shelving units, opening a bin and pulling out a black duffle bag for me to load my items into.

Jackson continued to lead Minho around the room, explaining different items to him as they started another pile of things to bring home with us while Changbin tried out different guns in the range. My eyes scanned the cabinets of weapons, I hadn’t realized someone had come up behind me until a gentle hand lay on the back of my shoulder, catching me off guard, that same citrus and woodsy smell arriving with him.

“Care to test any of them out?” I glanced over my shoulder to the once again smiley Jackson, turning back to the wall of guns and humming in curiosity.

“This one kind of caught my eye.” I pointed to one in the cabinet beside me, a semi-automatic of a moderate size, not trusting myself quite yet with anything too large.

“Ohhh good choice.” He pulled it from the rack, setting it on the table behind us. “This one is my baby, was real eager for these ones to finally arrive, was on a waiting list for what felt like ages.” He opened a drawer, pulling some ammo from it and leading me over to the range, holding the door open and guiding me in. Pulling two sets of ear and eye protection from the wall, he handed one to me and started to instruct me on how to properly load the gun. Once our earmuffs and goggles were on, we went into muffled silence as he guided my arms into position with the gun, my finger resting off the trigger. Once pleased with my stance and positioning, he stood behind me with his hands on my shoulders, giving me a slight tap before sliding them off and stepping back, allowing me to shoot.

The gun definitely had power behind it, much stronger than I was used to with my normal handguns, and I wondered if there would ever come a time I truly needed something with this much force. My shots were staggered as expected, my inexperience with a gun of this caliber showing on the target. Once empty, I set the gun back down on the table and turned back to Jackson with a smile.

“That’s a nice one for sure, I do enjoy that.” With a nod he checked the gun before picking it up and we made our way back into the main room.

“You’ve got good taste, we’ll send you home with one of these too so you can get some more practice in with it.” I couldn’t hide my excitement behind my smile as he began to load up the last of the supplies into different bags, the prospect of getting to use that one more making me a bit too giddy.

We made our way up the flight of stairs and back into daylight with bags in hand, exiting the garage and loading them into the trunk of the car as Jackson jogged over to a table in the garage before coming back over to me.

“Since you’re new to the team, figured I’d give you my number. Ya know, in case you need anything and Chan doesn’t have the time to reach out.” He handed me a small piece of paper with his number scribbled on it as he gave me the same familiar wink. I giggled and smiled with a thank you, slipping into the car as Changbin snickered and Minho crossed around the vehicle with a scoff under his breath.

I pulled my seatbelt across my chest before folding the paper up and slipping it into my pocket with a grin.

“So, Jackson seemed to take a liking to you.” Changbin snorted, clear amusement in his tease. I scoffed, trying to brush off his statement.

“Oh please, it was just business.” I tucked my head to try and hide any blushing of my face in case one of them looked in the mirror back at me, but sure enough the moment I raised my head again Minho was staring back through the rearview with a hum of fake agreement.

“Does all your business include you flirting with the client?”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” I’m taken aback with confusion at Minho’s bold question, his abrupt accusation toward me not quite making sense. Changbin immediately fell into silence and I swear he was trying to melt into his chair in hopes of disappearing.

“Not supposed to mean anything in particular. Was just an observation.” Minho’s gaze is pointed back at the road as he pulls onto the pavement, his hands gripping tightly around the steering wheel.

“What? You jealous or something?” I chuckled, possibly now finding a button that might be fun to poke at.

“Oh please.” He scoffs, now appearing like he was trying to discreetly hide his face from me behind his hair.

“Okay, whatever you say.” I leaned my back against the headrest, closing my eyes and attempting to relax into my seat, the silence in the car felt tense as the drive continued.

“SO. How about this weather, eh?” Changbin finally piped up in a chipper tone, trying to diffuse the tension he was now stuck between.

“Nice redirect there Binnie.” I stared out of the window at the passing buildings as we made it into town, the thought of a warm nap in bed beginning to quietly say my name in the distance, beckoning us closer to home.

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