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serpentandlily · 25 days

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Untouchable X - Azriel x Reader

Untouchable - Azriel x Rhysand'sSister!Reader

Summary: For as long as you can remember, you have always had feelings for Azriel, your court’s spymaster. But after centuries of watching him pine after your own cousin, hoping he’d eventually move on, your wish came true. He moved on—with Elain, your brother’s mate’s sister. Unable to watch him fall in love with someone else again, you flee from Velaris, from him. But things are a lot more complicated than that—more complicated than you ever imagined.

Warnings: smut and fluff, pure fluff

Author’s note: omfg guyssss, I can’t believe this series has come to an end! I had so much fun writing it and I hope y’all had just as much fun reading it! Thanks for all the love and support you guys have given me throughout it all! Hope this is a fitting ending!

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Part X: The Finale

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“Are you sure about this?”

You looked at Azriel, at the vulnerability in his warm hazel eyes, at the love and adoration they held but the lingering insecurity dampened it just enough that you turned to him fully.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, Azriel,” you whispered, gently.

“I just don’t want you to feel rushed,” he sighed. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to make this decision before you’re ready. I’ve waited five hundred years for you, I can wait more. I can wait until the sun and moon collide, princess, as long as you’ll be mine in the end.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. You were standing outside the doors that would lead to the Priestess’ chapel. Just a few steps away from being mated—from being tied together for all of eternity.

“I’ve waited enough. We’ve waited enough,” you replied. “I want this, Azriel. I want you. I can scream it from the rooftops if you wish. Nothing will change my mind about you.”

His lips twitched into a smile. “Okay, okay. Then, let’s not keep the Priestess waiting.”

He pushed open the doors to the chapel, holding them open for you as you strode inside, the small train of your dress trailing behind you as you went. Your mother had sewn you this dress before she died, for this very moment. It was pure white with a long, sheer draping cape covered in silver diamonds. The bodice had a sheer underbust with those same diamonds carefully placed to make a beautiful, intricate pattern. The skirt fell to the floor, shimmering in the faelights of the chapel also covered in diamonds. It was beautiful, truly, and Azriel’s breath had been stolen away the moment he had seen you in it. You looked like the goddess of the moon, herself.

Your brother, who you allowed to help you get ready since you had decided on a private mating ceremony, had teared up at the sight, himself. Rhysand had given you a loving speech before sending you and Azriel off to your ceremony knowing he wouldn’t see the two of you for at least a few weeks as you would leave immediately after for your mating honeymoon.

Azriel himself was dressed in all black formal wear, finely made and tailored to his body perfectly. Your mouth had gone dry when he had stepped out of the shadows, his dark hair tousled and looking like a true Angel of Death. The dark side of your moon.

Standing here now before the Priestess as she read out verses of love and unity, you couldn’t focus on anything but your mate. He stared back at you with the same intensity, his wings held out proudly and his shadows encasing the two of you, swirling around in delight.

“You may say your vows, now,” the Priestess declared, shutting her book and bringing out the ribbon that was to be tied around your wrists and hands. Azriel held out his hand for you and you took it, holding them up for the Priestess who began to wrap the ribbon around them.

“I have prayed to the stars every night since the moment I fell in love with you, Azriel, that a day might come where you’d be mine and I’d be yours,” you breathed out. “Despite all that stood between us, the magic that kept you from me all these years, I wouldn’t change a single thing if it meant that this was our ending. I will love you until I no longer exist, through death and all that comes after.”

“There would be no shadow without light,” Azriel whispered, resting his forehead against yours as you stared up at him. “And you have been my light, princess. I live and breathe for you. My body, my soul, my mind, were made to love you and only you. Because you are the light in whose shadows I exist in. You are the guiding star that I will follow until the end of all things. I vow to love and cherish you for all of eternity. Nothing shall keep us apart from this moment on. No magic, no God, no death can separate us. You are mine as I am yours.”

You blinked the tears in your eyes away as the Priestess finally tied off the ribbon with a smile. “As witness to your love, I bless thee with the sanctity of the Mother and all that is holy. May your love serve as a reminder of the good this world can offer. You may seal your vows with a kiss.”

And so you did. The kiss Azriel gave you was full of love and passion—a promise to all that he planned to give you. The Priestess held out a small tray with the pastry you had baked for him—a small pear tart that you knew was his favorite sweet treat. She winked as you took it from her before winnowing away to allow you privacy.

And the Gods knew you’d need it if the heated look Azriel was giving you could be seen from heaven.

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You barely made it through the door to the villa the two of you would be staying in for an indefinite amount of time before Azriel’s lips crashed against yours. You met him with the same intensity as he pressed you against the wall, caging you in with his taut body.

He groaned as you parted your lips for him, allowing him the chance to taste you—to claim your mouth as his. One of his hands stayed against the wall while the other traveled down the length of your body, somehow finding your leg in the mess of your skirt and hooking it around him.

Still, there were far too many layers between the two of you. Your body was on fire with want, with need. Sparks were igniting in your lower stomach, a terrible ache that only Azriel could soothe was taking over. The mating bond was singing its beautiful tune.

“Bed,” you managed to mumble out between his kisses. “Now.”

His shadows encased you once more, taking the two of you to the lush bedroom upstairs. You pushed him towards the bed but he stopped you, pulling away from you as you whined in disapproval.

“No teasing,” you pouted.

Azriel grinned. The sight of it was so breathtaking.

“I assure you, princess, I have no intention other than ravishing you tonight.”

He twisted you so your back was to him and he gently began to unbutton the bodice of your dress, pressing a kiss each time a new inch of skin was exposed to him. You melted into his delicate touch, allowing him to undress you completely until you were naked before him.

“I’ve waited a long time for this,” he growled against your skin, pressing kisses down the length of your back until he was on his knees. He placed his hands on your bare waist and turned you around to face him, staring up at you with a reverence that had your heart jumping in your chest.

He kissed your stomach, hugging your body with his arms. You could feel his muscles flexing—his hazel eyes so dilated, they appeared black—and you knew he was holding himself back for a moment.

“There is no part of you that I am going to leave untouched, princess,” he groaned, his eyes trailing down your body, full of hunger. “Now that I can touch you, I’m going to make you wholly mine.”

“What are you waiting for?” You whispered, so full of need. Your words had the desired effect, his restraint finally slipping. He pushed you backwards until your knees hit the bed and you fell down on the soft cushion, your hair fanning around your head like a halo.

Azriel rested on his forearms above you, capturing your lips again with a new frenzy that left you panting. A hand slipped underneath your neck, tilting your head back so he could deepen the kiss, caressing your tongue with his. He tasted as good as sin.

His lips began to trail down your throat, sucking on the tender skin and leaving love marks in their wake. Your hands slipped into his hair, fisting his dark locks between your fingers and he continued his path down your body, staying true to his own words that no part of you would go untouched tonight.

He explored every inch of you, leaving you to moan and squirm underneath him. You arched into his touch, wanting more. So much more.

“Azriel, please,” you whined as the ache between your legs became unbearable. Azriel looked up at you with his dark eyes from where he had taken your breast into his mouth.

“Keep begging, princess,” he growled. “You will not rush me.”

Your head fell back against the pillow as he started his ministrations on your breast again, using his hand to caress the other one. His kisses were soft but his hands were not. Not as they groped and squeezed you with a bruising grip that only heated you further. As if having handfuls of you was simply not enough.

His mouth traveled down your stomach, licking and biting a path on your skin until he pulled away, standing up at the edge of the bed. You rose onto your elbows, eyes glazed with lust.

Azriel drank in the sight of you laying bare before him, a muscle in his jaw flexing, his hands itching to touch you again.

“So beautiful,” he murmured. “My mate. My love. All mine.”

“I’m yours,” you whimpered, sounding far too needy. “Please, take me.”

He leaned over, running his hands down the length of your body before he pressed a kiss against your belly again. “My mate.”

Another kiss between your hips. “Mine.”

He fell to his knees, pushing your legs apart so he could kiss the inside of your thigh. “All mine.”

And then he hooked his arms around your thighs and yanked you to the edge of the bed. You let out a gasp, raising onto your elbows again to look at him. He kissed the back of your knee before moving his way up your thigh.

“I need to taste you, princess.” His voice was a near whine as he left marks all along your leg—sucking and biting. You moaned his name repeatedly, begging and begging him just like he wanted.

That set him off because a moment later, he was devouring you with a hunger only a mate could have. Your wanton moans had him palming himself through his pants, trying to relieve some pressure. He sucked and licked your core, not stopping until you fell over the edge, his name coming out of your mouth like a prayer.

You were still coming down from the high as he made his way back up to you, kissing your lips, letting you taste yourself on him. You pulled back, grabbing his face in your hand. Gods, he was so beautiful. Everything about him was so beautiful.

Your heart fluttered at the love in his eyes, you were smiling without even realizing it. You kissed him as you reached for the buttons on his shirt. “Take this off. Now.”

“Anything for you, princess.” He smiled against your lips and helped you undress him as fast as he could until he was as naked as you.

You could feel his hard cock pressed against your stomach.

You ran your hands down his chided chest, raking your nails over his skin. He groaned at your touch and you pressed a kiss to his jaw, his throat, enjoying the noises you were causing him to make. Your hands continued their way down his body until you were about to finally grasp his cock but he grabbed your wrists in one hand and slammed them into the mattress above your head.

You let out a noise of displeasure.

“I can’t wait any longer,” Azriel groaned. “I need you. Now.”

You hissed as he took his cock in his hands and lined it up against your entrance. He hovered for a second, glancing at you, seeking permission one last time.

“Please,” you begged. “Don’t stop.”

Azriel held himself up over you with a hand on either side of your head, lightly brushing his lips against yours. He slowly slid inside of you, inch by inch. Savoring the way you wrapped around him. You groaned, wrapping your hands around his biceps, your nails digging into his skin at the slight pain.

But the pain was worth the pleasure. Was worth the feeling of your bodies becoming one. You wanted that feeling to never end.

He stopped once he was buried inside of you, allowing you a moment to adjust as he hid his face in the crook of your neck, breathing deeply.

“I love you,” he mumbled against your skin. “You are mine. My mate, my love.”

“And you are mine,” you whispered back.

“Until the end,” he agreed.

He started to move, pulling all the way out and thrusting slowly back in. Azriel let out a curse and bit down on your neck, his canines piercing your skin. He licked the new wound as he pulled back out and thrust again.

“Gods, please,” you moaned at the feeling of him inside of you.

“No gods here to beg, princess,”Azriel growled. “Just me.”

He fully unleashed himself then, his restraint snapping, as he lost himself in the feeling of you wrapped around him. You closed your eyes, melting into the mattress. He took every part of you, claimed every inch of you with him. You weren’t sure where your body ended and his began.

With every frenzied thrust came a declaration of how much he loved you, how good you felt, how beautiful you looked with him buried inside of you, between his growls of pleasure. You became hyper aware of every brush of his skin, the feeling of his warm breath against your neck.

The pleasure inside of you grew and grew with every stroke of his cock until his name was slipping from your mouth with a string of curses and pleas. Your hands trailed his body, down his back until you reached his wings. He groaned as your fingertips brushed against the cool membrane, his pace quickening.

His thrusts grew more frenzied at your touch as the bond shined like starlight between the two of you. It was blinding, all consuming.

“I love you,” Azriel murmured between his kisses and it was those words that finally sent you over the edge. Stars exploded behind your eyelids, your darkness taking over the room as you reached a high you’d never felt before.

At the feel of you coming on his cock, tightening and pulsing around him, Azriel fell over the edge right after you with one final thrust, burying himself inside of you as a hot stream of his cum filled you so thoroughly.

Both of you were panting as you came down from that high. Azriel collapsed on the bed next to you, wrapping an arm around your body and dragging you to him. You rested your head on his chest, listening to his heart that beat to the same rhythm as yours. The same rhythm of your mating bond’s mesmerizing song.

Azriel lazily ran his hand up and down your spine. His touch was soothing and you never wanted it to stop. Not when you had once been untouchable to him. No, you wanted to feel his skin against yours at every waking moment and you knew he felt the same way by the way he clung to you now.

“I love you,” you whispered, tracing over his tattoos with a finger.

“I love you too,” he mumbled into your hair. “You are my everything. I’m never letting you go again now that I have you.”

“Good,” you smiled, propping yourself up to look at him. “Because I'm never letting you go either.”

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

100 years later

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Your heart was warm as you sat cuddled against Azriel, watching your family open their solstice presents. Your hands were intertwined, as they always were since the day the two of you had your mating ceremony. Azriel had never considered himself a publicly affectionate person but after centuries of not being able to touch you, he would never stop now that he could—no matter who was around.

Rhysand and Feyre sat on a settee across from you guys. Nyx and Selene stood beside them, smiling down at their two younger siblings as they ripped open their presents from them. Cassian and Nesta were on a couch next to them, a bundled up babe held in her arms.

Mor and Emerie were giggling in the corner together, like they were in their own little world. Elain stood with Lucien, three younglings that shared the same red hair running around her legs with laughter. Even Amren was smiling, sat with Varian.

You placed a hand on your bulging tummy. You were due any day now with your first babe with your mate. Azriel placed a scarred hand over yours, his warmth seeping into your skin. Azriel’s shadows wrapped around your belly in a protective cocoon of sorts and you batted at them with a huff.

You had thought your brother had gone overboard with protecting Feyre all the times she was pregnant but Azriel by far took the cake.

The baby wiggled, causing both of you to gasp lightly at the feel.

“I can’t wait to hold him,” Azriel murmured to you. “He’s going to be beautiful. Just like you.”

You smiled, kissing him on the cheek. “I think he’s going to look just like his papa.”

Azriel chuckled, the tips of his ears turning a bit pink. He had been fussing over you and the baby since day one. He had built the entire nursery himself, with his own hands, claiming he didn’t trust anyone else to make things for your child.

“Either way he’ll be perfect,” Azriel said, kissing the side of your head.

“Yes,” you breathed out, lovingly rubbing your belly. “He will.”

And three days later, the next chapter of yours and Azriel’s love story began.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The end.

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#acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #rhysand's sister #azriel fluff #a court of thorns and roses

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goosita · 4 months

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I LOVE your writing I get so excited when you post! Could you write something about rivals taking Billy’s Girl and him going CRAZY till he gets her back? And then the comfort after that🥹

ooo ough oh my god he would go insane like i truly mean he would level an entire city for you if he had to

the moment he finds you in the back of the house, bound to a chair and gagged, his emotions begin a war inside of him. he’s so filled with rage that his hands shake and his teeth with ache in the morning from clenching them so hard. blood is splattered across his shirt, flecks drying on his cheek from the men he’d gunned down and fought just to get in here, and here you finally were.

he lost track of how many rounds he’d fired. all he knows is that he’d dropped several bodies. if he counted, he would realize he’d taken out the entire gang who had plotted to take you and hold you for ransom with the eventual goal to turn in the famous outlaw. there was no way in hell billy would ever let that happen; he’d lay his life down in a heartbeat to keep you safe and sound.

“baby,” he breathes, voice trembling. he rushes over and makes quick work of untying you, releasing the handkerchief tied around your mouth to keep you quiet.

“oh, baby i’m so sorry,” he murmurs, pulling you into his arms. he can feel you shaking like a leaf, but you hug him so tight he thinks his ribs might crack; not that he’d care anyway. “i should have been faster, i should have known sooner that you—“

“shhh, billy. i’m okay. i’m fine, you’re here,” you soothed, clinging to him. he can feel your fingers digging into his back hard enough to bruise. he hopes they do, honestly. he wants any mark you leave on him.

“m’gonna get you home, okay? never gonna let you out of my sight. never, you hear me?” he shrugs off his outer flannel shirt, dressing you in it and pulling you in again to press a long and lingering kiss to your forehead. billy keeps you tucked into his side, leading you to the front door.

“i need you to close your eyes, darlin’,” he says, stroking your hair. “don’t want you to see…any of this. okay?” he doesn’t want you to see any of the trail of gore he’s left. you’re too sweet, too innocent to ever be subjected to the sight of such violence.

you nod and squeeze your eyes shut, but as he leads you outside, the sharp metallic scent of blood hits your nose and you suddenly understand just why exactly he doesn’t want you to see. things had gotten very intense, you knew this. billy was a dangerous man. he had been since the day you met him, but it never bothered you. you weren’t even sure if it bothered you now, when he was so kind and gentle with you.

he helped you up onto his horse and climbed on behind you, slipping his arms around your waist and clicking his tongue to get the animal to turn and head the other direction. after a few minutes, you felt his nose nudge your shoulder.

“you still got those eyes closed?”

you nodded, leaning back into his chest even more.

“you can open ‘em now, pretty girl. nothing bad to see out here,” he promises, kissing your cheek. your eyes flutter open and the sky above is a deep navy blue, clouds just beginning to glow with the promise of a sunrise.

“never gonna let anything bad happen to you ever again, i promise. i’m so sorry,” he whispers. you shake your head and turn to glance up at him behind you. billy stops his horse and drops one of the reins, lifting his hand to hold your chin gently.

“it’s okay, billy. i’m okay. you got there just in time,” you assure him. your eyes scan his face, now noticing the dried blood in a splash pattern on billy’s jaw. the way his bright blue irises looked stormy still, the tension in his body still tight. his thumb caresses your bottom lip, his face softening.

he looked down at you for a long moment before dipping his head, resting his forehead against the back of your shoulder. your violent man, your outlaw, your gunslinger. william h. bonney, billy the kid, wasn’t afraid of anything. that’s what most people assumed; but he was terrified of anything happening to you, his sweet angel. his darling girl who kept him sane.

“billy?” you whispered. you felt him hum, his chest vibrating against your back. “take me home.”

and so he did.

#billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid x you #anon #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #william h bonney

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nn-ee-zz · 5 months

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Your designs are pretty sick🔥

What advice would you give to a beginner in character design?

Thank you! My advice is based on my personal experience and thought process. Theyre not rules.

ADVICE FOR CHARACTER DESIGN;

-Stay honest to yourself: Drawing what you believe is popular might be the path to a lot of likes but not to a uniquely recognizable body of work. Draw what you want to see in the world. Draw the character you wish existed but can't find anywhere, because someone else wishes it too. I love what I design and you should love it as well. It also helps with the disappointment lack of likes might bring

-Concept over technique: Get your idea across. I'm around 60% satisfied with my current art technique but I push those insecurities aside because my desire to show my ideas surpasses it. If you have something to show, show it now. I've been drawing for years and I always feel like I'm not ''good enough'' to design what I want to design, but I have to push through. You will never feel fully ready, so might as well do it now.

-Focus: If you have an idea, focus on it and let the rest of the design highlight it. It makes your designs sharp and recognizable.

-Color: Careful! Don't restrict yourself but know that 2-4 colors are more than enough to make a design work. Sometimes it's the simplicity and contrast of your chosen colors that make it stand out

-Patterns: A little cheat to make your designs pop! If they feel too simple, add a pattern to a textile or a flat surface. Anything that fits the themes of the character. Careful! If you have a very detailed area that you wish to be the focus, try to avoid random patterns.

Here's an example.

Honesty: I'm not worried about how it looks nor who it is nor where the inspiration came from. It looks cool therefore it exists

Concept over technique: Scratchy lines, minimal rendering, rough details. As long as it's readable, it's passable

Focus: The concept was a bunch of heads stacked together to make a cowboy. Plus shoes. Everything else (the hair, the jacket, the face) are made to highlight the concept without stealing the attention from it

Color: Black, brown, yellow. Warm colors for a character in an arid enviroment.

Pattern: A pattern in THIS particular case would steal away from the focus of the stacked heads. No pattern needed here

I hope it helps!

Thanks and have fun in your character design journey!

#art ask #character design #body horror

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rachelzeglertruther · 8 months

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Why You're Wrong About Rachel Zegler

This is a long post, but there's a lot of context missing from the Rachel Zegler "discourse" that I thought I could add with my history of watching this unfold from the beginning.

The Snow White Thing

You probably know this part. There's a curated video of Rachel going viral, framed to make her seem like she's never seen Snow White, she hates the story, she hates the character, she's ungrateful, and single-handedly ruined Disney's brand. The clips from these videos are not new— they were released nearly a year ago in September 2022 and nobody cared about them at the time. Why? Because all the full interviews she did that day at the Disney Exo in 2022 showed a young, charming woman who was excited and proud to be cast in an iconic role. The interviews were very well received and it was a non story. Now that it's been edited down and cut together in a malicious way, and the people sharing them are purposefully misquoting her, they've twisted the context. Normally, this would be a non controversy. Even if that video wasn't taken out of context and spliced together to make her seem like she hates the film, most people wouldn't care. The issue is the response to the video.

Let's get this out of the way: Rachel Zegler doesn't hate Snow White. She relayed that she was afraid of the forest scene as a child and didn't revisit it again until after she was cast in the role. She has since then watched it several times and has expressed for YEARS before that interview came out that she was incredibly honored and grateful to be playing such an iconic Disney princess. If you watch the full videos that those clips came from, this comes across immediately to anyone with their own mind. If you hate someone for being scared of something as a child, I don't know what to tell you. If the role was being given to the biggest Snow White fan, you would be correct that she doesn't deserve it. Unfortunately for you, this role requires talent and Rachel has the Golden Globe and critical acclaim from people who matter within the industry (her peers and critics).

You know who does hate their beloved characters in beloved franchises but the general public still applauds them? Harrison Ford, Sean Connery, Daniel Craig, and Robert Pattinson. They've all expressed outright contempt for the roles and the films they were part of, but nobody cared. People had fun with their quotes but they still respected them. Rachel said nothing even closely resembling their remarks, but she's being torn to shreds. Are we seeing a pattern here?

Rachel never said a single bad thing about the character or the animated film— she said that it was outdated and that set people over the edge, foaming at the mouth to have her burned at the stake. If you think it would be perfectly fine to have a movie about an abused 14 year old girl run away to play housemaid for a bunch of men, get kissed in her sleep/death by an adult man, and then wake up to fall into his arms in 2024, that's certainly a hot take. If you're against remakes, direct your ire at Disney. But if you truly think that plot would work with young girls today, you're the one who's out of touch. It would do far more harm than good to portray a young woman in that light.

She also never said that there was anything wrong with romance or love. She said that the new Snow White wasn't only dreaming of that. I can't stress enough that this wasn't her decision… she was describing the plot of the new film that was written by Greta Gerwig and approved by Disney. There's a prince in the film and he will also have a more developed personality and storyline. If you have a problem with the writing, wait until it comes out so you can write your strongly worded letter to Greta. If you have a problem with the concept in general, take it up with Disney. There's no need for you to be defensive over hurting the legacy of a multi-billion dollar company or a 87 year old cartoon written by a proud racist antisemite. This is the most confusing part of the hate campaign to me because it wasn't even her opinion— she was literally describing the plot of the film she had nothing to do with. It also isn't a new thing. Disney actors have been promoting their newer films this way for years.

It's perfectly okay to like things that are problematic. It's becoming an issue that we refuse to acknowledge that maybe some things we love are harmful. What we can't do is justify why it's not problematic, and in fact everyone who calls it out is the problem and NOT their precious cartoon. The 1937 Snow White was an amazing feat of animation. It's a classic for a reason. But it was also Hitler's favorite film and was directed by a white supremacist (the one who is "rolling in his grave" due to Rachel's existence, according to his son). Things don't exist in a vacuum and we can't ignore the bad parts.

How We Got Here:

The thing that everyone is missing is the source of this campaign. This started in September of 2020 when transphobic actor Gina Carano made fun of trans people by changing her pronouns to beep/bop.boop. Rachel indirectly called her out by coming to the defense of the trans community.

She never called out Gina by name (though she rightfully could have). Mind you, Rachel's first film hadn't come out yet. Nobody knew who she was outside of those of us who were anticipating West Side Story and were fans of her covers on YouTube. She was a "nobody" in the industry. Take this part with a grain of salt because I can't confirm it, but Gina and her fans directly blame Rachel for her being banned from Twitter. Again, I really don't think that matters as she's harmful to the trans community and shouldn't have a platform. What does matter is that fans of Gina (which, let's be real, are just fans of transphobia) have been stalking Rachel's every move since then. Unfortunately for them, there wasn't much they could use against her other than to call her woke and #snowbrown when she was cast a year later as the Disney princess. The noise has always been there, but unless you were a fan of hers, you probably didn't hear about it. It wasn't until two years after this that they had something else against her.

If you've recently seen a video of Rachel crying circulating that claims to be her reaction to the recent Snow White backlash, it's an old video. It's from a vlog from her youtube channel posted in June 2022. It was in response to these exact same transphobic anti-woke conservatives who thought that they had something when she did an interview on the red carpet of the Shazam premiere. When asked why she joined the DC universe, she responded "I needed a job." It was generally well received by most people who thought it was cute and funny, but those who were waiting in the shadows latched onto it as an excuse to send her death threats.

The video was also about a month after she was invited to present at the 2022 Oscars and was made to seem like she bullied the Academy (as a no name newcomer, mind you) into letting her attend. In reality, a fan left a comment on her Instagram asking what she was wearing to the event. She responded that she wasn't invited but would be rooting for everyone from her couch in her boyfriend's pajamas. It was the public who demanded she get an invite and the Oscar's must have agreed that it was very odd that the lead actress of a film that was nominated for Best Film wouldn't get an invite. Whether it was an oversight on their part or a scheduling issue with Rachel's filming, I truly think there was no malicious intent from either party. Keep in mind, she used to be very active with her fans (she's a huge fangirl of things herself and has always had a strong relationship with her fans) and she wasn't used to her comments becoming articles and national tv segments. This was the first time it happened to her. It appears she learned that she's not just a girl who posts on YouTube anymore and she's going to be put under a microscope for every move she makes. She has since shut down her Instagram comments and rarely interacts with fans outside of liking comments these days because of this.

I know this is long, but I need people to understand where this is all coming from. It didn't just happen out of nowhere. It's an orchestrated campaign built by violent conservatives, and thousands of women who saw Barbie this summer are hopping on the bandwagon to beat another woman into submission because they have a lot of internalized misogyny to deal with. She's not smug, you just hate women. It's okay to find people annoying, but it's valuable to look into why you think that. If you see a confident young woman expressing views that don't actually harm anyone and you think she needs to be "humbled" and "put in her place" by the entire internet dogpiling her, you've lost your mind. Using "body language experts" (fake job) to diagnose her as a psychopath is so vile. Everytime someone mentions her name online, the comments beneath it are full of the most violent, misogynistic, racist things I've ever seen. If you're contributing to that, you've chosen your side. Reevaluate or seek help.

I'm tired of seeing this happen to young women. We let this happen to Jennifer Lawrence, Brie Larson, Millie Bobby Brown, Halle Bailey, and Jenna Ortega. It's one thing to call out celebrities and hold them accountable when they're doing something actively harmful, but that's not what this is about. That's never been what this is about. We pick these girls to pieces and examine them and pull them apart to justify our hatred of young women who rise to success too quickly for our liking. We dogpile and try to stamp out the flame before they burn too bright. Barbie is still in theaters and you all loved it, yet you're demanding that a bright girl with a big future be small and submissive and humbled because you have issues. That's not feminism. You're just the girls who would have bullied Weird Barbie for using her hands too much when she talks.

#rachel zegler #snow white #disney #barbie #rachelzegler #there's also misinformation about her standing up for ansel elgort which isn't true #sorry but she hates that man #you're thinking about ariana debose who defended him #we'll get into that later

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gloomwitchwrites · 27 days

Text

Break Up with Your Toxic Boyfriend (3 of 4)

John Price x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: brief discussion of verbal and emotional injury, implied cheating, canon-typical swearing, protective / possessive Price, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv (wrap it up irl)

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Price might be your ex, but the two of you still consider yourselves friends. When you call him up about your current boyfriend’s horrible behavior, Price comes running with the intention of making you his again

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // break up with your toxic boyfriend masterlist

Price sits opposite you at your kitchen table. The muscles in his jaw fucking ache from clenching it. He has to keep reminding himself to release the tension before he gives himself a headache. Between the two of you rests an open whiskey bottle. There are two glasses. One directly in front of you, and one directly in front of him.

You don’t want to have this conversation like this, but Price forced it. You’ve brought up the issue countless time, but it’s almost always been over the phone. You’re not afraid to contact him to seek advice or to vent. Price likes that you call him because it gives him an excuse to talk to you.

But he’s fucking sick of this. He is sick of you taking this man’s—no—this immature fucking boy’s bullshit. A real man doesn’t act this way. This time, there will not be a phone conversation, but a face-to-face one. You don’t have a choice.

The truth is you were once Price’s woman. The two of you almost made it to the altar.

Price nearly made it all the way you with, but that was all yanked away from him. He was younger then, and just earned the title “Captain.” But Price was glued to his job, making that a priority over you every time.

He had fucked it all up, and you were right in leaving him.

Over the years, the two of you worked it out, falling back on a friendship that Price deeply values but silently wishes could become so much more again. You should be with him. You could be happy. Price knows what he did during your relationship was wrong. If you gave him another chance, he’d show you all the ways he’s fixed himself.

Instead, you’re dating this fucking prick who isn’t even worth a lob of spit. Price met the guy once and that was enough. He made nice for your benefit, but right now, Price isn’t feeling particularly nice anymore. Not after your phone call.

This relationship isn’t working for you. Unhappiness oozes out of every pore every time Price sees you in person or speaks with you over the phone. He knows it lingers. He knows it clings. But you are far too hesitant to admit it.

Maybe, Price just needs to give you a little push.

He takes a deep breath, unclenching his jaw before he speaks. “This time he abandoned you at the bar.” Each word unfurls slowly as Price tries to suppress his rising anger. “Do you know where he went?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter where.”

Of course it matters. This bastard gets so ragingly drunk that he ends up fucking leaving you whenever the two of you go out. Sometimes he’s taken the car or wandered off or left with others. Those times, you never tell Price whether he’s left with a friend or a stranger.

And Price is almost always the one coming to your rescue.

Just like now.

It has happened yet again.

Price is here and your boyfriend isn’t.

“It does matter,” replies Price, biting back the annoyed growl threatening to crawl up his throat. “Have you even heard from him?”

You frown, and that tells Price all he needs to know.

Your boyfriend has a pattern. The amount of time between leaving and contacting you all depends on what he’s up to. By the look on your face, Price starts to form a semblance of an idea.

“How long?” he asks. You remain silent. “How long?” he repeats.

Your fingernail idly scratches at the tabletop. “Almost two days.”

“Two days?” Price nearly knocks over his whiskey glass as he leans forward in his chair.

You shrug. Glance away.

Price softly scoffs and tosses back his drink, rubbing at one of his temples. The whiskey leaves a lingering burn. He knows what this means. Two days and no contact mean this fucker is likely in a stranger’s bed.

Everything within him wants to lecture you, to chastise and argue like he would with any of his subordinates. But you are not a soldier. You are the woman he nearly married. Price expected the rest of his life to be filled with you and the children you might have together.

He needs to do better. He needs to be gentle.

He needs to make you see that you should come back to him.

Price reaches for the whiskey bottle, pouring some of the amber liquid into his glass. “Remember the pub we’d always go to when I was off? The one by the coast?”

He’s changing the subject, but it’s only to move you away from your thoughts. Like Price, you already know what your boyfriend is up to. You already know but you won’t say it out loud because doing so is too painful.

The corners of your mouth turn upward, and Price sees victory on the horizon.

“The sea salt always stuck to everything.” You sigh with pleasure. “And they had the best armchairs.”

Price keeps his gaze fixated on your face, observing your softening features. “The walk back to the cottage was nice.” He shrugs. “A bit cold but…quiet.”

Romantic is what he wants to say.

“It was,” you laugh, becoming more animated. “You’d always shove me into your coat with you. But you only wanted to—”

You cut off abruptly, those soft features turning inward, embarrassment clear on your face.

Price knows exactly what you’re thinking.

He always wrapped you up in his coat so he could touch you. You’d warm up in his arms, and by the time the two of you arrived at the cottage he rented, you’d be needy for him. The moment Price would walk over the threshold, you’d be on him, nearly climbing him like a tree in an effort to fuck him.

Price says nothing but he doesn’t need to. You speak first.

“I miss those days,” you murmur.

“Do you miss me?” His question comes out automatically. Price didn’t even think before it flitted off his tongue.

Your gaze turns back to him, and while Price believes he sees brief desire there, you do not answer.

Swallowing, Price leans back in his chair. “You don’t need to answer that.”

This time it is you that leans forward. “I do.” Your gaze falls to the table before returning to his face. “I know you don’t feel the same way but—”

“I don’t?” interrupts Price, setting his whiskey glass down to address you completely. “You can read my mind now?”

You roll your eyes and start to recline but Price surges forward, reaching out to snag your wrist before your hand drops below the table. “Why do you think I still come around? Why I come when you call?”

There is no tug. You don’t try to snatch your arm back.

“You should be mine,” murmurs Price.

The confession is liquid, seeping into everything. He cannot take it back but he doesn’t want to. This is his chance to reclaim what he lost all those years ago.

There is a hesitation before you act. Slowly, you turn your wrist in his grasp, presenting your palm. Price glances down at it, and then shifts his grip, sliding his hand into yours. You’re a bit cold and his instinct is to wrap his fingers around yours, warming them.

The sigh you release is soft, and Price wants to breathe it in. To take it into himself.

“When I said it doesn’t matter where he went, I meant it,” you whisper. “I don’t care. He left me behind. It’s not the first time. Haven’t heard from him either. He’s left as far as I’m considered. That only makes it easier. Means I don’t have to be the one to do it.”

Is this it? Are you finally his again?

You lick your lips, and he follows the movement, wanting to taste what he’s been missing.

“Make me forget, John. Please.”

The way you say it breaks something inside him. You could ask anything of him in this moment and he’d gladly give it.

Releasing your hand, Price stands, walking around the table to get to you. You are already on your feet, reaching for him. Price tugs you into his arms and you go easily, wrapping your arms around his neck as he comes in for what he’s been craving.

You are sweet, bursting on his tongue. Your fingers thread through his hair, and Price pulls you even closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, hands falling low to squeeze the gentle curve of your ass.

Breaking apart is agony.

“So, you have missed me,” teases Price.

The gentle smile on your face is all the answer he needs. You want to forget, and so he’ll make you forget.

You are in his arms in moments. Price already knows where the bedroom is, and the second the two of you enter, Price is laying you on the bed, tugging at your clothes. He needs them gone. He needs you bare.

And you are happy to oblige, helping him remove each layer.

Price brands your skin with his mouth and tongue. He brings your nipples to hardened peaks, he kisses the valley between your breasts, creates a trail down to the space between your thighs. When he drops between them, he decides to stay. He decides to worship.

He will not leave. Not until you’re fucking begging for him to fuck you.

Price runs his tongue up your pussy, swirling the tip of it around your clit before sucking it into his mouth. Your nearly come off the bed, hands threading through his hair. Twisting. Your grip is rough, but Price could give a fuck.

He wants you screaming his name. He wants you riding his face.

That is exactly what you do, but Price takes his time with it, savoring every inch of your body, tasting and remembering the space between your thighs. He could stay here forever. Each orgasm that surges and recedes is a victory.

Price is prideful. Smug.

Your hips roll against his mouth, and he has to grip them to keep you from accidentally breaking his nose. Even if you managed to do so Price would wear it like a badge of honor.

“John,” you moan, voice breaking. “Please.”

Price stops teasing your clit, retreats a bit, pushing up until he can plant a soft kiss on your belly.

“Please, what?” he asks, all mock innocence. You whimper, fingers digging into his skin. “Words, love. Use your words.”

You shake your head. “I need you.”

“How?”

“Inside me, John.”

A flare of possessiveness rages through him, consuming every nerve and muscle and bone. Price pushes up from the bed and moves up your body. The moment his face is level with yours, you kiss him. Your hand is reaching between your bodies, gripping him, stroking him. Legs parting further, you hook them over his, pressing inward, indicating what you want.

Price shifts, lining up to your entrance. You press more but he is stronger. He resists, grabbing the back of your neck. “Tell me. Truly. Are you mine?” He tugs on your hair, exposing your neck. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whimper.

Price starts to sink in. He’ll make you his again with more than just his words. Price will fill you up, have you dripping with him, just like he used to do.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @kittytiddywinks @berarenado @saoirse06 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @nelladowney @miaraei @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 8 months

Note

TWST boys with a Diana! Reader?

The reader's a really and I mean REALLY popular and a captivating woman from Siodonna, many rumours were spreading of a beauty from Siodonna yet the TWST boys decided to ignore the rumours, taking them as only bluffs until they met the reader performing in the streets for the poor children. The boys quickly fell head over heels for they're kind nature, and alluring looks. The way those crystal like (Colour) eyes gaze into theirs sending their hearts pounding again their chest. Being lucky enough to marry the woman of their dreams was a big accomplishment but they're happiness was short lived when they found out the risk of the reader dying during childbirth, the TWST boys being selfish asked her to choose them over the child yet the reader didn't have the heart to do so and decided to give her life for the child, only doing as much as witnessing how they're child grew as a wandering spirit and visiting them in their dreams to interact with they're child. How would the guys react when their child(or children) mentioning they're mother's name when they've actually never met or heard of her?? <3

- M. Draconia ; V. Schoenheit ; R. Rosehearts ; L. Kingscholar ; I. Shroud ; L. Vanrouge

"I'm sorry for not choosing you, but I couldn't bare giving it up ( sacrificing an innocent life) either..."

- (Name)

SORRY IT'S BAD, I'M RUSHING THIS 😭😭

Mentioning Your Name | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Its an average day your child casually mentions some advice you gave. It takes them off guard and the problem with lovers as in love as they are suffering from your loss–this can be received very differently:

Malleus Draconia

“What did you say?”

“I said (Y/n) told me I should try harder to talk to you because your socially immature.”

“....when…when did they say this?”

“In my dream last night, I asked how I was supposed to get you to smile at me and they told me to be ins-st-i-dent?”

He remembers what you said to comfort him before the birth

And honestly if it hadn’t been for that and this child having your smile

He would’ve smited him long ago

But to hear that you’re still here in some capacity

He smiles more

Speaking into the quiet of the room

Practically serenading your lingering spirit

“Thats…just like them…”

Vil Schoenheit

“Wearing those two patterns is a travesty, we won’t be doing plaid with polka-dots–”

“Noooo! B-but I said I would!”

“...To who?”

“To (Y/n) of course I was telling them all about how I’d wear them-”

“Wait wait what did you say?”

He doesn’t believe that you’re meeting in their dreams

Its more than likely one of his close friends slipped up while babysitting

And now they’ve taken the name of their mother for some imaginary friend

Needless to say he’ll get to the bottom of this

Even if it takes a forceful kind of truth serum

“(Y/n)...my half is dead…so whoever they’re speaking to is something else.”

Riddle Rosehearts

“My RULE IS ABSOLUTE TO YOUR ROOM!”

“(Y/n) would hate you so much!?”

“H-how do y-you–!”

“They said I should be free! That I should be allowed to play with others!”

“Where?! Where did you hear that?!”

He thought that he wouldn’t need to be hurt again

But here you were showing up in your child’s dreams

But since you’ve left him…what do you words mean now

“You’re not appearing to me and you aren’t here to parent…therefore you’re words barely scrape the height of a suggestion.”

Leona Kingscholar

“(Y/n) doesn’t think I’m weak!”

“WHAT?!”

“THEY said I’m plenty strong and that you don’t know everything!”

He’ll continue to lock the child away

Scratching at his post some interloper as he thinks about what his child has said

“Even across the grave you’re fighting me…can’t do much from where I’m at now can I?”

Idia Shroud

“Papa I made my own drone…”

“Mmmm.”

“Uhm and uh (Y/n) says that you should maybe look at me when I show you mystuff so…”

“...”

Is floored

Since your departure he’s been torn with hating this child and eliminating anyone who interacts with them

So consumed with grief he shuts himself in his workshop and watches his child relentlessly

He knows them well in fact he’s sure he loves them

but he can’t stand to speak to them without wanting to cry

So this is all the more painful to him and in his desire to reach out he might end up inventing something meant to capture your wandering spirit

“Just you wait (Y/n), I’ll have you soon.”

Lilia Vanrouge

“Just trust Papa on this you stay inside, my little bat.”

“(Y/n) says you should let me outside more.”

“Oh yeah they really–said…that?”

“Yeah! And that you need to properly comb out my hair you can’t leave it a tangled mess.”

“Hahaha yeah.”

He believes in ghosts, well he knows they exist

So he believes thats what that is about

And if thats the case than maybe if he suggests somethings for your kid to recite

Maybe he can still reach out to you

“Hey! Hey! Maybe the next time you see them can you tell her how much Daddy loves her?”

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a-certain-romance · 9 months

Text

She can hardly wait

Characters/Ships: Yae Miko x fem!reader & Dehya x fem!reader

Synopsis:

Warnings: Smut written by a minor, a/b/o dynamics (both) possessive tendencies (Miko), biting (Miko), fangs (Miko), mentions of blood (Miko), Praise (Dehya), Riding (Deyha)

In actuality, you had nothing against not wanting Miko to help you through your heat. But you couldn’t help but be somewhat wary of the person she would become when the cycle gets to her.

So when your heat came around the corner and you avoided her as best as you could, this sly fox decides to make no interference whatsoever. If you really think you can handle it alone, so be it. She won’t stop you. Miko knows you’ll need her eventually. It’s only a matter of time until you come crawling to her with tears in your eyes.

In fact, she’ll do things to purposely tease the shit out of you. Showing off her legs more, whispering in your ear with a breathy voice, lingering touches too close for comfort. “I’m sure you must have a good reason to keep this from me. But dear, wouldn’t your rather let me take it from here, hmm?”

She wants you to beg for it. Her favorite part about this whole process is how weak and willing you would undoubtedly become. Miko can smell your desire from a mile away so it’s only a matter of time. She finds this whole idea laughable. What am I going to do, break you? She’s debating it.

It’s all fun and games to her. That is until, your scent starts to attract the attention of others. Left and right, men & women approach you more often, offering their their “assistance” to help satisfy their your needs.

And it ticked Miko off. Tch, like they can do any better. Perhaps she spent too much watching you tremble and not enough time doing anything about it. It’s about time she gives you what you’ve been aching for.

“My, you are desperate little thing” her index finger slides slowly down your stomach. “Tell me. Would you have said yes to them? Those faceless scoundrels who don’t know you like I do.”

“Never, Miko—“

“That’s right, because you’re mine. I’m the only one who can make you feel this good” She taps her finger firmly at your entrance in a familiar pattern. Three, two, one…one, two, three.

“Alright, I believe I’ve teased you long enough. It’s about time to let the world know who you belong to, don’t you think?”

Her pointed teeth pierce the skin right above your collarbone. At the same time, Miko slides the end of her cock past your folds. With that, every sensation becomes heightened. Even though it’s only the tip, you arch yourself close to her.

“Well aren’t you needy” She swipes a bit of blood off her pointed fangs as she smirks down at you. “It’s only just the tip. I’ve barley touched you yet.” Miko leans down to lick your wound clean.

“There. If anyone should dare to defy this mark, they shall answer to me. Now let’s finish this, shall we?”

Dehya on the otherhand is the polar opposite of Miko. She would drop everything to be with you if you called for her. She’s on you in seconds the minute she smells you flare up. Deyha’s managed to keep track of the time of your cycles so she can prepare accordingly. She’s been with you long enough to know the signs: flushed cheeks paired with a stronger scent and a little bit of extra clinginess. It makes her wonder why you’re hiding this time around.

Deyha brings a bag of overnight clothes to your place where you’ve been isolating yourself. She finds you huddled in a pile of blankets, sweating profusely. Only this time it wasn’t because of Sumeru’s intense weather.

“Missed me?”

You mumble out a response to which she shakes her head at. Before tending to your sexual needs, she forces you to drink a cup of water and removes a few blankets from your bed so they won’t get in the way later. You explain afterwards how Dehya’s involvement with Sumeru’s chaos lead to you decide to go through this one on your own since she seemed preoccupied with other matters. She lightly scolds you for not mentioning this sooner. Dehya doesn’t stay mad for too long though. Now that she’s here, she’s going to make you spend your day and night working through your heat.

“That’s it..that’s my girl. Think you can take it all the way?” Dehya opens your legs wider around her waist and pulls you close to her chest. It never fails to shock you how she can go from pampering you to pounding you at a moment’s notice.

She groans into your neck when she bottoms out. “You’re taking my cock so well baby”. Her hand caresses your cheek, “I’ll make you feel so good. I’m gonna start thrusting now, okay?”

Her stokes are languid as you get used to the position. But your intoxicating scent triggers a rut of her own. Her breath hitches. A new feeling suddenly being awoken. She brazenly pulls you you closer by the hips to meet her thrusts. The closer you are, the further she fucks her shaft into you.

“Nnh, please just hold still for me, like a good girl would” Dehya changes the angle to hit deeper than before. The way her cock drags against your walls feels heavenly. Despite this being your heat, she’s a whimpering mess trying to please the both of you.

“Baby, you feel so good,” she whispers close to your ear, “Such a good girl. I need to—“

Her the throbbing head repeatedly knocks against your cervix. She swells, pulls out, and shoots her load on your stomach. Your slick still continues to drip from between your legs; your satisfaction not entirely met. You still need Dehya’s help. And that means you’re going to let her take you however she wants, right?

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin smut #yae miko x reader #yae miko imagines #yae miko smut #yae miko x y/n #yae smut #dehya x reader #dehya x y/n #dehya x you #dehya smut #💋

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bisexualbaker · 6 months

Text

Crochet Pattern for Palestine and Israel Relief

At long last, it's done!

This crochet pattern is for small cats, of a good size to make into keychains, magnets, or even hair clips! There are six PDF versions available:

- US stitch names in 12 point Atkinson Hyperlegible - US stitch names in 22 point Atkinson Hyperlegible - US stitch names in 22 point Comic Sans

- UK stitch names in 12 point Atkinson Hyperlegible - UK stitch names in 22 point Atkinson Hyperlegible - UK stitch names in 22 point Comic Sans

Between those six options, that should cover most pattern accessibility needs. If you need something else, though, let me know! I'm prepared to offer a .doc or similar file on an individual basis if you need a screenreader to access crochet patterns, and have a sheet I can use to translate things to German stitch terms (though more in-depth instructions would still be in English). The pattern is worked primarily in (US) single crochet/(UK) double crochet, with the ears in (US) double crochet/(UK) treble crochet popcorn stitches, and is bundled with similar file options of a popcorn stitch tutorial PDF (no stitch names used).

"Socchan," you say, "These cats are super cute! And you said that this pattern is for charity? How does that work exactly?"

I'm glad you asked! Simply donate a minimum of $3 or close-enough local equivalent to a related charity, then take a screencap of your receipt/proof of donation. Block out any information that could doxx you; it's nice if you trust me, but it's not impossible that my email could get hacked, and I want you to be safe! Finally, email the altered screencap to socchan (at) protonmail (dot) com.

Once I get and check the screencap, I will email you back with a link to a MediaFire folder and the password you'll need to open the PDFs. Yes, it is a bit of a pain to need a password to open these files, but this was the simplest way I could figure out how to do things without needing to upload and send a minimum of six files to every person. Download as many of the variations as you want, keep a copy of the password somewhere safe (and don't delete the email with it), and go to town!

As a bonus, if you take your donation up to at least $5 (or close-enough local equivalent), I'll throw in an additional link and password for a very cute little flower pattern!

"That sounds pretty easy," you go on to say, "but where should I donate? There are so many options to choose from!"

No problem! Here's a couple of short lists of options that can help you narrow things down:

Palestine: Palestine Children's Relief Fund - Focuses on medical aid to children in Palestine Medical Aid for Palestine - "[H]elp MAP respond to the ongoing emergency in Gaza, as well as provide medical supplies, support healthcare services and deliver long term development to healthcare in the occupied Palestinian territory and Palestinian refugee camps in Lebanon." MAP reportedly has a team on the ground in Gaza, providing critical medical aid. Anera - Providing food, hygiene kits, and medical care in Gaza, the West Bank, and East Jerusalem. Palestine Red Crescent - More medical support in Palestine; the rest of the webpage is in Arabic, so be prepared if you want to click around at all. Basically the Palestinian Red Cross. Gaza Cemetery Project - "Al-Hamdulillah, a 5,500 square meters’ piece of land has been secured to create a public cemetery for the city and neighbouring areas." This area still needs a fence to protect the burial plots before it can be used.

Israel: Zaka - A group of first responders and people who identify bodies and prepare them for burial (sadly, sorely needed right now); they are in need of safety equipment, medical supplies, first aid kits, and more. Red Magen David - The Israeli/Jewish equivalent of the Red Cross; first responder medical support and similar. (This one has some pretty immediate upsetting text, so take care!) Hatzalah - Similar to Red Magen David, another first responder and emergency medical group. The Koby Mandell Foundation - Focuses on bereavement aid in Israel for people who have lost loved ones in traumatic circumstances; they've got support hotlines and can arrange for support visits, among other things. The Refuser Solidarity Network - Providing support for Israeli citizens who refuse government mandatory military service.

I think that's everything, aside from: Please Signal Boost! If I end up having to send out two hundred emails in the next couple of days, that still won't be too many.

#signal boost #crochet #crochet pattern #israel #palestine #fundraiser #gaza #if you can't give much #or if you need to take out of your entertainment budget or something #but you still want to help #this is an option for you #id in alt text #now with a fixed typo!

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pullhisteeth · 9 months

Text

wise words | eddie munson

summary Eddie f*cked up (royally) and has to work his ass off to get you back. based on a swift song obviously [4k]

contains 18+! fem!reader, a bit of fuckboy!eddie, angst, arguing, grovelling, hurt/comfort, crying, eventual fluff, suggestive themes/allusions to smut, Robin and Steve being disappointed but supportive pseudo-parents

He’s standing on your doorstep.

He’s standing on your doorstep and he’s shaking. Like a fucking leaf.

He looks down at the flowers wrapped in cellophane and thinks, are they good enough?

Am I good enough?

Will anything ever be good enough?

Thick drops of rainwater run down the plastic and coat the pink petals and he resolves that no, they’re not good enough.

He knocked twenty-three seconds ago. He knows this because he’s counting, keeping himself grounded.

Twenty-four Mississippi.

Twenty-five Mississippi.

Twenty-six Miss-

The door swings open quickly, almost impatiently, as though there wasn’t nearly half a minute between the knock and the response.

He looks up and when his eyes meet yours he knows for sure this time that this was a bad idea.

“Are you insane?” you ask him. Concern cuts through the irritation, leaving those creases by your eyebrows he’s so familiar with.

He doesn’t respond, his mind elsewhere. He’s desperately trying to pull it back but it’s running fast, back to yesterday evening.

“Eddie, seriously,” Robin says, impatient, “you have to do something. This is getting ridiculous, and besides, she’s crazy about you, even if you did royally fuck up, and- Hey!”

“What Rob means to say,” Steve interjects, giving her a swift and clean elbow to the ribs, “is that you’ve gotta grovel, man.”

“But it’s been so long,” Eddie whines, running his hands over his face, a pattern he has grown accustomed to over the past few months. A fed-up, miserable routine of lamenting his deepest regrets to his patient but equally-as-fed-up friends over beers on the nights you’re too busy to join them. “I can’t- I don’t know what I’d say.”

“Here,” Robin says, laying her palms flat on the table, fingers splayed. She pushes herself up, weight on her hands, and leans over Eddie. He stares up at her from behind his own fingers and winces quietly. “You love her, right?”

“Yes,” he responds, voice muffled under the heels of his hands.

“And she loves you-”

“Does she?”

“-and we know this because we’re her friends.”

Eddie’s eyes flit to Steve, whose face is drooping with sympathy. Anyone who has been on the receiving end of a Robin Buckley lecture knows the feeling, and he has had his fair share.

“So what you gotta do,” she continues, dipping her head to regain his attention, “is apologise.”

“I tried that-”

“Properly.”

At this he gives in, huffing a sigh and dropping his arms to fold in front of him, quickly enough to catch his head as it drops to the table like an anvil. He hears Robin return to her seat, and then feels gracious fingers on his elbow.

“Eds, man, it’s gonna be fine. You’ve just gotta fight for it.” It’s Steve, being soft as ever, so desperate to see his two friends happy that he’ll relinquish himself to his affectionate side.

“I want to,” he says, voice muffled again by the denim of his jacket sleeves. “But she deserves better than me.”

“Tell her that,” Robin suggests, voice far softer now. “Tell her you miss her, it’s been a long time, and that you were scared.”

She’s clever, Eddie thinks, pulling that gem out from the archives. On a particularly bad night, maybe two months after it had happened, he’d admitted to them the truth at the heart of all of this: he’s a scared boy, one who resolved while young that he would never fall in love, never let the walls down, for fear that he’d have to endure loss any more than was necessary. Your love had driven him mad and fear had driven him away, and now he avoids three diners and nearly all of the gas stations across Hawkins, schedules doctors appointments at the most inconvenient times and definitely never steps foot in the movie theatre downtown.

“She’ll come around,” Robin tells him kindly. When he lifts his head, eyes regretfully filling with that hopeful spark, she says, “She’s mad, don’t get me wrong. But she’ll come around. You just have some work to do.”

“And for what it’s worth,” Steve says in a cadence that worries Eddie enough to make him lift his head back up again, looking at Steve’s stern expression, “she does deserve better than you.”

“Stop, Steve, seriously-”

“She deserves better than you if you can’t find the fucking courage to go get her back.”

Now, standing on your front doorstep, looking at you for the first time in half a year, Eddie knows Steve was right. He doesn’t have the balls to do this; he’s too afraid of rejection, and more specifically rejection from you, and this was a bad idea. You deserve better.

He barely notices when you step one pace to the left, and when you speak your voice sounds like it’s coming from the other side of a thick wall.

“You’re gonna get hypothermia if you stay out there.”

He moves without thinking too hard, because you’re right - it’s cold as fuck out here and he’s grateful for the humming warmth he can feel coming from inside your home.

“Just stay there, I’m gonna get some towels.”

He feels pathetic, standing in your hallway, dripping wet like a fucking dog, gripping so hard onto the flowers that his knuckles are turning white. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, afraid of getting anything in your house wet, but acutely aware of how stupid he must look.

You come back around the corner with two big bath towels in your arms. They’re white and Eddie feels the burning shame of ruining them but says nothing, remaining tight-lipped and letting you clean up the floor. When your fingers curl around his tense ones he stares at you, at the strange, unreadable look on your face, and feels the jolt of a thousand volts carry down his fingers and into his shoulder. Where your fingers made contact you leave a sensation not unlike carpet burn.

“These are pretty,” you tell him, gently pulling the flowers from his grip. The cellophane crinkles and it slowly brings him back to this, to you, and he nearly chokes on air.

He says your name, a pathetic sound followed by even more pathetic noises, and when you smile, tight-lipped just like him and brows turned down, he cracks, voice failing him as he stumbles.

“Get your boots off and meet me in the kitchen,” you say, your face unreadable as ever as you turn on your heels and step back through the open door he knows well.

You leave him bewildered, like a soldier in the wake of a bomb, but he eventually comes to and does as you say. He debates leaving them outside, to cause you the least bother possible, but decides instead to leave them on one of the towels by the door.

His socks are soggy, slipping on the hardwood as he treads softly through your home. The reaction his gut is having to being here is ugly, so he breathes in slowly through his nose and wipes rainwater off his cheek with the back of his hand.

You’ve got your back to him, standing over the sink. At first he thinks you’re sorting the flowers, the way you always do - wrapping off, stalks trimmed, vase filled - but then he sees that, instead, you’re gripping the porcelain. White-knuckled.

For the first time he gets a look at you, or the back of you at least, because he’s pretty sure you haven’t heard him come around the corner. You’re much the same as before, except for the way you’ve cut your hair, and the fact that he remembers you in pretty sundresses and tennis shoes but it’s December, so you’re bundled in a jumper and sweats.

“I, uh-” He stammers, words catching on the edges of his teeth. He says your name again and watches you flinch. “It’s- It’s been so long, I-”

“Yeah,” you breathe, shoulders relaxing and grip loosening. You turn and lean back on the sink with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Just so you know,” he starts, and he can feel it, the fucking sarcastic tone that he can’t seem to shake. It comes out whenever he has to be genuine and it’s like someone else somewhere is pushing his buttons, controlling what comes out of his mouth. “-it’s been the, uh, the longest six months I think... ever.”

You look at him, more than familiar with this tone and this game.

“Yeah,” you say again.

“I don’t really know how to-”

“Eddie,” you bite, words like venom. “Can I ask you a question?”

As he nods his head, a little bemused, you gesture to the kitchen table. He catches on and sits at the chair closest to the door as you mirror him on the chair opposite.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

You rest your crossed arms on the table and lean on them, peering at him.

He breathes in slowly.

“To apologise.”

You scoff and he flinches, recoiling at the sound.

“And how’s this one gonna be different to the other hundred apologies?” You spit the word, as though it bears no meaning. At this point, and when it comes to Eddie, it almost doesn't.

That’s fair, he thinks.

“You are such a fucking jackass, Eddie Munson,” Robin barks, raising her arms in defeat. She’s pacing the aisles of Family Video while he sits on the counter and Steve loiters behind it, sorting tapes. “A jackass, seriously!”

“I get it, Rob, thanks,” he drones.

“No,” she snaps, feet finally finished being aimless and instead marching her over to him. She stands somewhere close to between his knees and if it weren’t Robin and she weren’t about to grill him for all he’s worth, it might be endearing.

She jabs her index finger into his chest, straight to the centre of his sternum.

“You’re a piece of shit. An asshole. A douchebag. And I’m allowed to call you all of these things because it’s me who gets the phone calls at two in the morning when she’s crying over you. Again.”

He drops his gaze, his hair covering her wrist and his face.

“Why’d you do it, dude?” Steve asks from behind him. “Like… I just don’t see the… Goal, or whatever.”

Eddie groans and tips his head back, staring uncomfortably at the ceiling tiles.

He wonders for a brief moment, before answering, why the two of them are still friends with him. Clearly his end goal is being as inaccessible as possible, keeping everyone at such a far distance at all times that he can never feel remorse, or that he’s letting anyone down. But now he’s here, with his friends, and he’s let them down and, worst of all, let you down, too. More than ever.

“I was trying to make it better,” he says, and the jab to the sternum comes harder this time, and is the full brunt of Robin’s fist rather than her finger.

“That is bullshit,” she says.

“I was!” he maintains, exasperated. “I just… I started trying to explain myself and I just couldn’t tell the truth.”

“So instead you told her you never want to see her again?!”

“I-”

“How does that help literally anything?!”

Robin’s right, of course. She’s always right; too smart for her own good, Eddie’s always thought. But he doesn’t have an answer for her.

“She’s better off that way anyway,” he says, sighing.

He blinks at you, studying your stern expression, before answering.

“I wanna be honest with you,” he begins, “like, actually this time. And I know it’s been ages and that I have been…”

“Awful,” you suggest.

“Yeah, awful-”

“An asshole. The worst. Evil. Cruel. Mean.”

“Right,” he says, nodding limply. “Yeah. That.”

You lean back, arms still crossed like armour.

“I want to get this right,” he admits, surprising himself, “and I’m trying to work out how.”

You also seem taken aback by this, brows raising just a bit, your eyes going wide. You don’t say anything, though.

“I want you to know how sorry I am,” he continues. He’s sitting rigid in his seat and can’t find something to occupy his fingers, so he begins twisting a ring around one of them. “But, like, I don’t know how to get that across… The flowers were, uh, step one, and this is step two… I, uh…”

He’s stumbling again, searching for the words in a sea of insecurity and unsteadiness. You wait, sitting still and breathing shallow.

“I think I- I was scared.”

“Of what?” you ask, taking him by surprise. He was expecting a vast silence that he would have to fill with pleas, excuses, sorries and truths. He thought you’d leave him to it and let him down slowly at the end.

“Uh, of you. Of us, I guess.”

“What?”

He leans forward finally, dropping his head into his hands. “I don’t know how to-”

“Try,” you say flatly.

He looks up at you, unsure.

“Try to explain it. You haven’t even tried.”

Deep, heavy breath in.

“Eddie, you can’t, I don’t-”

“Fucking stop it,” he bites, arrowhead words ripping you open.

“I don’t understand,” you try again, voice thick with tears and your throat closing in. In fact, everything is closing in.

He’s leaving.

“Exactly,” he spits, pulling his shirt on. “Just… I’m going.”

“But-”

He’s out of the door, jacket in arm, before you can protest any further. Your mind is racing, spinning out in search of something that you could have done to fix this, or else something you could have done to cause this.

But you’re coming up empty, because you’d spent the day the same as any other day this summer: in your bed, entwined, wayward fingers and lazy kisses. Sweet nothings splashed in whispers across bare skin, and-

Oh, you think. Oh.

“When you said you loved me,” he begins, wincing at his own honesty, “I just… I freaked, it was scary. I… Honestly, the main problem here is that I was fucking scared. I am scared. I don’t know how to… How to love, or whatever… How to do it right and not hurt you, or me, or both of us. I’m useless, it’s why I’ve never bothered before and I knew, even before we started hooking up, that-”

“Hooking up?”

He looks at you, pulling his eyes back from their wandering, to find you bitter and your face contorted in disgust.

“You call that hooking up?”

“I mean- I-”

“If you think we were hooking up, that’s bad enough, Eddie. Hook ups don’t last three months.”

“No,” he sighs. “They don’t. I think I’m… Trying to make myself feel better about it.”

“You don’t deserve that,” you tell him, and though it’s cutting and it should hurt, your voice is so kind so suddenly that he can’t help but lean into it, tugging gently on the hands of care it extends to him. “You left me, after months of stringing me along. I was basically your girlfriend, without the labels or whatever. There isn’t another word for what we were.”

“No,” he agrees, dwelling for a moment too long on those moments of domesticity, the quiet mornings drinking coffee on your front lawn, the afternoons spent hanging the laundry and throwing stray socks at one another. “And that was fucking scary. I was way too scared, when you said you loved me that morning, way too scared to admit what I really, really wanted.”

“Which was?” you ask, arms still firmly crossed.

“Oh, come on,” he scoffs. “You know what I-”

“Say it.”

“You-

“Say it.”

He breathes, defeated, and looks at you dead in the eye.

“I love you,” he tells you. “I loved you then, and I love you now, and I have no idea what to do about it.”

You deflate, your arms going lax, face surprised as though you didn’t expect him to actually do it, to rise to your challenge and be honest. For a flash, he feels smug, but then he remembers-

“I love you,” he repeats - the feeling of the words rolling off his tongue is unbearable, they’re too heavy, they won’t stop falling - “but you deserve better than me.”

You breathe sharply through your nose in frustration.

“Why are you here then?”

“What?”

“If I deserve better than you,” you repeat, finally releasing the tightness of your crossed arms and planting your palms on your knees, “why are you here? To torture me? Not satisfied with the last six fucking months, huh?”

“No, I-”

“Well, Eddie-” You spit his name like it’s gone bad and it twists something inside him. “-I’m fucking fed up of you and your… How mean you are. You’re always so mean to me and I hate that I cried over you for weeks-”

The door swings open and Robin rushes inside, expression tight with fear and worry.

She calls your name in a tone that drips affection as she rounds on you, where you’re standing with your weight on the wall and a hand over your face. By now it’s puffy and uncomfortable, your cheeks raw from wiping them with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“What happened?” she asks, holding you like you’re about to break and moving you across your house to the couch. “Did you argue? Or-”

“He left, Robs. Just left.” You sigh and it heaves like you’re sat under a crate of bricks. Robin’s heart aches, nearly cracks in two at the sight of you and the fury she feels for her stupid, good-for-nothing metalhead friend.

“Oh, honey,” she coos, wrapping you up in strong arms. As she rocks you, you cry, and she kisses the crown of your head and tells you, without much belief in it herself, that it’ll be okay.

“Steve’s on his way,” she says after ten or fifteen minutes.

“It’s okay, I’m-”

“We’re gonna stay here,” she says quickly, “just for tonight.”

You look at her, eyes glassy, and as you speak your voice cracks. “I love him, Rob.”

She looks back at you sadly, fingers gripping your hands. “I know.”

You’re on your feet now, pacing back and forth and he’s watching, transfixed, as your shoulders move up and down, powered by rage, understandably.

“-I cried so much because I had spent weeks working up the courage to say that to you, to admit it to you and to myself because you’re so cold, Eddie. You’re so cold and distant and I still managed to fall in love with you.”

It’s at this point that Eddie’s drifting eye, which is following you back and forth, lands on the cluster of picture frames on your windowsill. He recognises most of them - photos of the group of you, up by the lake or in Chicago, some of your family and others at special occasions. But one of them calls to him loud enough to pull his eye from you completely.

It’s a silly frame he found at the thrift store. It’s hand-painted in gaudy colours, brush strokes in swirls and bursts of yellow and purple and green. And behind the glass is a picture Wayne had taken one day when you were at his trailer, watching movies on the couch.

It’s a polaroid, as most of your photos are, bright cracks of colour and light caused by the window right by his head - his head which is looking straight ahead, big wide grin and happy eyes, and you beside him, hands on one of his thighs, pushing yourself up to kiss his cheek.

It’s only when you stop pacing and, more noticeably, stop talking that he realises anything is wrong. His face is wet and there are new drops of water on the table - not the drying rainwater from his hair, but one or two drips from his jaw.

“Are you crying?” you ask, hands on your hips.

“Huh?” He asks, wiping his face with his wrist. “I, uh… Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I just-”

His eyes flicker upwards and past you, to somewhere you follow with your own gaze. It lands on the photo and you start, cheeks flushing warm.

Suddenly, the anger lingering in the room, filling the air and his lungs and almost definitely yours, dissipates. It doesn’t disappear as such - you’re still seething, breathing loudly, but it’s like someone cracked a whip and the dust lifted.

He calls your name and you look at him, wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you earnestly. “I’m really, really sorry.”

You breathe out slowly and he watches your chest deflate as you take a step to sit back down. As you sit he rises, stepping over to you on unsure feet. He’s tentative, waiting - expecting - an adverse reaction.

You watch him as he gets closer and lowers himself to the ground.

“You are not about to-”

“I’m not getting on my knees, if that’s what you’re gonna say,” he says, and his tone is light - too light for his liking, but he catches the twitch in the corner of your mouth and something warm blooms in one of the chambers of his heart.

He squats beside you, resting his weight on one hand on the table. He keeps the other to himself, fingers spread over his bent knee.

“I’m an asshole. In fact, I’ve been all of those things you said, and I don’t think I’ll ever be sorry enough for you. But I… I’ve had all this time, and some… intense conversations with Rob and Steve, and I… I want to try to be sorry enough. Or to just make it up to you, somehow. Because I can’t… It’s too hard, doing all of this without you.”

He knows how this must look, him on the ground, soggy socks and soggier hair, staring at you like a lost puppy. But the way your eyes soften, and the familiar feeling of the brush of your fingertips over the damp skin of his bare wrist, is enough to make him go limp.

“What��d they say?” you ask him, watching your own fingers where they trace aimless strokes.

“Hm?”

“Rob and Steve. What’d they say?”

He laughs lightly, embarrassed.

“Uh, that I’m an asshole. In fact, Rob, she made sure to tell me that multiple times. Basically every time I saw her. And Steve, he… He’s such a good dude, you know? But I… I disappointed them, and myself, and you. I hurt you so bad and I don’t know where to put all this guilt I have.”

Neither of you are looking at one another, but you chuckle, thinking about Robin. Her loyalty makes your head spin. And Steve, with his heart of gold, who held you all those times you cried and fought silently between his anger at Eddie and his love for you.

“I love them,” you whisper, your fingers halting. The pad of your thumb hovers over the protruding joint, stroking it softly until you feel the thrum of his pulse under your own. Your fingers wrap the opposite way, until you’re holding his arm like a bracelet.

You squeeze and he sucks a quick breath in.

“You really hurt me, Eddie,” you tell him, lifting his arm off the table. He wobbles and uses his free hand to steady himself on your chair, the knuckle of his thumb meeting the side of your thigh for just a second. You manoeuvre his hand into your lap, where you lay it flat. You both stare at it and all he can hear is your breathing and the rush of blood past his ears.

“I know I did,” he says. “I can go, if you want.”

You hum and begin tracing the lines on his palm. “It’s gonna take a while,” you say.

“What is?”

“Making it up to me.”

His eyes move without permission to your face, where he finds a barely-there smile and the beginnings of the crows feet by your eyes.

“Forever,” he says, knowing you’re right - it’ll take a long, long time.

“Forever.”

“I must’ve been crazy,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

“Hm?”

Your fingers are still now, resting on his, and he finally moves his own. His knees are burning from squatting and the balls of his feet are digging into something sharp under the linoleum, but he’s not thinking too hard about any of it. He takes your hands in his and holds them, backs of your palms to the front of his. He dips his head and kisses your left wrist and then your right, lingering to feel the thump of your heart.

“I am crazy,” he says. “I let you go.”

“You left me,” you correct him. “I never wanted to go.”

He looks up at you and pales when he sees the tears. Your eyes are wet and red round the edges and he thinks to himself that you’ve been doing this, crying over him, for six months. And it’s his fault.

The two of you move quickly and without thought. His knees buckle, giving into the strain he’s been putting on them for so long, and as he hits the floor he tightens his grip on you without meaning to. You’re pulled off your chair with a yelp and a clatter, landing in his lap with your knee dangerously close to his crotch.

Hands paw and wipe tears and you lift your leg to plant it beside him. As you stabilise yourself his arms come around you, too quickly at first; so quick he worries you’ll push him off, tell him to go fuck himself. They’re met by yours, though, coming around his back.

“I’m sorry,” he says into your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

You say nothing, and instead push your face further into his shoulder.

He feels and hears you sniffling, so he pulls you back gently. Some of his hair sticks to your face and you wipe your nose unceremoniously with the back of your hand, scoffing at him when you see he’s smiling at you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you tell him, looking away.

“Like what?”

“Like… That.”

“I don’t-”

“You have that look,” you say, groaning. And then you reach up to hold his face, and he caves, bowing into you in every way he can. “You’re so fucking pretty and it’s the worst.”

“You’re one to talk,” he tells you, enjoying the way you flush.

“Always the charmer.”

“It’s true,” he says. “Never seen anyone as pretty as you.”

He leans into your palm and twists just so, lips brushing the heel of it in a quick kiss.

“Flattery won’t get you out of this,” you tell him, your smile deceiving you only slightly.

“I know,” he says. “But it might help me.”

You’ve been inching closer to his face, and now you’re all he sees. You’ve taken up his field of vision, your breath brushing past the end of his nose.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“Wow,” you laugh, “Steve taught you how to be a gentleman since I last saw you or somethin’?”

“Stop- You’re ruining this.”

“Sorry,” you say, still laughing. “You were just never the kind to be so… chivalrous.”

“I’m hardly being chivalrous,” he says, matching your smile. “But now you mention it, yeah, actually.”

You lean back only slightly but it’s enough to make him deflate, unhappy at the new distance.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I mean… I was an asshole, as we’ve established. Needed to learn my manners again.”

“What did he say?”

“Can we please talk about this later? I just wanna-”

“No,” you say, grinning now. “I want to know.”

He groans, the hand he has spread across your back to hold you up tensing.

“I dunno, he just… He really did a number on me, y’know, telling me how I did everythin’ wrong and that I…”

He’s gone coy and you’re relishing in it.

“You what?”

“I… Steve called me a fuckboy.”

You bark out a laugh so loud Eddie flinches, but then he watches as you carry on laughing, nearly bent double, eyes all crinkled just the way he likes, the way he’s missed terribly.

“What’s so funny?!”

“It’s true,” you say. “It’s so true! Robin, Steve, I mean, we love you, obviously, you’re our friend, but like… They did say when you and me started, y’know… That I was in for it, that you’d break my heart, and I told them they were crazy ‘cause it was just sex, right? But then I realised maybe it wasn’t just sex, when you basically started living here, and we were more like… I dunno, like a couple… But they were right!”

He looks at you, aghast.

“They told you all of that?”

“Yeah! I mean, they were right, huh?”

“Yeah, I just… I didn’t know it was that bad, that they’d be able to notice that kinda thing.”

“You know,” you say, fingers tapping patterns up his chest. “Steve told me somethin’ else, a few months back.”

“Oh, god,” he groans, mind reeling through the thousands of things this could be.

“It’s not bad,” you say. “Well, it’s not one of the bad things. There were still bad things.”

“Right.”

“He said… He said he’s known you for, what, like three years now? And in all that time, before you and me met, you’d always have different girls, were known as a bit of a player at school…”

“Christ, okay.”

“But after you left me, Steve said he’d never seen you be so… Alone.”

Eddie looks at you in shock, so frightened by what else Steve may have said, but also by how you’re relaying this to him. Calm, stoic, unfeeling.

“I mean… I haven’t, y’know, slept with anyone else, if that’s what you-”

“I know,” you say. “I just… It makes it feel more real, you know?”

“I know I’m gonna be spending the rest of my life making sure you know I’m sorry,” he says, breathing out through his nose slowly, “but I mean it. I’ll do it. For the rest of my life. There isn’t anyone else. I’ll forego women, relationships, whatever… ‘Cause I won’t have time. Will be too busy makin’ it up to you.”

He noses at your neck, trying with everything he has to hold himself back from kissing you. The air around the two of you feels thick with laboured breaths and unsaid things - so many unsaid things, things he’ll tell you one day and other things he’s sure he’ll hear from you.

“So can I?” he murmurs into the warm skin above your collarbone, lips only a hair from making contact.

He feels your fingers come around the back of his neck, taking root at the nape where his hair starts. They curl around it, tugging him up, and then you do the dance - the one that always happened between the two of you in these moments. You dip in, so close, and back out, ebbing like a riverbank. It drives him crazy and he knows that you know it, so he smiles, and it’s only then that you finally kiss him.

As you move against him, lips and hands and chest and thighs, he lets his eyes close and his tongue move with yours, and thinks that this - kissing you - is much better when he’s being honest.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things eddie #stranger things fanfic #eddie fic #eddie x fem!reader #eddie #eddie fanfic #stranger things season 4 #st4 #robin buckley #steve harrington

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goosefruit · 4 months

Text

underneath the christmas tree

vanessa shelly x fem!reader

tw: smut, sub!reader, praise kink, vanessa eats it from the back, fingering, sex toy/vibrator use

a/n: im sorry if this is ass ive had terrible writer's block for like the past two weeks help

Pressing down on the last piece of tape, you let out a little ‘aha!’ as you adjusted the material around your body. You took a long look in the mirror, admiring the result of your work.

Nothing except two pieces of wrapping paper covered your top and bottom halves, patterns of snowflakes on a red background. Of course, you made sure to cut away enough paper to show off your cleavage. A dainty pink bow was glued on the makeshift ‘bra’ to top it all off.

Everything was held together messily by cheap tape, but that didn’t really matter; the outfit was made to be torn apart anyways.

You looked like a real present.

For the past forty-five minutes, you had been working on this bizarre scheme that you had thought to be so hilarious. Vanessa was taking one of her hour-long showers, giving you a perfect period of time to take advantage of.

You heard the shower turn off and quickly rushed to take your place beneath the Christmas tree.

Though there were still a couple of days to go until Christmas Day, presents were already stacked in neat piles around the base of the tree. At least a quarter of them were from Vanessa to you, who loved to spoil you with her cop money.

Vanessa stepped out of the washroom in her bathrobe, damp hair draped across her shoulders.

“Woah! Did Santa come early this year?” A playful grin took over her face as she caught sight of you on your knees under the tree.

“This exactly what you wished for?” You asked her sweetly, feigning innocence despite being half-naked.

“Mhm,” she leaned down to kiss you. Fresh out of the shower, you could smell a combination of her shampoo, body wash, and lotion. You moaned softly against her lips and pulled her down so that she was on the ground with you.

Her hands began to wander on your body, nails lightly scratching your bare back. With that, you felt her tongue enter your mouth, and you knew that she was getting impatient for more.

“Unwrap me,” your voice was barely a whisper.

In one effortless motion, Vanessa ripped your top in half, letting it fall to the floor. She did not waste a second before cupping your breasts in her hands, squeezing and massaging them. You sucked on the tip of her tongue to let her know how much you were enjoying it.

Without breaking the kiss, she scooped you up in her arms and carried you to the rug in front of the fireplace. Here, you didn’t have to worry about knocking anything over.

Her mouth eventually found itself on your breast, licking a stripe up your cleavage. Squeals and whines spewed out of you as she sucked hickeys into your soft skin.

“So pretty, my love,” Her breath tickled against your collarbone. “Such perfect tits, and you wrapped them up so well for me.”

Fuck, her praises made you so wet.

“You sound so adorable too. All I want to do is make you whine and moan all day, touching those beautiful tits however you want me to. Think you can be louder for me?”

You nodded swiftly, meeting her lustful eyes.

“Good girl.”

An embarrassingly loud moan slipped out between your lips.

“Now, let’s see what else we got here.” She slipped her fingers under the remaining wrapping paper and pulled it off your hips, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it god knows where.

Your pussy practically gleamed in the light, folds slick with arousal. You couldn’t help but thrust your hips up in a desperate need for any kind of friction.

Vanessa gasped with mock-astonishment. “How did you know that this was at the top of my wishlist?”

You gave her a light slap on the arm for her sarcasm.

Now, you were in a position where you laid on your back with her on top of you. Her fingers brushed over the top of your pussy. Your sore, needy pussy.

“I can’t believe this pretty cunt is all mine. Did me playing with your tits get you this wet?” Her hands wrapped around the back of your calves and placed your legs over her shoulders. You shivered as her damp hair stuck to your sensitive inner thighs.

“Vanessa, touch me please,” you needed to feel her tongue before you passed out from arousal.

“Oh look sweetie, your pussy’s getting wetter, all for me! It’s practically gushing out of you, my needy girl,” she pressed kisses down your thighs, neglecting the part where you needed her most. “I wanna get a taste of that sweet nectar.”

“Just p-please, I need you. Please, please, please, Vanessa.”

“However, I do have a better idea. On all fours for me, sweetheart.”

You groaned at your pleasure being delayed for even a second longer, but obliged as you had no other choice. Vanessa went behind you, firmly gripping both of your thighs. “What a perfect view,” she sighed lovingly. Before you had time to process, she buried her face in your soaked heat, nails digging into your skin. She pulled you closer to her by the legs, and you yelped as you felt her tongue on your clit after that agonizing wait.

“Y-yes baby! Fuck— just like that.” You screamed at the top of your lungs. If losing your voice was what it took for her to keep going, you were gladly ready to make the sacrifice.

Vanessa slipped two fingers inside of you, then adding a third when she decided that you were turned on enough to easily take all three. She curled them rhythmically, alternating with strokes of her tongue against your throbbing clit. It was almost embarrassing how fast your orgasm was building up, but every move your girlfriend made brought you closer to the inevitable.

“Just like that, feels so good. God it feels so good, don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You wailed, squeezing your eyes shut. You prayed with all your might that Vanessa was feeling generous enough to let you cum straight away tonight.

“What a good girl. You taste amazing, I can’t get enough.” She grabbed at your ass, leaving a red imprint. “Cum when you’re ready, m’kay my dear? ‘M not going to be mean tonight, you’ve been such a good girl.”

The “thank you” that you meant to say was lost amongst a long string of moans and profanities as you finally reached your climax. Thrusting your core onto her tongue, arousal gushed out into her mouth and all over her fingers. You didn’t know how long it was until your legs stopped shaking.

“You did such a good job. I’m so proud of you,” Vanessa scooped you up in her arms and held you against her chest, which was rising up and down quickly as she, too, tried to catch her breath.

After a brief moment, she set you down to grab something from the tree.

“Since I got to open an early present today, I thought it would only be fair for you to open one of your own too.”

She handed you a box, wrapped with blue paper and white ribbon.

You almost choked when you saw what was inside.

A light pink G-spot vibrator——it seemed rather expensive too, with various different settings built in.

Vanessa helped you take it out of its packaging, knowing your hands were still shaky from your orgasm. As you examined the toy, she untied her robe and threw it aside, leaving you with a breathtaking view of her naked body.

“Allow me to give you a demo.”

Taking the toy, she pressed herself against you irresistibly. Her nipples were hard and erect, toned abs flexing as she rolled her hips onto you. The stickiness on her lips tasted of your pleasure.

She lined the silicone up with your entrance, pushing half of it in before turning on the vibrations. You moaned as it found your sweet spot, throwing your head back in ecstasy.

“Feels good, hmm?” Vanessa hummed, slowly rocking the toy up and down inside of you. “Got some pretty friggin’ great reviews online. Maybe you could leave your own after.”

Her ability to talk so casually while fucking you never failed to turn you on. Your stomach flipped nonstop, a knot tightening in your core.

She turned the vibrator up a setting and positioned the handle along her slit.

The noises she let out as she ground her clit against the silicone were sinful, moans and whimpers laced with pure lust. She kept a hand on the toy, now drawing small circles on your g-spot.

“You gonna cum, baby? Is my princess gonna cum?” Her breathing was harsh and ragged as she began to seek her own high.

“Ye— turn it up another s-setting, please!”

She did what you asked, and was rewarded by a huge spurt of squirt splattering all over her thighs. You cried out her name hoarsely as you came, limbs spasming like crazy.

“You’re so fucking hot, good fucking girl. Squirting all over me like that, gonna make me cum, holy shit.”

Another roll of her hips, and Vanessa finished with a silent scream.

It was a rare sight, seeing her lose control like that—back arching, eyebrows knitted, eyes rolling back, and mouth wide open. You loved it.

When she was stable enough to stand, she got up to retrieve her bathrobe and covered the two of you with it. The fireplace softly crackled in the background, radiating heat.

You laid with your eyes closed as she spooned you from behind, feeling so warm, so loved, and so very grateful.

#fnaf x reader #vanessa afton #vanessa fnaf #vanessa shelly #vanessa shelly x reader #vanessa monroe #vanessa shelly smut #wlw nsft #fnaf vanessa #christmas smut

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yuugen-benni · 4 months

Text

''Not a Father's Day''

When your husband gets a baby fever TAGS: Childe x reader, the word ''sex'' appear only once, mentions of pregnancy (yes I'm breaking my own rule), Modern AU A/N: This is based on ''How I met your mother'' T4 E7, and I'M OBSESSED WITH THE HEADER PLUSHIE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Guys, when you get married remember, Marriage has three stages:

Stage number 1: Teen era Even after you've known each other for years and years, almost tried to kill each other, and probably seen you both naked, you'll act like teenagers in their prime. You know, teasing, blushing for any reason, sex in the most inopportune places, those things that one day you will remember and feel ashamed of yourself.

Stage number 2 - Finding out The part of the relationship where you realize you knew absolutely nothing about your partner. Actually, "Nothing" is an exaggeration but you get the point. You start to know about small things that are shocking to the point of being considered a secret. Everyone has a secret, right? And the best way to count them is to dump each one. For example, Childe talking about her crazy exes:

''it's raining, look!….Oh, this reminds me so much of a crazy ex of mine who was in front of my apartment one night yelling about how she and I were meant for each other, and her husband was by her side! And the unbelievable was-''

And he kept talking and talking, while your expression was screaming ''There is more ?!'' and your mind thanks God for being normal;

Stage number 3 - Perfect couple

Here is when you became a perfect couple. What is a perfect couple? Two people who have spent so much time together that they can now create an encyclopledia about their partner. Habits, tics, favorite foods, the number of Hot Wheels cars your partner has collected, that sort of thing. Even reading expressions is possible;

The fights end and so do the disagreements

But there is only one subject that can break this: Babies.

''Hey babe, I'm back!" Childe announces his arrival, the door closes behind him as he walks over to you in the kitchen, and peck your lips "I was on my way here when I found out this little sock on our doorstep…?" Childe leans on the counter by his side with a confused expression while he plays with the child's sock, noticing the cute little blue patterns. You, who was kindly decorating cookies for Childe's siblings, looked up to look at the little thing

''It must be from new neighbors, they got the opposite apartment and knocked our door asking for help'' You started, leaving aside the piping bag ''Finally some new people! It's been so long since someone rented an apartment here'' the man commented, approaching the cookies discreetly before wincing at the slap you gave his hand

''They have two kids'' Continuing ''a baby girl and a boy with Teucer's age''

At the mention of his brother, Childe's expression changed, forgetting his red fingers. ''Awesome, we could invite them to dinner this weekend, If that's not a problem'' He gave an idea, but then raised an eyebrow at your dull expression

''They seem like good people…but I-I'm sure they'll ask those awkward questions like 'when are you two having a baby' and then apologize for being intrusive after being intrusive'' Of course, it was just an assumption, you had only interacted with them for minutes but your biggest mistake in this conversation was bringing up the subject you two avoid. Childe laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.

''Well-''

"Childe, we already talked about this. You just have a silly baby fever, and in case you didn't know, fever goes away" You quickly dismissed him, knowing he wouldn't give up so soon. Having a child was a big request, a big wish. But it's not like it wouldn't be ''easy'', you have enough money to have 50 kids and they still wouldn't use up half of Childe's bank account. His family lives in the apartment next door and could teach you more about how to take care of children…But there was still an insecurity boiling inside you.

"But what if it doesn't go away ? What If the urge to go out just to buy little socks for our child keeps eating me ?" He was almost pleading, looking into your eyes just when you tried to avoid his gaze

"...First, you need to give me good arguments" you replied after sigh, somewhat expressing your guilty. Childe opens a big smile and approaches you once more, A fox look - persuasive "hmm... don't you want hold a mini silly Childe in your arms ?-"

"Cut it off! This is serious!"

"O-okay!" He chuckled softly before silence filled the room, he looked at the floor and then at the main kitchen window "We would practically be building a story…That's not the reason I would want to have a child, in fact you is my reason. Sometimes I feel like you are the reason for my existence… and they would [literally] understand me"

You stayed quiet and walked away from the counter, taking off your apron before gently kissing his lips. He cupped your face, wiping away the small traces of flour on your cheeks. ''I'm convincing, aren't I?'' He whispered and pulled away, taking a few steps backwards as he bit into the cookie he stole while you weren't looking. Bastard. You didn't even have time to shout at him because the man was already on the other side of the apartment; you sighed, but couldn't help but giggle.

You married a idiot, a handsome idiot. Have fun.

#yes guys I like sitcoms it's my obsession #this was actually fun to write!#benni #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #ajax x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #2024 is my year #genshin #childe #tartaglia #Obrigadaeuteamo

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boxofbonesfic · 5 months

Text

Title: Brave [7 of ?]

Pairing: Orc!Steve x Reader

Summary: The pack regroups after the deadly assault in the pass.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Genre typical violence, Warlord Nomad AU, Dark Fantasy AU, Enemies to lovers, Eventual smut, References to past abuse, Fighting, Monsters, Animal Death, Violence, Mildly described gore

A/N: thank you all forever and ever for bearing with me as i struggle through writer’s block! i’m afraid you all won’t be happy with the results of this chapter, but i hope you have enough faith in me to stick it out and see what happens. as always, reblogs and feedback of all kinds are appreciated and always welcome!

When Steve attempts to pull the reins from your trembling hands you hold on tightly, fighting him.

“Easy, Sweetmeat. Easy.”

The torchlight is warm and welcome in the gray mist, and by its light you can see the extent of the damage. Your hands are caked with blood and dirt, your nails raw and split. You raise a trembling hand to your chest and wince. There are wounds here too, matching claw marks like the ones you know now mark the space between your shoulder blades.

They stretch from the base of your throat down between your breasts, cut cleanly through the ragged fabric of your dress. softness. Steve repeats it as he looses them from your grip, peeling each of your fingers back gently, until you are forced to release the bloody leather from your trembling hands. The pass is far behind, now, lost somewhere in the mist, but you fear it still, your wide, terrified eyes searching the gloom. For the sun, for more nameless horrors—

In the dark angry sky, you find neither.

Perhaps it is morning, perhaps not—there is no sun by which to tell, no light peeking from behind the furious, roiling clouds.

Steve dismounts, landing beside the horse with a wet thud. You join him and grimace as you sink into the muck up to your calves. The ground is slick, thick with mud that sucks at your boots. The grass sea is pock marked with patches of lightning-scorched earth, patterning what little you can see in the gloomy twilight—some are bigger around than your father’s house. Above, thunder rumbles, and you watch massive bolts of lightning twist across the sky in a burning arc, lighting ablaze the distant hills where it strikes.

Would this path have been any better? You eye the storm’s path of destruction across the sea. No, you decide, watching again as lightning cuts through the dark sky. Where there is death, there will always be death.

Steve produces a torch from his gore-stained saddlebags. He lights it, holding it aloft. The firelight is warm and welcome in the gray mist, and by its light you can see the extent of the damage. Your hands are caked with blood and dirt, your nails raw and split. You raise a trembling hand to your chest and wince. There are wounds here too, matching claw marks like the ones you know now mark the space between your shoulder blades. They stretch from the base of your throat down between your breasts, cut cleanly through the ragged fabric of your dress.

“To me!” Steve bellows, the depth of his voice trembling in your chest. “To me!” Slowly, the pack begins to reform. Out of the darkness they come, circling the flame like lost moths. You are overcome with relief to see Carol among them. Beneath her, her steed trembles, the gash along its flank bleeding sluggishly.

So few. You cannot help but take stock of those who gather, dismounting their horses to stand before Steve. So few. The pack had been intimidatingly large before. Perhaps fifty, sixty riders strong—the ones who remain number less than forty. Steve knows it too, you can see it in the grim set of his jaw.

“Where is Bucky?” A murmur passes through the pack, but no one answers. For the first time, in Steve’s bright blue eyes, you see fear. You search for Bucky’s face amongst the survivors, your chest tightening as the realization dawns cold and clear—

You do not see him. After a long while, someone finally speaks.

“He fell.” Carol steps forward, her head low. You watch Steve’s entire body go taut. He shakes his head, his brows knitting together in angry disbelief.

“No.”

“I saw him.” She looks up, and her eyes are bright and wet. “He fell.” The wind whistles through the grass in the silence. “He fell.”

For a moment, Steve’s free hand rests upon the hilt of his sword, squeezing the pommel as if beset by foes a second time, but he releases it, clenching his fist. When he does speak, his voice is cold, devoid of anything but authority.

“Then we will light his way to our ancestors.” The light of the torch does not seem to reach his eyes, which are shrouded, and dark. “We will light the way for all of them.”

The fire is weak, at first, sputtering dangerously as you all feed it bundles of wet kindling. It catches, eventually, the light rain fizzling out as it meets the flames. Steve’s face is stone, dark and unchanging as he watches the flames grow tall.

You are no stranger to mourning, to grief. Those who remain surround the fire, and their sorrow is yours too. The pass had claimed many who were kind to you, who had accepted you—

Gone.

A young female Orc approaches the fire. Her face is bandaged roughly, and the edges of the long wound peek out on either side of the dressing. In one hand she holds a shield. Her hands are steady, but her voice trembles as she speaks.

“Arun.” She tosses the shield into the fire. “May—” Tears choke her for a moment, and she swallows roughly. “May you find your way.” Others approach the flames, some weeping, others stoic and distant, speaking the names of those they have lost into the fire.

“Jonai.”

“Huth.”

“Karali.”

So many, many names.

“May you find your way.”

You do not know the Orc traditions for mourning, but you know your own. You have lifted your voice in song for your mother’s memory more times than you can count, praying that the crows will carry the notes high into the heavens, to her ear so that she might know that you have not forgotten her. You have no name to add to the fire, but this—this you can do. So too will you mourn for the pack, for the ones who have fallen.

The words are slow to come at first, reluctant to leave your lips. It is not long, however, before they remember the familiar shape of these melodies; before they remember how to name your grief. So you do—you name it there, before the fire. You feed it your grief, like—and unlike—the rest of the pack. They gather behind you as you sing, bowing their heads. The song catches in your throat, the words faltering on your tongue at the sight of them.

“Finish it.” You turn back, and there is Steve, stood before the fire. He is close enough to touch it, a torn quiver held tightly in one hand. “Finish it and guide them home.” He tosses in the scrap of leather as you finish, his voice consumed almost entirely by the sound of crackling flames, and the last echoing notes of your own parting gift—

“Bucky.”

to be continued…

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throneofsapphics · 5 months

Text

old faces, part seven

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: you and Rowan meet again after seven years, and deal with the fall-out of a secret.

Warnings: mentions of death, drinking, flashbacks/ptsd

Word Count: ~6k

A/N: we’re starting to pick up a bit now! some time skips

series masterlist

Seven days in the castle. You enjoyed breakfasts with Aelin and whatever members of her court were around, evenings with Fenrys and co, more chances to interact with Ceri and her friends, free time to try and figure out your damn way around the city, but you were going crazy. Surrounded by people at all times, even if they were kind, exhausted you.

As much as you tried, there wasn’t a truly private place in this castle. Maybe it was paranoia, but you knew someone could always be watching - there could always be eyes.

But, there was a pattern. Halle would be on edge if someone was nearby, if there were prying ears, and she only fell into a deep sleep if it was the two of you - or if it seemed private enough. You trusted her judgment. The judgment of a cat. Then again, she wasn’t an ordinary cat.

She had her own kind of magic. That’s a secret you decided to keep as long as possible. Even if magic was freely accepted here, her kind could easily make her a target.

For gods sake she was buddies with fleetfoot. Aelin had been worried in the beginning, but her dog bounded right up to Halle.

Fleetfoot sniffed, tilted her head, and licked Halle’s face. The cat didn’t hiss or swipe, instead headbutting her.

Aelin gave you an incredulous look.

“She’s never met a dog.”

“Fleetfoot usually doesn’t make friends with cats,” Aelin turned back towards the duo, “you’re special Halle.” A small purr, and yellow eyes stared right at her, as if to say; ‘obviously.’

Aelin snorted and shook her head, ‘if Fleetfoot’s on her side, nobody should bother her.”

‘I’d like to see them try,’ the small hiss said. Seemed to say, you corrected yourself. The two of you couldn’t communicate, but it was easy enough to read her expressions.

One hand holding up your book, she rested in your lap. Rowan was in the room, sitting across from you, just having finished up Ceri’s bedtime story for the day. Another change over the last week, you’d gotten comfortable being in a room alone with them. Not that it had been necessarily uncomfortable in the past, but you shed some of the fear of perception. If people read into it too much, that was on them. You knew your relationship with them, you knew you were only platonic. Those who paid attention would know that too.

“There’s something .. off about that cat,” Rowan commented. He’d discreetly observed the two of you over the edge of a few reports he brought with him, intending to finish them as he waited for Ceri to fall asleep. There was only one left, and he figured he might as well get it done now. Abraxos’s story was requested again, and he didn’t have anything new to say. Like hell he’d write to Manon and ask. There would be a set of meetings and a ball hosted in Orynth the week after Beltane, and hopefully he could convince her not to ask during that. He didn’t know the witch well enough to tell how she’d react. Maybe she’d find it amusing, as far as he remembers witches were always protective of young ones. The nations of Erilea, and sometimes contingents from other countries, met once every two years, and it was Orynth’s turn to host this year. It would be interesting, convincing you to attend alongside Ceri.

Yellow eyes peeked up, Halle’s fur standing up, as if she’d heard the insult and taken it personally.

“Be nice,” you whispered, running your fingers through her fur. The little demon settled instantly, purring on your lap. There was definitely something off about that cat. Almost like it had purposefully found you. Ceri had seemed a bit put out that the cat liked you more than her. But, with your animal form it was to be expected. He’d never tell you this, not yet at least, but there was a small betting pool running for which form your daughter would take. Avian, or feline.

On their visit to Antica, he’d met some of the baast cats in the library of the Torre Cesme. More he thought about it, he’d never actually seen your animal form.

“Can you … talk to her?”

“Obviously,” you grinned, “I just told her to be nice.”

Rowan rolled his eyes, you knew what he meant.

“As a cat,” he drawled, raising a brow at you.

“Why would I spill our secrets to you?”

“So you can?” He knows cats communicate with each other in some way, Gods know birds do. Not that he’d ever tell Aelin that, she’d be relentless.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, “I haven’t shifted around her yet.”

“When was the last time you shifted?”

“Probably too long,” you absentmindedly stroked the little creature. Who looked asleep, but Rowan got the inkling she was faking it.

Initially, there was a slight fear you’d bring a shifter with you, but he realized quickly you would’ve caught on to that. Above all, he trusted you and your judgment. Rowan trusted you’d never do anything to endanger Ceri, but recognized you’d easily throw yourself into any kind of danger if it meant protecting her. The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how much you’d sacrificed for her … how much you’d sacrificed for Ceri, and something about it didn’t sit right with him.

Fenrys insisted on a house-warming party. You wanted to call it ridiculous, but you’d never had something like this before, and you gave into his badgering. It didn’t take too much effort on his part, but you let him annoy you about it a bit. That way he’d feel like he accomplished something.

One month after you moved in, you finally hosted it.

The party was small, and perfect. Rowan, Aelin, Fenrys, Aedion, Lysandra, Evangeline, who came to surprise Ceri, a friend you’d made, and Ceri’s three closest friends.

A bit of poking around, a few questions to Aedion, and you learned the three of them were orphans. A piece of your heart shattered.

Edde and Edie, twins, and their cousin Elias. All Fae, all lived at the castle most of their lives - long enough they didn’t remember anything else. They all wanted to train as warriors, even though they were barely eleven. You and Fenrys, acting like gossiping mothers, had easily figured out why they attached themselves to Ceri. Fae recognize power, and something inside them would’ve drawn them to that wild magic. Ceri was powerful, there was no denying that. Reaching her father’s levels, and maybe passing it one day. Sensing that type of power was right up your alley.

Fenrys pressed a mug of, you looked down into the cup, catching a drift of the sweet honey - mead, into your hands. You took it with a grateful grin. As much as you loved wine, mead was your favorite. But, it was expensive and sometimes difficult to find. Instead of chugging it, you let yourself savor every drop.

Ines sidled up next to you as Fenrys walked away. All it took was a drunk night together for you to count her as one of your closest friends. She was in a similar situation to you, a daughter - but her father lived quite a distance away. In Eyllwe. She would spend winters down there, and summers up here. You were excited to meet her. A few years younger than Ceri, but you had an inkling she would take her under her wing. Only time would tell if your daughter was a good or bad influence.

“You have a beautiful home,” she sighed, swirling her glass in one hand. Halle weaved around your feet, the little kitten had been growing, and fast. She’d been circling the house the entire time, judging all of the new visitors. For some reason, you got the impression she was assessing if they were worthy of being in their presence. A meow. The connection the two of you shared is not something to ponder right now.

“Yours is just as pretty,” you countered. And it was - an elegant townhouse in the middle of the city.

She hummed, and emptied her glass, nudging you with her elbow. “So, you and … Fenrys?” She hesitated, forcing herself not to put his title in front of his name. He hated that.

“Friends,” you nudged her back. “And that's it,” you hoped you emphasized the last word enough.

“I’m wounded,” the male said, before switching his gaze to Ines. “But yes, we are just friends.”

Where had he come from? Either way, you were glad he came and backed you up. Otherwise, she may never have believed you.

Rowan, Aelin, and the others were currently being treated to prime entertainment by the four hellions. Probably just for the night, the cousins had shed their shy skin for the night, now re-enacting … some sort of game they played earlier. Evangeline was just as taken with the others as she’d been with Ani, and you watched how they already were latching onto her like an older sister.

Another small pain in your chest, one another sip of mead washed away for the night.

Now was as good of a time as any to pull out a little creation you’d been working on. Gods, you’d started this project nearly a year ago, and just now you’d finally gotten it right.

Rowan watched as you quickly slipped out of the room, and debated following you. But, you returned quickly. A type of crystal now in your hand. Round, with a flat bottom, and … no, it was glass, encasing several different kinds of crystals, all carefully arranged to form symbols. And it swirled with magic, practically a beacon to anyone who knew what to look for. Apparently, it attracted his wife because she was at your side within moments, peering down at it curiously.

“It can only play one long track,” you admitted.

A track? Music?

Placing it on a table, he watched as your eyes focused on it, fingers pressing against the glass. Normally you could do these types of things with just a thought, but maybe this one needed touch to work.

Sure enough, a tune started playing through the room, and caught everyone’s attention. You turned red, the attention flustering you, but you quietly explained what it did. It captures and plays back music. Only one long track, this one about four hours before it would repeat. You’ve only made the one.

The last statement, your left thumb and forefinger pressed together. One of your tells, you lied. Interesting. Something he could ask about later. Calling you out on bullshit was always amusing to him, as long as it was relatively harmless, of course.

“Took me over a year to get right,” he heard you tell Aelin.

The music was from Antica - he knew that much.

Aelin caught his eye, no dancing, he said quickly - anticipating her next question.

A large sigh and roll of her eyes, but she turned back to you instead.

The party went well, as well as you could’ve predicted. By eight, it began to split up. The three “E’s,” as they’d been nicknamed that night, and Evangeline would spend the night. There was plenty of room, and you liked a full house.

Rowan, Aelin, and Fenrys stuck around as the others left. Lysandra promised to get your drunk friend home in one piece. Now, you all splayed out on the couches. Fenrys shared one with you, your legs currently thrown over his lap as you stretched out. One hand rested on your shin, and the other propped up behind his head. The portrait of casual arrogance.

“This was fun,” you commented, stealing a glance at Aelin and Rowan. Their positions nearly mirrored your own, Aelin stretched out like a cat on the other couch, but with Rowan’s hand resting on the inside of her knee.

“Oh absolutely. We should do it again.”

“I do not want to move houses anytime soon,” you groaned.

Fenrys poked you, “not every party has to be a housewarming one.” He caught your ankle as you brought your leg back to try and kick him. “Slow,” he tutted, and you rolled your eyes, accepting the failure.

It’s true, the alcohol and fatigue was delaying all of your reactions.

“A question, for you, y/n,” the look in his eyes promised trouble.

“Oh no.”

“Find anyone to warm your bed this winter?” Fenrys teased. That comment caught Aelin and Rowan’s attention. Rowan was proud you managed to land a kick on him, even if he didn’t react, he fought the urge to glare at Fenrys. “Ines is quite pretty,” he added.

“It’s none of your business,” you rolled your eyes, “but no, I haven’t, and Ines is just a friend, with no interest in women or females.” Rowan shouldn’t have felt that relieved, the relief flew out the window with what she said next. “I suppose it’s never too late.”

“That’s more like it,” Fenrys grinned - ignoring Aelin’s frown. He tried very hard to keep his face neutral.

“I don’t think I’ll get involved with anyone until Ceri’s a bit more grown up. At least seriously.”

“You’re really going to be single for that long?” Fenrys countered.

“We’re immortal,” she huffed. “Can we not talk about this?” If Rowan didn’t know better, he’d think you were avoiding looking at the two of them. Actually, looking anywhere but at them.

“I’m trying to be helpful. You look like you need a good fuck.”

“Fenrys. Shut. Up,” Aelin looked ready to throw a fiery dagger at him, and he only shrugged.

“Just pointing out the obvious.”

Even if a very drunk Aelin, who didn’t remember it the next day, admitted she really liked you, you were off-limits. Painfully off-limits, and not shown a hint of interest in them. He’d settle for - no, it wasn’t settling if there was no interest there on his end. He’d be your friend. Rowan liked being your friend. Friends were good, and friends was safe. The last thing he needed was for this to get messy.

“There’s going to be a ball, around beltane,” Aelin commented casually, carefully watching your reaction.

“Do we need to go dress shopping for Ceri?”

“For you and Ceri.” You paled, and she heard your heartbeat quicken. Your mouth parted, before closing again. Of all the things to make you speechless, it was this. “We’d like for both of you to come,” she added gently.

“Who … who will be there?”

“Every two years, the countries on Erilea meet for meetings. Sometimes countries too, and there’s always a ball. Music, food, dancing.”

Your entire arm began to shake. She held on tightly to your hand, felt your palm beginning to sweat. Your eyes glazed, and Aelin began to panic. The door swung open, revealing Rowan. He looked between the two of you, and crossed the room. Slowly, he knelt in front of you, taking your hand, disentangling Aelin’s fingers from yours. He called your name, over and over again.

“You’re in Terrasen. You’re in Orynth.”

“What triggered it?” He met Aelin’s eyes, not releasing his grip on your hands.

“I asked about the ball.”

Rowan swore lightly under his breath.

You were still shaking, eyes still glazed over, lips starting to turn blue. He gathered both of your hands in one, the other gripping your chin, squeezing enough so your lips parted. She felt his magic swirling, forcing air into your lungs.

You jolted, as if you were transported back to your body. Rowan hadn’t released his grip on your hands, and good thing because you looked ready to swing at him. Shaking, but eyes now clear, you looked around the room, studied their faces.

“I should go,” you murmured.

“You’re not going anywhere until you’re feeling better.”

Narrowed eyes stared at Rowan, and he stared right back. You didn’t argue, perhaps sensing this was a fight you wouldn’t win.

She felt the instincts flaring in him, in herself, the instinct to protect someone they claimed as their own. Friend or other, if someone was defenseless, vulnerable … it was normal amongst Fae to feel this. She had before for friends, but maybe not to this level.

“It happened once, when we were together,” Rowan said, after you’d fallen asleep - curled up right on their couch. Your eyes started drooping, falling quickly into sleep, and Rowan showed no inclination of wanting to move you back to your rooms, instead they carefully arranged you into a more comfortable position, tucking a blanket over you.

Like before, you weren’t able to give a solid reason why. He’d ask again tomorrow, and maybe things would be a bit clearer for you.

Rowan knew this happened before, and he was running through the circumstances, trying to pick out similarities.

“A friend invited me to a ball,” you commented absentmindedly. He knew you weren’t fishing for jealousy, you were just bringing up something going on in your life - something on your mind.

“Oh?” Rowan ran his hand up and down your bare back. “Are you going?”

“I’m not sure. I’m not the best person to bring to those.”

Rowan doubted that, and called it. “Bullshit.”

He felt more than saw your scowl. “I don’t like them.”

“That’s better,” he teased. “Why?”

“Bad memories.”

That peaked his interest. You rarely mentioned the past, and he always wanted to know more - maybe because of that, you were somewhat of a mystery. “Want to share?” He asked. You froze.

The only similarities were the ball.

Rowan cursed under his breath as you shook in your sleep.

A ball! It was magical, and beautiful. Males and females dressed up, and your mother had made you a pretty blue dress for it. Everyone’s attention was on your father, but you didn’t mind - it gave you time to observe everyone.

You were still thinking about it as you all trotted up towards your house, still in Fae form. You’d set off too early in your opinion, but it was smart to travel by daylight. You were glad you’re old enough to travel in Fae form. Carriages were much less fun.

You still carried your pack on your back as you shifted back, dumping it in your bedroom before hurrying back for breakfast. The dagger you got for your birthday was still strapped to your thigh, but you didn’t mind now.

Their faces were grave, and your mother crouched before you, gripping your shoulders. “I need you to run for the hills. Leave, do not look back.”

“But -,” looking out the window - the wards were strong, but hundreds and hundreds of soldiers were quickly descending, as if they’d been hiding and waiting for your return. It was easy enough to sense out who they were. Mortal soldiers, without magic. “I can help,” you insisted.

“If you die too,” the first tears left your cheeks, “then they win. Do you understand?”

You shook your head.

“They want to kill us, to kill your father and wipe our bloodline. To wipe our magic out.”

Her eyes said; you’re the only hope, you’re our legacy.

A few more convincing words from both of your parents, and you ran for the hills. As soon as you tried to turn back, the wards were melded around you. To keep you away from any threats.

Absolutely useless, but you forced yourself to watch as it happened. As they finally fell, as their heads were staked on the fence posts. The soldiers remained, but you could out wait them. You could memorize their faces, memorize the way they spoke, commit it to memory and find your vengeance one day.

“Terrasen,” a familiar voice interrupted, “You’re in Orynth.”

“Safe,” another said. Female.

A memory, that’s what it was. You weren’t trapped in that moment, you could come back to the present. There was nothing holding you here, not now.

“Good,” the male voice coaxed as your body relaxed, as you leaned into the sensations around you. Blanket, hands gripping yours, pine, snow, jasmine, and lemon verbena, the feeling of ancient magic - of fire, ice, wind, and a hint of water. Eventually, you managed to open your eyes.

“I need you to tell us where you went,” Rowan said, even adding, “please, y/n.”

How often had he said your names? How often does he say please? Words were effort, but when he asked so nicely, you could share. Trust, you reminded yourself. The small thread, a sign of the Goddess who watched over you, tugged and encouraged you.

“The night before my parents died,” your voice was hoarse, your throat aching - like something dry had been shoved down it. “We were at a ball. We arrived home that morning, and they were waiting for us. Surrounded.”

“When your parents died?” Aelin asked quietly.

It hurt, gods it hurt so fucking much, but you told her the story - as much as you could manage, and she listened intently. Thankfully, there was no pity in her eyes - understanding, instead. That was much more palpable.

Rowan thought he experienced the same thing as Aelin. When you shared the story about the dagger, but this time it was directed towards him. The entire time you shared, your eyes never drifted from him.

A show of trust to him, and he’d take that gift and hold it close. Your trust was difficult to earn, and relatively easy to break. He’d treat it with caution, like he would any treasure.

He was glad Aelin didn’t give away that he’d already told her the story. His wife was a good actress, and it shoved. The small bit of trust you showed him made him feel like a hypocrite. At the time, telling Aelin about your past felt essential, but now it resembled something of a betrayal.

“How are you going to explain my presence?”

Rowan and Aelin exchanged a glance, one that told you they’d already discussed this. Not surprising.

“Even without the ball,” he emphasized, “we considered asking if you’d like to be an advisor to the court.” He held up a hand as your lips parted, and damn you, your mouth shut on instinct. At least he didn’t seem to gloat about it. “The wards around Orynth could use another look, and you have unique skills and expertise.”

They actually value your opinion, you reminded yourself.

“You swear it, without the ball you still would’ve?” You’re not sure why, but it really mattered to you.

“I swear it.”

Rowan’s promises are as good as gold when it comes to him, so you gave your agreement. Then started to plan what you’d do about the castle and city wards. Of course, you’d already had time to think about it.

The ball would occur a week after beltane this year, when the last of the snow was predicted to abate, making travel tolerable.

Time passed quicker than you thought was possible. Ceri turned eleven, her birthday falling on the spring equinox this year. As her present, you let her pick out her chickens, and you and Rowan teamed up to start teaching her how to shift. An argument wouldn’t be right, but you did have a few disagreements over teaching styles. At least Aelin was on your side for that.

Then, it was beltane. Early that morning, you and Ceri went out to leave some gifts for the little folk at the crosspaths near your home. She’d spent a good portion of the previous day helping you craft them. Surprisingly patient and focused. Maypoles had been raised, hawthorn bushes decorated, and piles of wood gathering on the field before the city, waiting to be set alight.

You didn’t walk out with the Queen and King, by the time you arrived the fires were already burning. Ceri’s friends had come over before, for an early dinner, and now trailed together in a small pack.

“You know your signal?” You murmured to your daughter. A burst of magic, one to let you know if she needed you, with three different levels of urgency.

“Yes,” she grinned up at you. Ceri was quite proud of herself for mastering that - as she should be.

“Go on, then.”

The four raced off, weaving in and out of the fires, brief flashes of silver hair were like a beacon. Heads would turn as she passed, followed by small whispers. Ceri had adapted easily to those, thrilled by the attention, it was you that needed adjustment. Needed to stop giving a death stare to anyone who watched a few seconds too long.

Fenrys found you first, hanging out towards the edge of the fires, fully content to observe and watch.

He was not content with that, instead he dragged you right into the heart of the celebrations.

Thankfully, Aelin and Rowan didn’t try to drag you into anything. It was a time for the people to speak with their Queen and King, and you had plenty of exposure to the pair.

“How did you escape doing all of that?” You jerked your chin towards where they were speaking with another group.

“I came early,” he shot you a grin. His attention wavered, and you knew exactly who was making her way across the field.

Ines, all auburn hair, freckled skin, and bright green eyes, strode for both of you - cheeks already flushed. You didn’t miss how her heart rate picked up when she spotted who was next to you.

“Do I need to give you two a moment?” You murmured under your breath.

“We’ve had plenty of those.”

You groaned. Suspicion is fine, but you didn’t need confirmation.

Ines gripped your hand, “we’re jumping over one of them,” she announced, “for luck.”

“I know what it’s for,” you let her drag you anyway. When was the last time you’d done this? Maybe the year before Ceri was born.

Picking a medium low fire, the two of you gathered your skirts in one hand, still holding onto each other, and kicked your shoes away.

“One,” She grinned at you.

“Two,” you shot one back at her, eyes lighting up.

“Three.”

With surprising coordination, you both launched yourself over. Heat skimmed the bottom of your bare feet, but you made it over without any burns. Ines, thankfully, did as well.

Laughing, arms wrapped around each other, it took you longer than you cared to admit to locate your shoes again.

Rowan watched you jump over the fire with your friend, his mouth turning up at the corners.

Of course, you had to pretend you didn’t know each other, but you’d been at the same beltane celebration before, and he had the pleasure of watching you jump over fires. At least you remembered to hold your skirts up. He had to suffocate the flames last time.

Aelin tapped his shoulder, “I’d give her a seven out of ten.”

A genuine laugh left him, and she wound her arm around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder. He never took these moments, these reminders of the peace they fought for.

Neither did everyone gathered around them.

The celebration lasted into early hours of the morning, and it was near three when the fires finally died down. You’d trusted Evangeline to escort Ceri and her friends back to the castle, and mentally prepared yourself to head home. There were plenty others flooding through the streets, so it shouldn’t be any issue.

Somehow, you found yourself roped into going into the castle. Fenrys informed you that their Majesty and Highness wanted to see you, and him - of course. Aedion and Lysandra joined you - a few bottles of wine each, Rowan and Aelin coming shortly after. Gods, you could drink, but northerners were on another level.

“Stay the night,” Aelin insisted. “There’s no need for you to traipse through the streets after dark.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” Rowan huffed, like it was ridiculous you were asking for confirmation. It really was, they wouldn’t have offered if they didn’t mean it.

This was nice. Aelin never took these nights for granted. The beltane celebrations, seeing her people at peace, out and enjoying the traditions squashed by Adarlan for a decade. She loved that you were here now, that you’d been brought into their lives. Now, she could count you as one of the people closest to her, and gods she hoped you felt the same.

They might not have convinced you to live in the castle, but having you spend a few nights here - she’d take it over nothing. Just having you in Orynth was heaven.

Aelin decided the little bit of wine she had could explain these thoughts. Very inappropriate thoughts about you, about the mother of her mate’s child. She hated herself for reducing you to that, rejected the thought as soon as it drifted inside her mind. You were more than just a mother, even if you didn’t always see it that way.

A foot nudged her leg, tracking her back to the present.

“You’re staring,” Rowan murmured. You were caught up in conversation with Aedion, but Fenrys kept shooting Aelin wary looks. She didn’t bother trying to stare him down, only looking at Rowan, her eyes saying; sorry.

Why?

She’s very pretty, came out. She hadn’t had enough wine to blame these thoughts on. These were the thoughts of sober Aelin, just flowing more freely this time.

His eyebrows flicked up in amusement, I’m aware.

Right, he did put a baby in her. The thought didn’t make Aelin jealous, she almost wished she was there …

“It’s so weird when the two of you do that,” Aedion’s voice cut her off.

“Deal with it,” Rowan growled, before turning back to her. You should do something about that little crush of yours.

Maybe I will.

Rowan cut off the wine after another bottle, all but kicking Fenrys, Aedion, and Lysandra out. It was nearing five in the morning now, and even with nothing planned in the morning, it was getting late. Besides, he and Aelin wanted you in here - alone with them. When you rose to leave, Aelin grabbed onto your hand, tugging you back down.

“Stay a while,” she insisted, squeezing your hand. Rowan carefully monitored your every reaction. Aelin wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into her side like she usually did. He didn’t think it was entirely romantic on your part, at least that you knew, but he saw how you practically purred with the touch, how much you loved it - acted like you needed it. Everything was going to plan.

Aelin pulled away, and you frowned - instantly missing the warmth of her body. But, her hand trailed up your arm, stopping to cup your jaw. When you didn’t pull away, she wound another arm around your waist, tugging you closer, her eyes scanning your face.

“Fuck it,” she muttered, and her hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling your lips to hers.

At first, you froze. But when she didn’t stop, you followed her lead, falling into her rhythm for a few moments before reality caught up to you. With a gasp, you pulled away from her.

She had a hungry look in her eyes, watching like she was waiting for a moment to pounce again, to take you back and claim you. No, no, no. You found Rowan’s eyes, an apology right on your lips, but a shake of his head stopped you as he stood, crossing the room to sit on your other side. His finger pressed against your cheek, turning you to face him. Even as he had your attention, he didn’t move his hand, only sliding it to cup your jaw. An intimate touch. Aelin’s arm was still wrapped around your waist.

“Are you going to deny her, deny Aelin, what she wants?” This question felt like a trap.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you?” Rowan’s eyes lit with amusement - and something else, something familiar. Familiar enough it terrified you.

Aelin twisted you, now so you faced Rowan, her other hand twining itself in your hair, tilting your head to the side. Her lips pressed against your neck, trailing up the side. Your head fell, granting her more access, a small whimper slipping past your lips. She didn’t bite, but nipped at the skin - right where your neck met your shoulder. Did she know how significant that was? Apparently so, because she chuckled behind you.

She was purposefully holding you here. Keeping you where you’d lock eyes with Rowan, where he could watch the two of you. His knuckle grazed your cheekbone, a small ‘this is fine,’ and cemented it with a small nod.

That was all you needed, before you twisted back around, letting Aelin’s lips meet your own.

Aelin decided, first, that she’s very glad she did something about her ‘little crush.’ Next, she decided you were a fantastic kisser, and she needed to figure out how to repeat this experience. Preferably as often as possible.

When you finally pulled away, desperately sucking in air, she took the chance to glance at Rowan.

She’s good. His brows flicked, but he didn’t comment. Isn’t this the part where it’s your turn?

Aelin ran her thumb over your lips, keeping your attention on her while she waited for Rowan’s response.

What do you think? She hadn’t heard him this unsure in a while. It was rather endearing, to see him caught off guard.

Aelin looked back down to you - to your puffy lips and bright eyes, and lowered her voice. “Rowan wants to kiss you,” she said, and watched for your reaction. First, your eyes widened, and then you glanced over your shoulder quickly, before turning back to her. You wanted her permission. Maybe for her to make the choice for you. Something Aelin could easily do.

“Are you going to deny him?” She teased, copying Rowan’s earlier words. A snort from behind her, but sure enough you were pulled away. Even Rowan had limits to his patience.

Watching the two of you, how his hand gripped the back of your head, the other cupping your jaw, your arms hesitantly resting on his shoulders, Aelin realized she might be something of a voyeur. At least with the two of you.

He took control, tilting your head exactly where he wanted you, and you easily followed. Seamlessly, effortlessly. Aelin felt like she was viewing a memory, something from deep in the past, and didn’t find herself jealous.

You pulled away, “I think… I think that’s all I can handle for tonight.”

Lips bruised, hair messed, and cheeks flushed, Aelin wanted to keep you here, but she wouldn’t push.

Rowan ended up walking you back to your rooms, taking a step inside before closing the door gently.

He gripped both of your shoulders, making sure your eyes were on him. “Don’t overthink it.”

“Easier said than done.”

Arms wrapped around you, tugging you right into a hard and warm chest. Easily, you wrapped your arms around him. This was familiar, this was safe.

“We both wanted it,” he rubbed circles into your back. Maybe he sensed you needed reassurance.

“Let me guess, you made a plan?” You joked.

Rowan didn’t answer, and you tilted your head to look up at him. He had an unapologetic grin on his face. Eyes rolling, a laugh came from your chest. Brushing hair away from your face, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t run away in the morning,” he said and you dropped your arms. Taking a step back, keeping his eyes on you, he gripped the doorknob. Another smile, and he slipped out the door.

“Goodnight to you too,” you called down the hallway.

Thirty minutes later, you paced inside of your rooms, the haze fading, and traced your finger over your now bruised and puffy lips. Had that really happened? Had you imagined it?

Definitely not.

Are you going to deny her? Are you going to deny him?

Oh fuck.

Bracing your hands on the counter, you took a deep breath before looking in the mirror. Facing you, was a female with flushed cheeks, messed hair, bruised lips, and a glow. A female who looked free.

It’s a shame freedom has its costs, because this couldn’t happen again.

taglist: @holb32 @fussel9913 @moonlightttfae @cassianswh0reeee, @reidishh

#rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin x reader #throne of glass fic #rowan whitethorn x reader #aelin galathynius x reader #rowaelin x y/n #poly!rowaelin x y/n #throne of glass x reader #rowan whitethorn x y/n #aelin galathynius x y/n

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