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tadpolesonalgae · 3 months

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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 14

Azriel x Third-oldest-archeron-sibling!reader

a/n: small note because it’s a bit confusing, but az’s pov and reader’s pov are 24 hours apart—az is on the third day of her absence while reader is on the fourth :)

Word Count: 7,296

-Part 13- -🎇🎆- -Part 15-

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He knows he can withstand pressure. It makes no difference whether the weight comes from time ticking on, or the tension that coils beneath the icy bite of steel—he has withstood it all. But it’s been three days, and she hasn’t returned to her lonely room in the House. No light has flickered beneath the door’s frame, no soft taps of cotton-wrapped feet padding quietly through the halls, the corridors smelling blandly of wood and pine, lacking the sweetness he’s become accustomed to.

Maybe she’d run scared.

He should have kept a closer eye on her, especially after the fortnight had passed. Would it really have been so bad, he has to wonder. Hadn’t the years in Prythian shown her how wonderful magic could be? Why shy from it? The potential brimming from her fingertips, cauldron-gifted magic ripe and ready for use. He wonders how she sees it. It’s clearly something less appealing, if she’d taken to hiding.

Azriel stretches out, wings splaying taut at his back as sturdy muscle shudders with relief, shaking out the tightness of his shoulders, getting to his feet. He glances once more over the report Cassian had written from Day, still no closer to what they were looking for. Restlessness threads through his bones, jittery and in need of preoccupying. It’s only a matter of time before the tingling static sparks. The others may be managing on their own, but after everything that’s happened in such a condensed span of time, now with a baby to worry about—Rhys doesn’t need this too. None of them do. They may hide it well, but they all can sense that crackling undercurrent, hushed snicks of a second hand ticking down.

And now he’s scared her off, too.

For the third time in as many days, he makes the pathway to her door, spelled to keep sound trapped within, but also preventing it from seeping out. He’s no longer able to hear soft, even breaths when his shadows pass by, not even the crisp rasp of pages turning, nor the rustle of clothing as it’s moved about. He knocks thrice on the door, not bothering with calling out—the wards prevent that. He wonders not for the first time if she can even hear the knocks, he does’t know where the magic lies—if it cuts out the thud of wood. So, as usual, he slides the note under the door.

He has no idea if she’s so much as peeked at the others, has no idea if she’s even actually inside. With the noise cancelling of the wards, and the magic nature of the House, she could very well be remaining curled up in the room, eating what the House gives her, flipping through pages in her own world. He doubts it—he surely would know if she occupied the space behind the door, but remains unsure to the extent of the magic lining the dimensions of the room. It feels too quiet.

Scarred fingers raise to the handle, turning it with ease, and the door opens, left unlocked. He hears no words of protest after announcing he would be coming in, so opens it wider, revealing what he expected: she isn’t here.

The room is emptier without her sat at her desk, without the clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor and bed, without the stacks of book normally set beside her mattress—everything left neat and tidy. Hazel eyes flick to the desk, noting the absence of the bound volume, instead spotting a piece of parchment abandoned where the book would lay. He walks over but leaves it upon the surface, untouched, simply scanning the sparse note.

At Bas’.

I’ll be back shortly.

His brows narrow, at last raising the paper from the desk, inhaling lightly. The faint scent of gardenias clings to the edges, likely where her skin had brushed over the parchment, but it’s already fading. She probably wrote it that night, three days ago.

Azriel sighs, discarding the paper and turning for the door, scanning one last time over the room before leaving. They catch on the dusty red box, untouched and sealed, ribbon still wrapped surprisingly neatly over the rectangular box of the jigsaw puzzle, poking out from beneath her bed. He pauses then, eyes wandering over its form, thoughts passing idly. Then they’re shifting with purpose, glancing again to the desk, this time marking the purple and silver bookmark set aside at the edge, beside the ink pot. It’s been placed facing down. A small painting of starfall rendered in blues, yellows, and oranges in place of the irradiated greens and iridescent golds, positioned adjacent. The pendant he knows his brother chose—admittedly with a little guidance from Nesta, but no less meaningful—laying atop the bookmark. He hasn’t seen her without it since before she had it.

Some dried flowers lay separately.

His eyes shift warily to the singular shelf that’s normally holding borrowed books from the library, now only keeping the weight of one—a short romance, one he’s seen Nesta reading multiple times over. She must have returned them all before leaving to Bas’—but she would have no need to.

Turning to the closet, he pulls open one of the doors that holds a full-length mirror, smudge marks near the edges, and he notes the couple of crudely drawn smiley faces. A curved line and two dots, drawn with the tip of her finger. Inside the cupboard are the neatly folded clothes, all set tidily, and he marks the small bottle of crimson nail polish, still sealed. Beside it is the bright pink lipstick, and his shadows wrap around it, removing the lid. It looks like it’s been used a few times, though he’s never seen her wearing it. He closes the door heavily, returning the gift to its place.

That would leave only his and Elain’s presents unaccounted for, but this time he moves toward her bedside table, shadows once again in use as they lift the lid from the box, successfully locating the glimmering metal of the orrery she’d fawned over. Covered to keep it safe from dust. All signs pointing to her being gone for more than a little while.

Hazel eyes return to the underside of her bed, dipping down in search for the blue box they’d come in. The coloured ribbon that had been suggested, and remained unaltered. Instead he finds brown paper bags, and like almost everything else, they seem untouched. Left to themselves, as if trying to be forgotten. Shadows spool through the handles, neatly lifting them from the floor and carrying them out. Inside are some books, and a short glance at the first page reveals they’re owned, not borrowed. His lips push into a thin line—things from her trips with Mor.

Still no sign of that small, blue box.

He wouldn’t blame her if she’d found a way to return them. It would be better if she had, than if she’d chosen to hold onto them. To hold them dear. His jaw works, returning the bags to their selected place, standing to his full height, once again sweeping the room.

He hopes that she doesn’t treasure them. She doesn’t deserve that indignity.

Gloves lay atop her pillow, and he picks them up, once again inhaling incase they hold a more recent scent. Instead he pulls them away sharply.

The sweetness of flora soured by the damning scent of copper.

The metallic tang that’s impossible for him to forget, so soaked into his skin.

Something sharp tightens in his gut, instincts recoiling and he makes the walk to the windows, opening them to clear the stuffiness from the room. Clearing the smell, starting afresh. Right now, his next task is seeking her out, luring her from whatever burrow she’s found for herself, likely with the male she’d mentioned in the note.

Whatever happens, he tells himself she’ll have to return with him. What’s at stake is too important to risk, he’ll have to handle it delicately.

Make sure she doesn’t run at the first sense of him.

————

The silver bands gleam beneath the crisp afternoon light, crisp breeze fluttering through the free strands of hair at your cheek.

Twenty minutes, he’d given you. Glancing up at the clock tower, you can see you have closer to fifteen left, but it should be enough to at least look. You hardly understand what you’d been thinking, coming here on your own. Possessed by a abrupt urge to walk, and to move. To remind yourself of your ability to chose, the autonomy you have over your body.

Eyes run over the rings, a wonderful display of craftsmanship, intricate little designs human eyes might struggle to pick out. One band has tiny wings welded to the sides, feathers brushed with pearl wrapped around the ring. Another is encrusted with gems that glimmer beneath the watery sunlight, winking and swirling as people move at your back.

Your attention shifts to a new section of the jewellery, rings with raised platforms, holding small engravings on their perfectly smooth surface. Soft creatures bundled together, initials carved into the metal, icons carefully indented upon the ring’s canvas. Almost instinctively, as if guided, your eyes find those of a fox’s, its long fur blowing elegantly in a light breeze, snout raised to the air as it takes in what are likely the last few rays of sun for the day. It’s eyes are closed in concentration and pleasure, leaning into the wind as it wraps about the animal, tall grass swaying with the airways.

“It’s a precious one, that,” the welder says, breaking you from your examination. “Aside from its beauty?” You ask, meeting their gaze—heavy and tired. A faint smile gleams in his eyes, twinkling at the reply, nodding. “Did you make all of these yourself?” You question, re-examining each piece briefly. Again he nods, and you blink. “All of them?” You repeat, watching with furrowed brows. His features drop to displeasure, thick arms folding over a robust chest. “Think I stole some?” He retorts gruffly. “These are all mine. Not a single one you’ll find elsewhere.”

“I’m sorry,” you say hurriedly, “I didn’t mean to…” But he’s already waving his hand dismissively, “I didn’t think you did. Not the type to.”

Not the type to?

“I…thank you.” He nods his head sharply, roughly, and you wait to see if he’ll say more. When he doesn’t, you awkwardly return your attention to the ring, wondering how he managed to capture the moment so perfectly. How much time he must spend simply observing to be able to recreate it with its own sense of life—how he’s managed to contain that energy in cold silver.

“I’m sorry, but are we…I mean, can I…can I look more at it? Pick it up?” You ask the welder, anxiously tiptoeing. Again with a gruff nod. “Guards’ll be on you before you clear the yard, so no running,” he warns. “Fae have lost fingers over these pieces.” You blanch, and he chuckles at the expression, making you unsure of the claim’s truth. You have no idea whether he’s lying or not.

Either way, you swallow, plucking the flat-surfaced ring from the display, wondering. It slides down easily over your knuckles, hanging loosely from the base of your middle finger. Hopefully large enough.

“Bit big for you.”

You fumble, nearly dropping the ring as you remove it from your finger. “Careful,” the welder remarks, eyeing you warily. Blood pumps through your chest, skin warming as you hold the band carefully in your palm. “How…how much is it?” You ask, nerves squirming beneath your flesh, aware of how your throat is sticking together. “3,800 gold marks,” he responds, and your heart drops. “Oh,” you mumble, crestfallen. You guess it’s out of the question, then. “I’m just pulling your leg,” he chuckles gruffly, “it’s only 500.”

“Oh,” you laugh faintly, forcing the smile. It’s still far too much than you could possibly afford. What had you been thinking?

Your eyes drop to the carving, the fox, free in its lands. Wild and beautiful. At peace.

“I…” You lick your lips, setting the ring on the table to show you won’t steal it. “I don’t suppose…I mean, do you trade?” You manage, words bumbling out clumsily, heart stumbling in your chest, breathing a little jagged. The welder pins you with a hard look, bushy brows narrowing in inspection. “What about those rings of your own?” He asks, pointing a meaty finger to you.

You blink, gloved hands wringing together. “What…rings…?” You ask, unsure of what he means. The welder gives an impatient look, and your shoulders tense at the expression. “The rings on your ears. Those look valuable.” You blink, lips slightly parted as you thumb gently over the gold and pearl slotted into the lobes. “Would these work?” You question, a shade quietly.

The welder opens his palm, beckoning. “Let me have a look.” You swallow, but manage to unhook one from your ear without tearing, keeping the trembles to a minimum as you set it in his palm. He raises it to the light, examining it carefully, performing a series of some unknown tests. “Hand over both, and it’s yours,” he offers clearly, the gruffness faded, all business now, returning the earring.

You take it, peering at the tear-drop pearl that you’d treasured. Teeth pull at the inside of your lip, glancing at the flat-topped ring. It’s about time you made some choices of your own, even if they might be bad ones.

“Okay,” you say, a little breathlessly, mostly to yourself. “Both of them. That sounds perfect.” You unhook the other earring, pressing both into his palm a little shakily, heart pounding with exhilaration and uncertainty. But it’s done now.

The welder nods his head in confirmation. “It’s all yours then. Good doing business with you,” he says, scribbling on a small piece of card before handing it over. The title of the piece, the price, and the craftsman’s name inked upon it. A nervous smile makes its way onto your lips, and you take the ring. “Thank you, good doing business with you too,” you say, “have a nice day.”

And with that you pocket the ring and card, giving one last smile to the welder before turning back the way you came, heading over the neat cobbles. Feeling a little lighter than before, breathing easier as you make for the agreed meeting spot.

A strange feeling of pleasure tingling in your chest. Something like satisfaction; pride, and the smile stays with you for a little longer.

————

He knocks thrice on the door he knows belongs to the male, looming before it as he waits.

A latch clicks, and golden eyes pierce out from the relative darkness, marking who’s darkening his doorstep, pupils tightening warily. He opens the door a little wider, shoulder leaning into the thick, wooden frame, ankles crossed, propping his weight on one leg, foot keeping the door from opening any further—also preventing him from barging in. Deceptively casual while remaining cautious, defensive.

“I need to speak with her,” Azriel says, straight to the point, shadows peeking in through the lower windows from the garden. “She’s preoccupied,” Bas informs, unblinking as he takes in the Shadowsinger’s menacing silhouette, great wings towering at his back, capable of shattering bone with a single hit, if stood too close. “It’s important,” Azriel counters smoothly, “family business.”

“I can’t help. She’ll be ready by the end of the week, no sooner.”

Shadows sneak up the vines that have crawled over the light brick walls, but his curtains have been drawn so Azriel has no way of finding her or even catching a glimpse of her condition. “I said it’s important,” he repeats calmly, lowly, eyes flicking over his shoulder to the rest of the house—or what he can see. Bas tilts his foot, not-so-subtly bringing the door to a tighter close, blocking out the view. Bastard.

“And she’s still busy,” Bas repeats, unfaltering. “If it’s so important then I can pass on a message, but she’s staying until the end of the week. You can come back then, if it’s that serious.” Displeasure has his lips pressing together in a pejorative fashion, angling his head in a way that serves as a warning, more warrior than fae, staring down at the male despite there being a mere inch between them. “What’s keeping her busy?”

Bas keeps his expression casual, but replies with surprising adamance, “something important.”

“What?” Azriel repeats, warmth vacating his features, becoming hewn from rock. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Bas remarks idly, golden eyes running with provoking analysation over the male. His mouth sharpens a little, as if finding something funny, and Azriel briefly considers the merits of roping his brother into this mess. Just by name, of course. Rhys doesn’t need the extra stress of knowing about this.

So the Shadowsinger matches the expression, cool amusement passing through cutting hazel eyes. “Would you be willing to explain her busyness to your High Lord, then?” He remarks.

Azriel doesn’t miss the tension that stitches the male’s shoulders tighter, a faint beat of pleasure echoing through his bones in response to the obvious discomfort. “It’s private,” Bas deflects, thick brows narrowing as his emotions begin to surface. “We’re her family,” Azriel reminds, “you’re an acquaintance.”

A wicked grin raises Bas’ lips, the taunt of instigation gleaming in his golden eyes. “Very well acquainted,” he drawls, peering at the Shadowsinger provocatively.

It’s enough to have Azriel pausing, considering the male before him, examining him. And then stepping forward, intruding into personal space.

Bas doesn’t yield an inch, and it has the Spymaster considering what a brawl with the male would look like. Whether blood would spray as easily as it did the last time he saw the golden-eyed male.

Bas stiffens beneath the look, pushing up from the door frame into a more secure stance. He doesn’t like the look in the warrior’s gaze, how he’s being sized up.

“Tell me why she’s busy,” Azriel commands softly, lower than a whisper and sweeter than silk, yet it has the hairs at the nape of Bas’ neck rising, warning him against something even fae eyesight is unable to detect. Instinct calling for him to back away from the fight.

The Shadowsinger marks the roll of the male’s throat keenly, attention cutting him down to size.

“She’s on her cycle,” Bas bites out at last, after a resentful glare directed his way. “So she’ll be staying here until she feels good enough to move again.”

“Do not,” Azriel whispers, “lie to me.” He steps forward, leather boots pressing hardly even an inch over the threshold, but he knows the male marks it, the blatant disrespect. The Shadowsinger’s nostrils flare delicately on instinct, as every fae’s do when entering upon a new area, and the scent of charcoal and freshly tilled earth enters his senses, along with the faintest hint of sweetness. A floral note hidden beneath the male’s scent.

Very well acquainted, the male had proclaimed.

Azriel’s features turn to ice, any previous amusement or satisfaction draining swiftly away, leaving deadly neutrality. “Find her. I need to speak with her.” Cold hazel runs over the male’s frame. “Promptly.”

“She doesn’t want to speak with you,” Bas replies sharply. “Whatever it is can wait until she’s ready. By the end of the week.”

“And I’ve told you it’s important, so either bring her down here or move aside.”

The very air crackles sharply, a pulse of magic thumping across the landscape, felt in the skies as it shocks through the land.

Gold and hazel blink at the same time, having both felt the shift, skin tingling faintly, like their limbs had fallen asleep. Pressure splitting as ears pop, feeling briefly disorientated.

Bas swallows, eyes returning to the Shadowsinger’s. “I think the fact alone she’s chosen to come here over staying with her family is enough. And I will tell my High Lord the same if you bring him.” Neither of them address the odd shift in atmosphere. “She’s come here, to my house, because it’s where she feels safe. Not with you, yeah?”

“She hasn’t spoken about you,” Azriel states coolly, staring down at the male. “So I have to wonder how honest you’re being.”

“That says more about you than it does about me,” Bas replies lowly. “Because she’s told me a lot about you.” The way he says it makes it clear exactly what he thinks of what he’s heard—and he is not impressed.

Hazel eyes narrow down on the male, pupils tightening with focus. “You’re meddling in Court affairs,” he says lowly, ice hardening his features, “bigger than you could understand. So I will ask you one more time to bring her down here.”

Rhys would have bitten into him then and there had he heard the command in his voice.

Fortunately, Rhys doesn’t have to know how his morals took a sharp turn around the time of the first war. Fortunately, Rhys believes them to still be mostly intact, not half disintegrated and little more than dust upon the cold, dark, cell-stones of his mind. There’s too much at stake for him to waste time with smooth words and idle talk, too much pressure gathering in the skies, a storm on the way at a pace none of them are able to gauge. He doesn’t need this inconvenience—not when his very life might depend on handling her correctly. As if she isn’t a clock ticking down to detonation.

The visions don’t lie, and he has heard what Elain saw, straight from the seer’s mouth. About that flash of vibrant, pale green light, then his body bleeding out on the floor. Fate exists, and there must be a reason for her magic to only now be making an appearance. There must be a reason for his death.

(There must be.)

And yet, as usual, it doesn’t feel like there’s enough time.

“Come back with someone else to verify that, and I’ll consider it,” Bas snaps lowly, hand resting on the side of the door, poised to shut it in the Shadowsinger’s face. “Until then, you keep your hands off her.”

The door shuts, and Azriel’s forced to take a step back, caught off guard. Had she told him about what happened in the library so long ago? Was that a comment about his warped palms?

Frustration burns through his blood but he knows how to temper it, attempting to calm himself despite the hurried tick of his heart. There isn’t time for this, every second is precious. He should be sending a message back to Cassian, discussing these new events with Rhys, filling the rest of them in on the vision and her magic.

Gods, he shouldn’t have allowed her those two weeks on her own. He should have put his foot down then and forced to tell her sisters at the very least. Fuck, he should have done it himself. But he’d let himself be swayed by her emotions, the deep-rooted fear he doubted she was even aware was in her eyes, shifting her scent. But it had been his own shitty way of trying to apologise, allowing her the time she needed, time Elain had insisted she needed.

He sighs roughly, hands flexing at his sides as he turns from the home, already instinctively making his way to the River House. He can’t wait until the end of the week, there’s already enough he has to deal with between her abrupt absence and having to keep monitoring everything, within other courts as well as his own.

He shouldn’t have been so lenient.

He should have pushed more.

Then she would have been able to see there’s nothing to fear.

Then there would have been more time.

————

“Like this?”

“Try it.”

Your brows furrow, but you reach forward, fingers hardly even brushing the rope before his hand is roughly gripping the nape of your cloak, yanking you back hard enough that you choke as something whistles through the air. You gasp, running your palm over where the material had dug in, oesophagus feeling swollen and large within your neck.

“Do you have a death wish?” He snarls, fingers still painfully digging into the material, inadvertently having gotten your hair tangled in his fist, making you wince, eyes prickling with heat. “Eris, ease up,” you grit out, wincing, “you’re going to strangle me.”

He releases you roughly, not missing the sharp tug he gives beforehand. “I should strangle you for being so stupid,” he mutters harshly, stepping back to let you get to your feet, take in what just happened.

You blink, heart pounding from the abrupt turn in attitude, breathing a little faster than before as you turn to peer at the ground a few steps away from the snare he’d shown you how to set—the arrow that’s lodged firmly in the soil.

“You said to try it,” you accuse, aghast at how close the projectile had come to slicing you open, spearing into your flesh. It might’ve gone straight through bone, piercing your skull.

“With a stick,” he snaps, “using a stick. Not your bare hands.” Flame blazes in his eyes, brows slightly narrowed, lips pursed in a terse, pissed-off line. “I thought you were pretending when you said your youngest sister did all the hunting,” he mutters, shaking his head lightly as his groups his long fingers over the bridge of his nose. “I can see why. You’d have likely shot her through.”

Your lips part in slight shock, a look of hurt and dismay marring your features. “Maybe if you were a better teacher that wouldn’t have happened,” you retort, getting to your feet, briskly brushing off the dirt that’s gotten stuck to the back of your cloak. “I didn’t know it would fire automatically.”

“It’s a weapon made to do exactly that,” he snaps, beginning to calm himself, though you can still make out the irritation in his gaze. “You aren’t stupid, despite what your actions suggest. It’s common sense to use a stick.”

“I didn’t know!” You reply sharply, feeling unfairly judged, walking over to where the arrow is lodged in the dirt, pulling it out with some difficulty. “Just because I wasn’t raised to kill…” you mutter.

Keeping your back to him, you pretend to examine the arrow as you wait for his reply, wondering if the comment will have gotten under his skin. But instead you’re met with silence.

“It’s common sense to use a stick,” he repeats lowly, intonation shifting. “Why didn’t you?”

You scowl at him, gripping the arrow as you fold your cloak tighter against the chill breeze. “I’ve never hunted before,” you remind him, sharply, “I didn’t even know it was called a crossbow until today.”

His gaze slices into you, feeling more invasive than usual. Like he’s discovered an opening you’d somehow missed, carefully concealed yet revealed in a subconscious lapse.

Eris stands straighter, angling his head. Cutting amber eyes pierce into you with a weight that’s unsettling, hairs rising at the nape of your neck. He’s made it easy to forget he’s as much as a warrior as the others are. As deadly.

“Do you have a death wish?” He asks quietly.

You snort, rolling your eyes, returning to the crossbow, making to reset it like he’d shown you.

The silence stretches, and you blink, spinning to face him. “Of course not,” you exclaim disbelievingly, staring at him with slight horror. “What on earth would I get out of that?” You mutter, returning to the bow, trying to remember where to fit each part, what lines up where.

“You’ve never thought it would be easier?” He says from nearer by, still in that slightly hushed tone. You frown, peering up at him sidelong. “What would be easier? Engineering my own death?” You ask humorously.

“Yes.”

You blink, hesitating. Fingers pause on the crossbow, attention shifting elsewhere.

“I suppose absence would be easier,” you murmur idly. “But the effort of ending myself would ruin things. I wouldn’t know the first thing about it.”

“About what?” He asks, moving to the other side of the bow, clicking back a part, allowing it to stretch, able to fit the arrow. “About how to do it the right way, I suppose,” you answer, slotting the small projectile in with a satisfying click. “How to keep it clean, or keep it painless. Probably trying to minimise the horror of whoever finds you—if you pass in place you’d be able to be found.”

“Sounds like you’ve given it some thought,” Eris remarks. “I’m giving you a comprehensive answer,” you retort, meeting his gaze. “Do you want me to take you seriously or not?”

“You need to close that up,” he says, nodding to the latch that will secure the arrow in pace. “Here?” You ask, clicking it down and pulling it back, tension rigid across the bow. “There,” he says, and you watch how he ties the rope to the trigger, setting it so the slightest tug will set the arrow free.

Eris steps back, and you peer at him. “What should I aim for this time?” You ask. He thinks for a moment, before a creature made of small flames appears above the rope, hovering—it looks like a deer.

“Anywhere on the main body would do, though the heart or the throat would be best. Equally through the skull, but that’s a smaller target,” he answers, and you grimace. “The legs would suffice this time, since the snare would keep it place. Though without it you’d have to go to the effort of tracking it down, which if you’re having to resort to a crossbow, I don’t imagine you’d want to waste time over.”

“So I just have to hit it?” You ask dryly, giving him an unimpressed look.

His eyes gleam, corners of his mouth sharpening, “if you can.”

————

“Would an arrow have worked on the…” you fumble, not sure what to call it, wrapping your cloak tighter to keep out the autumn chill. “On the creature…? Two days ago?”

“You’re not serious,” Eris muses from your side, piercing amber eyes darting from stall to stall, walking out through the market to get to the main shopping district. “A no would have sufficed,” you reply, laughing a little. “You don’t have to always put things in their coldest form, you know.”

“I thought I’d make you aware of what an idiotic question it was,” he remarks, pausing to glance at a table, lovely silks draped over various racks and hangers. “Weird how I don’t know about something I know nothing about,” you huff, pulling the fabric tighter. “It’s almost as if I’ve never hunted before.”

Eris rolls his eyes, and a faint smile tugs at your mouth at the open show of irritation. “Have they not even taught you how to fight?” He asks disapprovingly, tracing his fingers over the stitched hem of a scarf. “Why would I need to know how to fight?” You reply earnestly. “The war’s over.”

His fingers pause, and he glances at you sidelong. A beat stretching between you as he quietly stitches things together. “Indeed it is,” he says at last, gaze sliding back to the stall, though his attention doesn’t fully shift.

Your brow furrows at the odd exchange, before glancing elsewhere, wondering if you’d be able to spot the welder’s table from here. You peer about but don’t recognise anything, instead gorging your eyes on gleaming jewels and dazzling finery. Is this all second-nature to him? Does any of it amaze him, or will everything inevitably lose its potency when digested continuously? Would even perfectly soft beds, and heated slippers become part of the relentless drag of life?

You can’t imagine ever being unhappy with warm slippers, though. Maybe it’s a poor comparison.

“Take your hood down,” Eris instructs.

You blink, reluctantly lowering the fabric, shivering as a cool breeze bites at your collar bones; the tops of your shoulders. He pushes the scarf into your hands, already in motion as you start to keep in step. “Now put that on and stop looking so feeble,” he mutters. “Something as simple as the cold shouldn’t be bothering you so visibly.”

The silk is surprisingly warm beneath your fingertips in spite of its thinness, and you fumble for a second before neatly wrapping it over your shoulders, concealing the little skin that’s been left unprotected against the harsh chill of autumn.

“Thank you,” you say a touch faintly, almost scared to brush against the delicate fabric wrong, though it’s undoubtedly tough enough to hold up against your hands. As long as you don’t spark up, that is.

“I know I said I wasn’t surprised you hadn’t the foresight to think ahead, but not even a scarf?” He mutters under his breath, glancing down at you distastefully. “If you’re so easily affected by the weather you should have taken precautions. Why didn’t you bring something heavier?”

“I’m never accepting anything from you ever again,” you mutter back, tucking the end of the fabric beneath your cloak. “Especially if you’re just going to use it as an excuse to tell me everything I’ve done wrong. Surely by your logic it would be better to let me freeze as a way to learn the lesson.”

“I don’t need an excuse to tell you everything you’ve done wrong, but it’s embarrassing to have you shivering so obviously at my side,” he replies.

You stare at him for a moment, a little offended. “What do you mean, everything—”

“I mean, everything, because it’s a lot,” he says, cutting you off. “Really, had you even tried accessing your magic before coming here?”

“Of course I had,” you snap, sobering up a little as you remember the attempts. “But it’s a little hard to keep morale up when the results are so…” you trail off, subtly gesturing to your hands, ashamed to have them connected to your wrists despite the gloves you’d brought with you.

“Of course you’d bring gloves but forget a scarf,” he murmurs under his breath, making you grit your teeth against a scowl. “I didn’t forget a scarf, I don’t have any,” you snap at him. “Don’t have any?” He asks, doubt in his voice. “I find that hard to believe. Doesn’t Rhys keep you fully stocked on everything you could ever want?”

Eris marks the way you avert your eyes, head lowering a little as though there’s an invisible weight around your throat. “He does,” you reply quietly. “But none of that’s mine.”

“I’m pretty sure if he’s paid for it, and had it put in your wardrobe, that means it’s yours.”

You look up at him then, an indecipherable expression on your face. Conflicted.

“It wouldn’t be right, though,” you mumble, looking away again, shifting back to step in his footsteps. “Not when he’s done so much for us. Kindly given us a place to stay, and made our lives so much better in ways I hadn’t even dared to dream of before.” Your hands wring together, and he catches the slight flinch as you accidentally graze over what’s probably a new bruise or bump. “Especially not when he probably wouldn’t even… Not when I’ve…”

“…run straight into the enemy’s arms?” Eris finishes dryly, a wry look on his face. “Your words not mine,” you shoot back, before once again quietening. “But yes. It would be like spitting on his kindness, and I can’t…I can’t do that.”

He listens to your breathing, a little uneven. You feel quieter after that dive into your thoughts. “Good to know you’re fine if it’s my money being spent,” he remarks flatly, continuing forward. Really, you practically shrivel up and die whenever he brings any of them up. Maybe there’s a reason you’re so clueless to the larger picture.

“But I don’t owe you anything,” you murmur, hardly louder than a breath, and he’s so caught up in examining that angle he almost misses your reply. Possibly the root of all your problems. If not the foundation, then certainly the stem.

“Something tells me he won’t be charging you for every piece of gold you take up,” Eris replies, glancing back at you, slowing his paces to remind you to keep up. It’s plainly odd to have a conversation with someone trailing at your back.

“He doesn’t need to, but that doesn’t mean everything’s forgiven,” you counter, pulling the cloak closer, arms folding over your body, tucking in tight. “I can’t just accept everything he’s done—everything they’ve all done—and pretend like we’re all happy and equal. There’s a debt.” And it’s been a struggle to even keep your head above the water.

“So that’s what convinced you to come to me? So you can learn how to become useful?” He doesn’t seem particularly impressed, and something simmers in the pit of your chest. “A reason is a reason, isn’t it?” You reply lowly, brow narrowing. “Why not work with them? Save yourself the grief of having to face them when you return?” A faint smile sharpens his mouth, but it’s not of the ones you’ve become accustomed to. This one’s cold, the look in his eyes hinting at something vulpine lurking just beneath his skin. “I can’t imagine any of them being particularly pleased with your choices.”

“Is this another one of your tactics?” You ask abruptly. “Trying to make me anxious and tense so that I might lose control again and spark up?”

“We’re in the middle of a marketplace. I would hope not.”

“Then why are you bringing it up?” Again, that slow smile that has the hairs at the nape of your neck rising. The glint in his eyes as he guesses at the reaction—pleased with it. “Simply gauging the distance,” he muses, forging on ahead as you step to be at his side, pushing away from his trail of footsteps.

“Why? You’ve never show any interest in my relations before,” you point out, keeping an eye on him in your peripherals, now beyond the palace’s borders, moving for a road that will lead to the larger shopping district. “Haven’t I?” He remarks, something to his tone that makes you question yourself. Has he done any prying without you noticing? Your brows bunch a little, small worry lines creasing between them.

“You wouldn’t get anything, anyway,” you say defensively. You don’t have anything to give. “Don’t you think it’s strange how out-of-the-loop you are?” He asks, making you pause.

“No. I don’t.”

“You have no interest in the inner workings of your group?”

“I… Should I?” You ask, questioning yourself as you peer at him. Cutting amber spears into you, surprisingly intense as he pauses outside the defensive walls of the Palace.

The wind dies away, and you become aware of how still and silent the surrounding forest is, as if enchanted by something not entirely good. The world seems to slow to a eerie drag, black pupils contracting as they pierce into you, cold and experienced. You’ve never really considered any of them old, at least in the sense you’d grown up with, but now, as he’s stood before you with such horrific stillness, such an indecipherable look on his honed features, the sheer difference might have begun to dawn on you.

“Events happen in this world—it’s a condition of life. Of nature. Instinctive or otherwise, everything will naturally fall to chaos if left unchecked. Keeping yourself distanced, pulling away from the events of your life will not force them to remain a constant but instead facilitate that inevitable shift towards chaos.

“You have the potential for control yet choose to discard it, choose to avoid it. You allow things to happen to you, to sit back and put yourself at the mercy of external forces in being so complaisant. I don’t understand how anyone could be so content with inaction, and I don’t think you truly are, yet your choices suggest otherwise. You stay in your House, reading your life away, all in the pursuit of discovery, yet hardly seem to apply those interests to yourself.

“That’s not—"

“Shut up.” Pure ire blazes within his irises, and your mouth snaps shut of its own accord.

“You are idle and resigned. Too quick to accept what happens to you, and it’s pathetic.” The words smack across your skin, cracking down like a whip but he forges on. “I have told you before, and I will only tell you once more: you do not have the luxury of inaction. So don’t waste my time with a pretence of ambition when in the end you’ve already chosen to lie down and die.”

His words ring in the overwhelming silence of the forest, blaring through your world, resonating with a frequency that stirs cogs and sets wheels into motion, synapses sparking with powered charges as they snap and crackle.

“Use it,” he commands lowly, taking a step forward.

You blink, uncertain about what he means.

“Use it,” he repeats, rougher this time, gripping your wrists and holding them up. Thumbs slipping beneath the gloves, then turning them to ash.

“Eris, no— The last time—”

“Was for less than a second,” he says lowly. “Sustain it.”

“I don’t know how,” you grit out, hands bunching into fists.

“Use it or I’ll send you back.”

The fight drains from your body quicker than a millstone dropped in water. “What?”

“You heard me,” he says calmly, an intimidating ferocity underlying his words. “It’s been nearly a week, cygnet. I’m not going to parent you forever. Stand on your own two feet now.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Birds aren’t born knowing how to fly.”

You stare at him, wide eyed. Breathing shallow and stuttering. Hands shaking. But he does nothing without considering some sort of benefit. You’ve known from the beginning he’s manipulative; self-serving. Have been warned about his nature countless times.

He’s by no means foolish. Why place a bet if he thought he would lose?

You place a bet to win.

In his own way, he believes you’re capable of showing strength. Or at least harnessing it. With little to no faith in yourself, you’d never be able to make the leap, but with the trust placed in someone else, someone who has never pretended to be something he isn’t to you. It’s worth something, right?

Teeth bite together, pain creaking through your bones, groaning how furniture does when it’s on the verge of breaking. Aches sing through your palms, blossoming through your skin as pale green light flickers at your fingertips, irradiated and glowing. Gold shimmers at its edge, looking so familiar yet not. Like Starfall, but…more.

Either way, it’s enough for now. You’ve reached the bar he’d set, and can’t help but gaze in wonder at the view you’re presented with. How colour flickers and floats around your palms, glowing and waving with an unheard heartbeat.

“So you can summon it if you put your mind to it,” Eris muses, a hint of smugness to his voice that you would glare at if the cockiness wasn’t earned.

“You were trying to make me anxious,” you accuse.

“And it worked,” he counters, making you want to roll your eyes. “It seems to spark up in response to whatever imagined ending you think is coming along. An act of resistance before the fall.”

A faint glint of amusement sharpens his mouth, eyes gleaming. “Almost like a death surge.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel fic #cbmthy

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mariacallous · 2 months

Text

Since the start of the Israel-Hamas war, the Biden administration has tried to toe a delicate line: backing Israel’s war against the group in Gaza, while pushing Israel to ease the humanitarian toll of its operations and take the Palestinians’ legitimate political grievances seriously. By all accounts, toeing this line has been a frustrating and thankless endeavor—and, increasingly, a lonely one. Today, even the United States’ closest allies are calling for an “immediate ceasefire” that would put an end to Israel’s operations in Gaza. At home, the White House is facing increasing pressure from Democrats in the U.S. Congress and parts of the Democratic base to change its current tactics in dealing with Israel.

And yet, what the Biden administration understands—and what Israel’s many critics miss—is that the international community cannot dictate a solution to Israel-Hamas war by fiat. If the international community wants Israel to change strategies in Gaza, then it should offer a viable alternative strategy to Israel’s announced goal of destroying Hamas in the strip. And right now, that alternate strategy simply does not exist.

There is a brutal logic to Israel’s actions in Gaza. By its own estimates, Israel has destroyed three-quarters of Hamas’ battalions and killed two of five brigade commanders, 19 of 24 battalion commanders, more than 50 platoon leaders, and 12,000 of Hamas’ 30,000 foot soldiers. American intelligence estimates are lower, but not by much: Between 20 to 30 percent of Hamas’ fighters and 20 to 40 percent of its tunnels are estimated to have been destroyed as of mid-January. It’s also worth remembering that Hamas is structured more like a conventional military than a pure terrorist group. As a rule of thumb, conventional forces are considered combat ineffective once they lose more than 30 percent of their strength and destroyed once they lose 50 percent.

Even if Israel does not stamp out Hamas entirely but merely succeeds in driving it out of power and underground, from Israel’s view, that is still a win—even if stops well short of its goal of destroying the group, for doing so would likely prove sufficient to prevent Hamas from launching another 3,000-man complex assault like the one Israel saw on Oct. 7. Finally, it’s worth remembering that it took the United States several years to defeat the Islamic State. Israel is just over five months into what its leaders promised will be a very long war.

To be sure, there are serious drawbacks to the Israeli approach. This war will encourage long-term radicalization of the Palestinian population, damage Israel’s relationship with its Arab neighbors, and tarnish Israel’s global reputation in a pretty serious way. Yet all of these problems are long term. Too often, states and politics live in the here and now.

At the same time, Israel’s critics have failed—and continue to fail—to offer a coherent alternative way forward. Instead, more often than not, there are vague references for the need for some ill-defined “political solution” to the conflict. To the extent that there is a coherence to this alternate strategy, it revolves around using the threat of diplomatic isolation alongside economic threats that might force Israel to agree to an “immediate ceasefire.” That ceasefire, in turn, would pave the way for a longer-term political settlement, likely around a two-state solution. Problem solved. Or not.

For starters, international pressure and sanctions will not likely compel Israel to compromise. Israelis from the leadership on down are keenly aware that their country was born out of the ashes of Holocaust as a safe-haven for Jews after millennia of persecution. Israel then spent its first quarter-century fighting for its very existence. The idea that the world is aligned against Israel is deeply embedded in the nation’s collective DNA, and chants of “from the river to the sea,” coupled with surging global antisemitism, only ensure that those fears remain very much alive today.

Economic pressure—such as sanctioning settlers or restricting military aid—is unlikely to work, either. In general, sanctions have a poor track record of compelling states to abandon core national security interests. And given the Oct. 7 attacks, this war is nothing if not a core national security interest for Israel. Even if pressure did work initially, for a political solution to be sustainable, Israelis must voluntarily agree, not be pressured into it.

But let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that Israel caved to outside pressure and agreed to an immediate ceasefire. What would the day after look like? Hamas—as Israel and Hamas both acknowledge—would be left with a considerable military force, numbering in the thousands. Israel would then need to engage in another very lopsided deal to free the remaining hostages. In early February, Hamas wanted 1,500 prisoners freed from Israeli jails, including at least 500 serving life sentences for murder and other crimes, in exchange for the hostages.

So, at minimum, the group’s ranks would soon swell. And invariably, some of those released would be quite dangerous. After all, Yahya Sinwar—the head of Hamas in Gaza and alleged mastermind of the Oct. 7 attacks—was freed from an Israeli prison, where he was serving a life sentence for murder, in the 2011 trade of 1,027 prisoners for one captured Israeli soldier, Gilad Shalit. None of this recent history bodes particularly well for long-term peace.

In all likelihood, Israel would respond to a ceasefire by tightening its blockade of Gaza, citing Hamas’ continued existence as one reason for doing so. In particular, Israel would likely put severe limits on the quantities and types of building materials allowed into the Strip. After all, Hamas diverted an estimated 1,800 tons of steel and 6,000 tons of concrete to build its tunnel networks, and Israel would not want to see them rebuilt. The net consequence would be that desperately needed reconstruction would be severely delayed or even brought to standstill.

The fighting would not stop, either. Fearing that Hamas will make good on its promise to repeat the Oct. 7 attack “again and again,” Israel would step up its preemptive strikes on Gaza and the West Bank, particularly whenever it got the first whiff that Hamas might be planning an attack. At the same time, Hamas would continue to attack Israel, if only to reinforce its legitimacy and divert attention away from the likely dismal conditions in Gaza (thanks, in no small part, to the stymied reconstruction effort). In all likelihood, the situation would be right back where it started.

Ah, but wait: Won’t a two-state solution solve this? Probably not. Even before Oct. 7, the majority of Israelis didn’t believe in a two-state solution, or that peace was even possible. There are likely even fewer who believe that now, especially if a Palestinian state were to include Hamas in some form. Consider how unfathomable it would have been for most Americans to support the creation of a state with al Qaeda at its helm just five months after 9/11. There is no reason to believe that the Israeli public should be any different. Given considerable support for Hamas among the Palestinian population, it would be politically impossible to exclude Hamas from a new, democratic Palestinian government. And even if the new state’s government is less than democratic, it would have trouble excluding Hamas entirely—even if it wanted to—if the group still has thousands of men under arms.

But even assuming that overwhelming international pressure forced Israel to agree to a two-state solution, it’s not going to guarantee peace in the short or medium term. There are still a host of thorny issues—including borders, water rights, air rights, the demilitarization of the Palestinian state, and the partition of Jerusalem—that would need to be resolved before a second state could come into being. Then there is the problem that only one-third of Palestinians favor a two-state solution themselves, and nine in 10 don’t trust the Palestinian Authority. For its part, Hamas has made it abundantly clear that it wants one state without Jews under an Islamist banner. None of this means that the international community shouldn’t push for a political settlement, but this is at best a long-term solution, not a near-term fix.

If a two-state solution did come about, it may not bring an end to hostilities. Two states did not solve hostilities between India and Pakistan, or North and South Korea, or North and South Vietnam. Israel would be under no obligation to grant Palestinians—now citizens of a separate country—workers’ permits, which would likely tank the nascent state’s economy, just as it wouldn’t have to provide electricity and other services to Gaza, as it did before the war. At the same time, Palestinians would rightly wonder why their state should be demilitarized and not entitled to the sovereign privileges of a “normal state.” There would perhaps still be Jewish settlers living on the territory of the new Palestine, creating all sorts of problems. Absent genuine buy-in from both sides, a two-state solution would simply turn a local conflict into an international one.

There is a lot to hate about Israel’s war in Gaza. It is a bloody, destructive war that has killed far too many innocents and upended far too many civilian lives. It is by any measure a human tragedy that will reverberate across the region for years to come. But if the international community is not simply grandstanding and actually hopes to solve the tragedy playing out in Gaza, then it needs to begin by offering feasible solutions that address both Palestinian grievances and Israeli security concerns.

To its credit, the Biden administration is at least trying to move in this direction. It is pushing Israel to curtail civilian casualties, set up safe zones, increase humanitarian aid, and move to a longer-term political solution—all while still backing (or at least not outwardly opposing) Israel’s ongoing operations to root out Hamas. Some might call such a balanced approach overly tactical and unable to quickly end the war, but a good strategy is built on sound tactics.

Unfortunately, the Biden administration’s nuance is the exception both internationally and in the domestic debate over U.S. policy. Just as the political right needs to be continuously reminded that the Palestinian population is not going anywhere and Israel cannot kill its way to victory, the political left needs to be reminded that Israelis are also not going anywhere and their equities must also be taken seriously.

Ultimately, if Biden’s critics on the political left want a different war, then they need to offer an alternative strategy and subject that strategy to the same sort of analytical rigor that it trains on Israel’s current military effort. If not, the brutal logic of the current war will remain, and the ongoing tragedy will continue.

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nicoline1998enilocin · 2 months

Text

World's Greatest Dad

PAIRING | Husband!Dad!Chris Evans x Wife!Mom!Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT | 1.1K

SUMMARY | With Chris being away for filming during long periods, parenting can be complicated by yourself. Luckily, your daily FaceTime calls help you through it all, though it is always most exciting when he finally comes home. This time, you and your twins have prepared a little package to welcome him home after another three months of being away from home, and Chris couldn't have wished for a better welcome home.

RATING | General (G)

WARNINGS/TAGS | RPF, established relationship

A/N | I want to thank @cevansbaby-dove for inspiring this absolute fluff bomb of a fic, as it was a very cute one to write! 🥰 It's been a while since I have written anything for this adorable goofball, and I can't wait to get back into the groove of writing more for him again! This is proofread by @ccbsrmsf1, for which I'm very grateful 💜

EVENTS Masterlist | @fluffbruary Fluffbruary '24 | Care package Masterlist | @ultimatechrisbingo | Free space

Banners: Yours truly | Divider: @firefly-graphics | GIF: Source

Main Masterlist | Chris Evans Masterlist

''We miss you, Daddy!" your twins River and Sage say in unison to your laptop screen while talking to Chris as you do the dishes after dinner. He's away to film Avengers: Endgame, and you can't help but outright stare at your husband occasionally. His longer, blonde hair and thick beard suit him, and you can't wait to run your fingers through them.

"I miss you too, Bubba's, but Daddy will be home tomorrow," he tells your daughters, and they let out an excited shriek, not wanting to wait any longer to see him again. And you wouldn't mind being able to cuddle up with your husband, either. After a few more minutes of the three of them catching up, you hear Chris asking for you, and the girls are on their way to their room to play.

"How's my favorite girl doing?" his head leaning on his hand as he looks at you with pure love and adoration, a small smile tugging on the corners of his lips as he listens to what you say. You're lucky to have Chris as your husband and will thank your lucky stars daily.

"I'm doing good; the girls behave like little angels now that you're away. They're very responsible, and they help well around the house," you tell him as you listen to them playing their game in their room. They're now ten years old and growing up way too fast for your liking, but you also wouldn't miss it for the world.

"How excited are they that I'm coming home tomorrow?" Chris asks, and you tell him all about most of the plans you have made with them. The two of them can sleep in your bed tonight, and tomorrow, they'll help prepare dinner as a welcome home gesture. However, you did not tell him you've been busy building a care package for him.

"I miss you, but I'm happy to have my Hubby home again tomorrow; it's getting lonely without you at night. And there's only so much cuddles I can have with Dodger before I miss his Daddy." He lifts his head at the mention of his name, making you giggle.

"I miss you too, Babygirl, but it'll be worth it. After this, I'll be home for a few months," he tells you, and you're already looking forward to it. After another 15 minutes of calling, it's time to go and finish your little care package before taking your daughters and Dodger for a walk and winding down for the night.

You're up bright and early the following day, preparing breakfast for your girls, yourself, and Dodger. This afternoon is when Chris will finally return home after three long months, and you have rarely been this excited to welcome him home.

Seeing that it's a beautiful day outside, you decided to wear a bright pink sundress after laying out matching ones for your daughters. Chris has told you countless times how much he adores it when all his beautiful girls match, and you're looking forward to his reaction. Soon, the girls will be dressed and ready for breakfast, too, and now, all you three can do is wait.

When Chris is only five minutes away, he texts you so that you can expect him at any moment now. Over the years, you have made the tradition with your twins and Dodger to wait on the porch swing to welcome him home, and that's precisely what you do. River is on your left, Sage is on your right, and Dodger is lying patiently by your feet.

Luckily for you, there's no need to wait long because the car that drove Chris home turns the corner in less than a few minutes, and your twins jump from the porch swing while waving and jumping up and down.

"Daddy's home, Mommy! Daddy's home!" they say in unison, and as soon as Chris gets out of the car, he runs towards all of you while kneeling to capture his little girls in the biggest hug they have ever had.

"I'm so happy to be home again with my favorite girls! I missed you so much," he tells them as he gives both of them a big kiss before giving some love to Dodger, all while the driver patiently takes Chris' luggage out of the car's trunk. Dodger wags his tail happily as he accepts all the love from Chris, and then it's finally your turn.

"C'mere Gorgeous," your husband tells you as you wrap your arms around one another, pulling the other person as close as possible. You take your time inhaling his signature scent and let the happiness take over, peppering his face in kisses and saying countless 'I love you's.

After one last big kiss on his lips, it's time to go inside, and that's when Chris notices all three of you are matching today. You have gone all out for him, from the dress and shoes to the hair, and he can't get enough of it. He doesn't get too much time to think about that, though, because as soon as he's inside, he's greeted by the large care package you have made with the twins.

"Welcome home!" River and Sage say in unison as Chris walks into your house, the sunlight brightening the room beautifully.

"Thank you so much, my little monkeys; I'm so happy to be home for the next few months," he tells them as he walks over to what's on the kitchen table.

On the table is a large basket with some of his favorite as well as new books, some items to use in the bathroom like bath bombs and scented shower gels, some items for you and Chris to use in the bedroom such as a new massage oil, and something hidden in a sleek black box, and lastly, a big mug with the text ''World's Greatest Dad" made and decorated by both girls and it's filled with some of his favorite snacks too.

Before he thanks you, he first turns his attention to the girls.

"I may be the world's greatest dad, but I want you two to know you are the world's greatest princesses. Daddy's very lucky to have you two as his beautiful daughters," he says before hugging and kissing them again and sending them off to their room to play.

"Now, I believe it's time to say thank you to my beautiful wife," he says in a deep voice, and you can already feel the goosebumps forming on your neck. You pull him in for a kiss, which he happily reciprocates, pouring into it all the love that you two had to miss out on in the last few months.

"I love you, Babygirl, and thank you for being the best woman and most amazing wife I could ever wish for." With those words, it's time to officially unwrap his care package and settle for the next few months.

Surely, it may suck when he's gone, but the reunion when he's back is always more than worth it. Every. Single. Time.

#fluffbruary 2024 #ultimatechrisbingo #rpf #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans one shot #chris evans imagine #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans fluff

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thexianzhoujade · 30 days

Text

— personal memoires (of the dearly beloved)

the library is quiet, dimly lit by a few burning white candles that cast a golden glow on the nearby surfaces. it smells musty but the most distinguishable feature is the empty shelf in the far corner, missing a particularly unusual series of books that would otherwise stand out among the thick fiction in the library.

reading these memoires will fill you with mirth, joy and conflict. you will see the stories of those who no longer walk with us, in worlds other than your own. do you dare to locate these missing memoires?

“welcome to kai’s 200 mutual collaboration event! thank you so much for 200 followers! as a token of my gratitude, i’m working with my mutuals to provide a series of fanfictions that are prompted by lyrics - personal memoires of people's lives that you may live through. now, should we start searching?”

— rules.

i. mutuals only for this event! ii. fluff, angst, platonic and suggestive are allowed but do tag your memoires appropriately for the minor audiences. iii. you do not have to use these lyrics as dialogue - it can merely inspire the memoire. you are also free to interpret these lyrics as you wish, they’re not assigned to a genre! iv. you are free to do as many entries as you like, the more the merrier you don't have to do only one prompt each! v. this event closes on 01/05/24. when you post your memoire, please tag me and use the event tag:

⊹ ࣪ ˖ personal memoires ⟢

— prompts.

i. “but does he really know me when the lights are on?” | he loves me, he loves me not. ii. “i’d give the world to you, ‘cause i know the sun, the moon, the hurt falls with you.” | eclipse. iii. “everything i used to love, decayed over the years.” | unsweetened lemonade. iv. “you’re too sweet for me.” | too sweet. v. “you got me misunderstood, but at least i look this good.” | we can’t be friends. vi. “i’m here, i’m there, i’m everywhere. but you can’t catch me now.” | can’t catch me now. vii. “the role of a king is a lonely one to play.” | lonely king. viii. “it’s okay if you can’t catch your breath, you can take the oxygen straight out of my own chest.” | atlas: two. ix. “hold back the river, so i can stop for a minute and be by your side.” | hold back the river. x. “ain’t no prayer, ain’t no god, that could save us from our love.” | lovers in the dark. xi. “my love, are you the devil? i would worship you instead of him.” | the fruits. xii. “you are the best thing that's ever been mine.” | mine. xiii. “he did it all to spare me from the awful things in life that comes.” | murder song. xiv. “she’s talking to angels, counting the stars.” | waiting for superman. xv. “oh? did i almost see what’s really on the inside? all your insecurities, all the dirty laundry.” | unconditionally. xvi. “nervous, trip over my words. you’re so pretty it hurts.” | i’m yours. xvii. “i don’t want what you ain’t in, and i don’t wanna go unless i’m going there with you.” | my promised land. xviii. “there’ll be happiness after you but there was happiness because of you.” | happiness. xix. “i don’t wanna lie awake with only you here on my mind.” | on my mind. xx. “do we look like lovers or partners in crime?” | partners in crime.

— located memoires.

i. located by @yaminohimeyume : prompt xii — aventurine x fem!reader | sfw, fluff. ii. located by @mei-sm : prompt xix — blade x gn!reader | sfw, angst. iii. located by @elatedfool : prompt viii — aventurine x gn!reader | sfw, hurt/comfort. iv. located by @amalythea : prompt i — diluc + childe x gn!reader | sfw, angst. v. located by @amalythea : prompt xiv — venti, traveler + kazuha x gn!reader | sfw, angst. vi. located by @lovingluxury : prompt viii — dan heng x gn!reader | sfw, angst.

vii. located by @xianyoon : prompt viii — wriothesley x gn!reader | sfw, fluff.

— official playlist.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

#Spotify #⊹ ࣪ ˖ personal memoires ⟢#genshin x reader #hsr x reader #genshin impact #honkai star rail

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sparklingchim · 2 years

Text

long way home 21 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.7k

genre: dilf!jungkook, friends to lovers, angst

rating: pg

warnings: jaykay being a huge simp for miss oc, he ,,, licks her lip gloss off his face ???? 🥸 don't ask plis, them lowkey acting like a couple but it's all platonic guys !!!!! don't worry !!!! , sad gukkie in the end 😔, his broken heart </3 awakens the lil whore in him 😐

summary: the one where jungkook gives up.

a/n: talking bout this jungkook look in this chapter <3 without the bucket hat tho !!

chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08| 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 |

masterlist | long way home masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

4 years ago

"You're early," you say as Jungkook slips out of his shoes in the hallway.

"Was bored at home so I figured I might as well come over." Jungkook bends down to gives you a peck on the cheek.

"So that's why I kept getting Snapchat notifications from you?"

He stops, leaning away from you. "You saw and ignored me ?" There's an accusatory pitch to his voice, the perfect complement to the frown that slowly contorts his features.

"I'm doing my make-up. I don't have time for your silly snaps," you huff and turn on your heels, heading back to the living room.

Tonight Jungkook, Namjoon, Seulgi and you were going to go clubbing. It's been a while since the last time you went out so you're excited...to get drunk.

You hop onto the little cushion you have placed in front of the coffee table. You've been sitting here for a while, doing your make-up while watching a kdrama on TV.

"They weren't silly. I was showing you my outfit." Jungkook follows you and sits down somewhere behind you on the couch.

You turn around. He's wearing a black t-shirt, plad shirt on top and a leather jacket. The tight, ripped jeans he is wearing accentuates Jungkook's muscular thighs and oh wow, the holes on both knees are big enough to get a glimpse of his thighs and...you actually have to gulp to think straight again.

"I like this," you point out, tugging at the plad shirt. Your voice seems a little thick so you turn back around again and busy yourself with putting on make-up to hide your flaming cheeks. You see a little grin playing on Jungkook's lips through the small mirror placed in front of you.

"You can change the channel if you want," you offer as you put on some (actually, a lot ) blush on your cheeks.

"I don't mind."

You furrow your brows. You look at Jungkook through the mirror and notice that he's still staring at you. "Came to watch me getting ready or what?"

Jungkook shrugs. "Better than lazing around at home alone."

"You should get yourself a girlfriend then."

Jungkook nudges your back with his foot. "You don't wanna spend time with me?"

"No but, you shouldn't feel lonely."

"But it's fine when I'm with you."

"What, so you wanna spend the rest of your life with me?"

"Well, yeah?" He says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. As if he couldn't believe that you'd ever dare to ask him such a foolish question. "Obviously I am." Big round doe eyes watching you.

Instinctively, a smile flits across your face as you register Jungkook's sweet words.

"Kinda rude of you not to say anything back," Jungkook utters in the tiniest pout, mock offense leaking through this gentle voice.

"Just keep saying nice things like that and I'll consider spending my life with you."

"You act like I'm hardly being nice to you."

"You bailed on me yesterday," you remind him, grabbing the eyelash curler.

"I told you beforehand that I wasn't sure if I could make it."

"Had to get boba all by myself."

"You could've asked Seulgi?"

Yeah, you could've. But it wouldn't have been the same cause you wanted to go with him.

You don't say anything in return, focusing on making your lashes look longer.

"Watchu gonna wear?" Jungkook asks after a while, but you don't hear him. Well, yes you do actually hear him but you're in the midst of coating your lashes with mascara. Definitely not a good time to start a convo.

Jungkook pokes your side with his foot. "Jungkook," you whine and Jungkook snickers at the immediate pout that pushes at your lips.

"That's what you get for ignoring me."

You smudged the brush of your mascara on your eyelid. When you lean back from the mirror you can see how his smile has him scrunching up his nose and how he gloats over teasing you. Asshole.

"Go get me a cotton swab," you demand, tugging on Jungkook's pants to get him to stand up.

Jungkook pats your head when he brushes past you to get to the bathroom. You shoot daggers with your eyes when you feel his hand, the playful twinkle in his eyes not showing anything remotely close to remorse.

Seconds later he comes back with the cotton swab. "Want me to clean it?" He's standing next to your seated figure, looking hella tall as you look up at him.

"Need to wet it first," you answer, making a grab for the cotton swab, but Jungkook holds it out of your reach. "Huh?"

"Tongue out."

You blink.

What.

Jungkook clicks his tongue, sounding a tad bit annoyed when you don't proceed to do what he told you.

He pops one end of the swab in his mouth for a second and sits down on his knees in front of you, softly grabbing you by the chin to draw your face closer.

Your reaction to Jungkook's weird antics is a little slow - you only manage to squeak "ew" once the wet cotton touches your eyelid. Your fingers fly up to his wrist, though you don't stop him. You curl your fingers around him. "You're so disgusting." You wrinkle your nose.

"I'm just helping you." He mumbles the words to himself and you find it almost adorable how concentrated he is right now.

"Weirdo."

Jungkook tosses the cotton swab on the table after he's done. He remains seated next to you, leans back against the couch and plants his feet on the carpet.

You subtly sneak a peek at Jungkook, his ripped jeans rousing emotions in you that has your skin prickle with a thin layer of heat. Your best friend looks hot today.

Forcing your attention back to finish your make-up, you screw your lip gloss and brush the applicator over your lips. You cover the whole of your lips in the sparkling substance.

"What?" you ask when you see Jungkook staring at you applying lip gloss. You turn to him, holding the lip gloss close to his face. There's a faint dust of pink on his cheeks when you meet his eyes. "Want some?"

He shoves your wrist away.

"Tastes like cherry," you coax him, putting a little more on your lips before you smack your mouth for emphasis.

"I'll pass."

You screw the lip gloss shut and place it on the table.

"Are you ready soon? Namjoon's always on my ass when I'm running late."

"Yeah, just need to change," you reply, leaning on Jungkook's shoulders to get to your feet.

Padding to your bedroom you start to rid yourself of your clothes. You change your bra into a strapless one. Then you grab the black dress from your bed that you selected earlier and quickly change into it. It's a pretty dress you've recently bought. It has a straight neckline and is long-sleeved, but it only reaches mid-thigh and has a slit at the side.

You puff in frustration when you have trouble zipping up your dress.

"Jungkook?" you call him and try with impatient hands to close the zip yourself, but it's no use.

A few seconds later you hear his footsteps on the floor approaching your bedroom.

"What's wrong, baby?" he slowly opens the door and peers in with his head. His eyes are wide when he takes in your whole figure.

You show him the backside of your unzipped dress. "Help me, please."

Jungkook chuckles at your helpless state.

Soon you feel his hand gently pushing your hair to one side of your shoulder. He zips up your dress in a matter of seconds. You don't wanna complain, but feeling his hands on you felt nice. Made you feel fuzzy inside.

"You look really fucking pretty."

The giddy feeling grows at his gaze. You stand on tippy toes to peck his cheek and beam a "thank you".

As you pull back, you see the subtle rosy mark of your mouth on Jungkook's cheek. "Oops."

But then Jungkook swipes a fingers over the shiny stain on his cheek pops his tongue out to give it a little lick.

"What are you-" you stop yourself, looking at him in disbelieve.

"You made me curious with the cherry flavour."

You walk to your bedside table to grab a tissue. "You haven't even had a sip of alcohol and you're already acting so weird."

"Yeah but you're the one who transforms into the weirdest person on earth when you're drunk."

"Pschh," you shush him, trying to wipe the lip gloss off his face as best you can. "We don't talk about that."

Jungkook chuckles and playfully jabs you in the side.

You jerk at that. "Yah, I had enough of that today." You press the tissue against his chest and leave the room.

"Come back to me," you hear Jungkook whine in the back.

You're on your third drink of the night.

Despite your plans to get drunk, you're still pretty much sober.

Namjoon has been getting you drinks he thinks are "so goddamm delicious", but every time you have to disappoint him with an involuntary grimace after taking a small sip.

You shouldn't have told him that you wanted to try something new tonight. Because now he's coming back to your table with his fourth attempt to make you like some of his favourites.

"Here." Namjoon presents you another drink. He sits down next to Seulgi. "This one is really good. I promise."

Warily, you give it a try.

When Namjoon doesn't see you pulling a grimace he says, "See? I told you it was good."

"You said that all the times before. This is the fourth drink," Seulgi points out.

Namjoon shrugs. "My job is done here." His gaze wanders from the bar to the crowd of people dancing on the dance floor. He clasps his hands. "I'm just gonna..." He walks into the crowd of people and you hope he won't try to impress a girl with his poor choices of drinks.

You feel the glass slip in your hand as Jungkook takes it. He's been sitting next you all night.

You watch him taste it. "Isn't this a little too strong for you?"

"Yeah, but I didn't want him get me another one. So I didn't say anything."

"He would've spent the whole night trying to find something you'd like," Seulgi says, sipping on her own drink.

"You think we'll see him again?" you ask Jungkook, pointing at the crowd where Namjoon has disappeared.

"Nah, he told me he needed to get his mind off things today."

You notice a guy looking at you from across the club. He's leaning against the bar counter. You intuitively you move closer to Jungkook. He immediately understands, resting his warm hand on your thigh. And as quickly as the guy eyed you up and down he spins around.

Having Jungkook as your friend comes in handy sometimes.

"Oh, me too," Seulgi groans.

Your eyebrows furrow at that. Nothing has happened in her life recently that should make her say something like that.

"Why?" you inquire.

"I'll tell you later." She pushes the glass you had placed on the table into your hand. "Let's get drunk and then dance, please."

"But..." You examine the drink in your hands. "I don't wanna drink this."

"What do you want? Lemme get you something," Jungkook offers. He holds his empty glass up. "Gonna get myself something too."

"Strawberry Daiquiri, please."

As Jungkook leaves, you feel Seulgi's gaze on you.

You cock your head to the side. "What's up?"

Seulgi downs the rest of her drink. "I don't understand you."

Scooting a little closer to her - now that Jungkook's gone, you can feel the looks of many men ogling at Seulgi and you - you change glasses with Seulgi because whatever it was that Namjoon had got for you, it was a bit too much.

"Watchu mean?"

"I just don't get why you and Jungkook don't...y'know, try to be more than friends."

You quirk an eyebrow but Seulgi remains unfazed. She's confronted you with this question multiple times - most of the times with a sharp sideway glance at Jungkook, eyebrows up on her forehead and then back at you.

"Never."

"At least fuck him?"

"Seulgi."

"You don't think he's fuckable? Y/n, please. Don't tell me you haven't been staring at those thighs all night 'cause I certainly did."

"Jungkook is handsome, but that's not the point."

"Then tell me. What's stopping you?"

You tap a manicured finger on the round of the glass. A sigh escapes your lips.

"What?" she asks. "Does he not meet your standards? Is he not enough for you?"

"I - I don't know."

Seulgi wears a questioning look on her face. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"I don't wanna ruin what we have right now." You shrug. "I don't want things to get weird between us. I mean, yeah, I shouldn't assume what could happen without even trying but ... I don't wanna risk anything. Not with Jungkook." You nibble at your bottom lip. "I can't imagine my life without Jungkook. And I don't wanna lose him because of something stupid that could've easily been avoided."

"As long as I have him in my life I don't care in which relation to me. I just need him," you tell her.

"Jungkook's got you wrapped around his finger," Seulgi says.

"No." you frown, deeply in denial. "I just really like him."

You switch glasses with Seulgi again and take a big sip of whatever Namjoon had ordered.

"Let's talk about something else."

"I just don't get why you and Jungkook don't...y'know, try to be more than friends."

Jungkook comes to an abrupt halt.

Had he really just hear Seulgi say that? To you?

Jungkook shouldn't be listening on your conversation. He knows that. But he had to know your answer to Seulgi's question.

"Never."

Was this his instant karma for eavesdropping?

Jungkook feels something twist in his stomach with a strange pain.

It's not like he expected a different answer. But maybe there was a spark of hope that made his heart beat a little faster.

He almost starts walking again when he hear Seulgi asking, "At least fuck him?"

And that catches his attention again.

"Seulgi."

"You don't think he's fuckable? Y/n, please. Don't tell me you haven't been staring at those thighs all night Cause I certainly did."

He's noticed your glances. But he didn't think anything of it.

"Jungkook is handsome, but that's not the point."

Jungkook has spent a lot of time thinking about what he could do or change for you to make you like him the way he likes you. So what is he missing?

"What?" Seulgi asks. "Does he not meet your standards? Is he not enough for you?"

Jungkook gulps.

Suddenly the whole club is silent. And he's waiting for your answer. Seconds pass and you don't say a single word.

All at once, every cell in Jungkook's body becomes ice cold and every part of him freezes. His feet are frozen in place. He can't move. Jungkook needs to know what you're gonna say next.

He must look ridiculous right now - standing quietly in a club while everyone around him is dancing, chatting and laughing.

"I - I don't know."

Everything is silent in Jungkook's ears, but at that moment, he heard his heart breaking. Right in the middle. And Jungkook knows he isn't imagining it, because he felt it. It's deep and painful and so intense.

And that's Jungkook's cue to turn around and leave.

Jungkook doesn't allow himself to dwell on his feelings. He shouldn't be having them in the first place. It was his own fault. His own stupidity.

So he walks back to the bar, putting both drinks on the counter. He exhales deeply and stares at the marbled counter to calm himself.

In the corner of his eye sees a woman standing right next to him. Jungkook looks at her. She has a playful, teasing smile on her crimson lips. And soon, he feels himself looking at her the same way.

"Hey," Jungkook says.

"Hi." She bats her eyelashes. "Can I have that?" She points her finger at the Strawberry Daiquiri he had originally ordered for you.

"Of course." He hands her the drink. Jungkook won't come back to you anyway.

"What's your name, pretty?"

She giggles at the pet name.

"I'm Sora."

#jeon jungkook #jungkook angst #dilf jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook scenario #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts imagine #jungkook x reader

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haee-elia · 6 months

Text

spence-tober: day 24 - tattoo artist

pairing: tattoo artist!spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: in which you come home to your husband and daughter

word count: 1186

warnings: you have a daughter, lots of kid stuff, mention of pregnancy and marriage and also you have a cat

spence-tober masterlist

Coming home from work used to be a dreaded part of the day for you, back when you were living alone in an empty apartment that didn’t feel like home. No roommate, no pet, no one to greet you or be happy when you walk through that door.

Coming home didn’t feel like that anymore. Not since you had started dating the love of your life.

It had forever changed. You worked longer days than your tattoo artist boyfriend, Spencer Reid, and so more often than not, Spencer was there to greet you when you walked in after a long day. Whether that was him fixing dinner in the kitchen or sitting in his beloved armchair doodling more tattoo ideas, you weren’t coming home to a lonely apartment.

Then one day, you didn’t just come home to Spencer, but to him holding a small gray and white emaciated kitten in his tatted up arms. He had found the kitten on his walk to work and had kept it near a heater in the shop all day long, finally bringing it back to your shared apartment when no one claimed it. Now, you came home to a little kitten pawing at your pant’s leg.

The kitten, named Walter after Spencer’s middle name, grew up, you and Spencer grew closer and soon got engaged and married. Now he was your tattoo artist husband and it wasn’t long after you got married that you both had decided to expand your family even more. It started with all three of you moving into a larger apartment and then trying to get pregnant. After a full year of trying, you fell pregnant and subsequently gave birth to your daughter, Luma.

Suddenly, you didn’t just come home to a cat meowing at you as you walked in the door or to your husband showing you a tattoo design, but a small child who would laugh joyfully as you ran to hoist her up into your arms.

However, today when you walked through the front door of your brownstone home, the only thing to greet you is Walter. You close the door behind you and hang your keys and coat up. Then you give a small cat treat to Walter to stop his incessant whines for attention.

A giggle echoes out from the hallway leading out of the combined kitchen and living room. You follow the sound, your work shoes clicking on the wooden floors, and are led to your daughter’s room.

“Hello?” You call out, being sure to knock on the door before entering.

You and Spencer were trying to teach your now five year old daughter privacy and were trying to instill knocking before entering.

“Mommy!” You hear a small, light voice call out. You open the door fully now and a smile grows on your face at the sight.

Luma has a matching bright smile on her face as she slips off her pretty purple canopy bed and rushes with her little legs towards you, hugging your legs once she gets to you.

“Hi, baby!” You greet her, removing her hands from your legs and bending down to properly hug your daughter.

She’s been sick for the better part of the week and was finally on the mend. Per the school instructions, you still needed to keep her at home for today and you and Spencer had been taking turns calling off from work to stay with her.

Today, Spencer stayed home with your daughter and you certainly could tell she was in better spirits than the days prior.

Judging by your husband who was in your daughter’s bed, which is much too small for his thin, tall frame, Spencer had been through a lot today. Not that he ever minded.

His hair was put up in small ponytails with thin plastic elastic bands and there were discarded towels on the floor which meant that they had a spa day. Spencer also had his arm propped palm side up on a pillow with his sleeve up as far as it could go.

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” You ask your daughter.

The both of you have learned to never assume the intentions behind your child’s actions.

“We’re playing!” She simply says, still snuggled into your arms. When she got sick, which wasn’t often, she got clingy. Much like your husband when he fell ill.

You look to Spencer for a more clear answer, “Tattoo shop.” He clarifies.

“Ah,” You say, still holding onto your daughter. When she was a baby, you would often take her to Spencer’s shop as a surprise and then as a toddler and now, it was one of her favorite places in the world.

A closer glance at the bed would allow you to see some doodled hearts and circles on your husband’s arm and some washable tattoo markers lying on her duvet.

You should have known, Luma’s favorite game was Tattoo Shop where she would doodle on your arms or legs. At first, you let her do it with crayola marker, but after that one time she found a sharpie, Spencer had gotten her some washable kid tattoo gel pens to use.

“Look at Daddy’s arms!” Luma said, taking her small hand in yours and tugging you closer to her bed. On your way, you shuck off your shoes clumsily.

“I see, baby, you did such a good job!” You praise her, smiling as you look up and down your husband’s decorated arms.

At first, Luma would just draw random doodles usually over Spencer’s already existing tattoos. But now, she would incorporate them and work around to make it look ‘cohesive’, a fairly new word she learned after watching Project Runway with the two of you at night.

You lean over your husband’s arm and give him a sweet kiss in greeting and then thumb over the skin on his wrist that holds your matching tattoos. Ones you got in honor of the birth of Luma. A small little lightbulb that sat on the inside of your wrist.

“How’s your day been?” Spencer asks you, propping himself up a little bit more on the bed.

Before you can answer, Luma joins you in her bed and gently pushes down at her dad.

“Be careful! Don’t move.” She tells him. Spencer nods and settles back into the bed as you hold back a chuckle.

“It was good,” You answer, “Glad to come home to you two!” You tickle Luma a little bit and laugh with her giggles.

“I hadn’t gotten the chance to start dinner yet.” Spencer informs you, he nods to his arm which he is not allowed to move.

“That’s okay,” You say, then turning to your daughter, “How about we order pizza?” You ask her.

She cheers and all of you laugh in the room. “I’ll place the order in a little bit.” You say, settling yourself back into the bed a bit more.

You take your hand and pull up the sleeve of your long sleeve shirt and show the clean slate to Luma.

“Now, do you have time for another appointment?”

a/n: this was super fun and quick to write! i've been writing half of it during the day and then half at night, but i finished this super quick since i already knew the ending and so i don't have to stay up late tonight! woohoo!

#criminal minds #criminalminds #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fluff #dr. spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid au #spencer reid fanfic

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writersmess · 1 year

Text

CRAZY EX GIRLFRIENDS | DEREK HALE

Pairing: Derek Hale x fem!reader

Summary: you and Derek never really argue, but when it happened, it was not pretty.

Warning: just a fluffy family

Word count: +1k

a/n: hey barbies, here i am again, at this point im not sure if i am living or just dreaming about Derek 24/7. Just to remember, english is not my first language so sorry if there’s any mistakes.

Masterlist

................................

You’ve been dating Derek for some years now.

Neither of you was looking for love at the moment. Derek had just received a newborn at his door with a note that it was his son, he was completely lost.

You had been friends for some time before that, after all you were part of the pack. When you realized how desperate and clueless he was, you had no doubts, you had to help him.

Derek had no idea what was going on with him, but every time he caught a glimpse of you with the baby in your arms, putting him to sleep or simply cuddling him, it was as if something inside him became so restless to the point where he felt the need to stand in the doorway watching you, until he was caught by your loving gaze.

A few months later, you decided you should give it a try, you got along so well. In fact, at some point in all of this, you didn’t even go to your house anymore, little by little your things took over some of the empty spaces in the once so empty and lifeless apartment. That place was becoming a home and suddenly a family was being formed.

A few years has passed by, you decided to move to a bigger house so Eli could have more space while growing.

You and Derek learned to love each other, at the point that you could no longer live apart. You completed each other, needed each other.

It was so funny to imagine that one day that lonely wolf would have a family. A happy one. That every Sunday Peter, Malia and even Parish would gather at his house for family lunch, that they would be in the backyard together chatting and watching little Eli run around and have fun with his toys.

Everyone could see the love you felt for each other and the respect you had. You rarely fought, and when you did, it was over Eli’s upbringing and that you soon came to an agreement for the good of the family.

But that was until two days ago.

Derek heard that some hunters were prowling the town in search of some supernatural creature. The pack was no longer around, at least most of it. The Alpha and his friends had left town to go to college, so Derek felt the need to check out the threat.

Alone.

Without even leaving a note for you.

You only found out when he came home all bruised late at night.

You could not believe your eyes when you saw him like that. You’re so pissed.

He didn’t dare to say a word, he just stood there while you took care of his wounds that was taking time to heal.

What brings you to the present day.

You were having lunch with the Hale’s and Parish, and somehow Derek started bragging about having defeated the hunters all by himself.

That was not like him.

“you must be out of your fucking mind” you couldn't stand it anymore and dumped in the middle of his superheroic stories.

“excuse me?” He looked at you in astonishment and suddenly you had the attention of everyone at the table.

“you have a three year old waiting for you everyday at home, and yet you decide to go out and save the world all by yourself? That was fucking stupid and reckless, Derek” without noticing you were raising your voice as the words were getting out of your mouth.

“oh im sorry if i saved your life, and everybody’s life”

“for fucks sake, are you listening to yourself right now?” you gasped and everyone looked at you in shock. No one had ever witnessed a fight from you before. “im sorry if you’ve only had crazy girlfriends who never cared about you, but I fucking do”

“or maybe you are becoming exactly like them”

Wow

“okay that’s enough” Peter got up and broke up the fight, but before he could reach you to get you out of the room you were quicker and got out of there.

Not before Derek noticed the look you gave him. A look he had never seen in your eyes before.

Malia followed you but also gave him that disappointed look.

He knew he had screwed up really bad.

“that was fucked up even for me” Peter said still surprised for what he had just witnessed.

While he was mulling over everything he had said, you were in the room with Malia by your side, trying to comfort you in her own way

“i can just punch him in the face if that’s okay with you, or Parish can just do his fire thing and scare Derek a lit bit, or maybe-“

“im okay sweetheart” you smiled at her, but the smile never reached your eyes. And Malia noticed it.

“no! He can’t say these things and leave it like that. Not to you. Especially not to you.” You felt your eyes watering and hugged her, leaving Malia with no reaction.

“thanks” you meant it.

You let her go and decided it was the moment to take all the doubts of your head.

You left the house with the excuse that you needed to cool down and passed the men in the living room ignoring all their calls.

A few hours passed and you couldn’t get out of the car that was in the parking lot of your old loft. Your hands were shaking, tears were falling from your face, and you felt completely lost.

You didn’t even imagine, but Derek was almost getting out of his mind searching for you. He was so afraid something has happened to you. When he drive past your old loft and saw your car, it was like he could finally breath.

You heard the knocking on your window and when you looked at him and he saw your teary eyes he became desperate.

“what happened, are you okay? Are you hurt? Who hurt you? I’m gonna kill th-“

“Im pregnant”

He froze.

You both were definitely not expecting this to happen right now. Not when Eli was still just a baby.

“what”

“i am pregnant” you repeat. Hearing these words getting out of your mouth for the second time ever.

Derek kept looking at you. You didn’t know what he was thinking, you couldn’t read him this time.

“I’m pregnant and you think I’m like your crazy ex girlfriends, how amazing is this”

You left out a muffled laugh and Derek slid into the passenger seat. His eyes never leaving yours.

“im sorry baby, I’m so sorry” he grabbed your face, forcing you to look into his green eyes. “im so sorry I hurt you, I never meant to do that, quite te opposite, I was only trying to protect you. I am nothing without you guys, you gave me a reason to live again, to dream with a family that I didn’t know I could have. I could not just be there waiting for things to happen, I couldn’t leave you unprotected, I had to do something, I had to protect you and now...”

He paused and put his hand on your stomach.

By now you were sobbing your eyes out.

“by the time Eli was at my door I had no idea what I was going to do, how could I be a father to him, or even how to have a solo parenthood and suddenly you were there to help me, to love me, to love us. And now I am here, to show how loved you are, and how good you are as a mother and will be again.”

“i love you” you said in tears.

“i love you so much baby”

You could see his eyes shinning with tears.

“We’re gonna make it, like we always do.”

And you did make it.

You had a perfect little girl, she looked so much like you. Derek couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Again, he never ever imagined he would be in this place, a father to two beautiful kids, with the love of his live by his side.

Derek Hale was completed.

#derek hale imagine #derek hale x reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf #derek hale #derek hale fanfic #writersmess

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bitbybitwrites · 2 months

Text

WIP ASK ME GAME

I was tagged by @wordsofhoneydew and @itsmaybitheway. Thank you so much for thinking of me! Sorry for the delay - it took me longer than usual to think of descriptions of all the WIP I've got in the works 😂

So here are some Klaine and RWRB fics I'm working on that anyone can feel free to ask me about if you'd like:)

A long WIP list can be found under the break!

Partially published WIP:

(Klaine) If I Can Make Your Heart My Home - (Klaine Reverse Bang 2023) Life in New York City and working in the restaurant industry wasn’t exactly what Kurt Hummel had expected it would be. He’s lonely, stressed out and miserable. He’s almost ready to throw in the towel and return home to Ohio when a chance meeting with a musician in Central Park changes everything. (Warning: an angsty rollercoaster of a ride. Soooo many cameos from Glee characters! 😉)

(Klaine) Falling For You -(Klaine Secret Santa 2023 - NOW COMPLETE AS OF 4/16/24) - Successful doctor, Blaine Anderson has his hands full heading up the pediatric wing of Sloan Kettering Memorial Hospital in NY City. Life with that job and his precocious 6 year old daughter certainly keeps him on his toes - so much so that he thinks he can avoid dealing with the hole left in his life from the death of his husband. Little does he know that falling in love is on the horizon, quite literally, when he meets a florist by the name of Kurt Hummel. (Kid!fic with a bit of angst but a happy ending)

(RWRB) Puppy Love - (RWRB NYE gift exchange 2023) The cold snowy day that Henry Fox discovers an abandoned beagle puppy in an alley brings handsome, flirty veterinarian, Alex Claremont-Diaz into his life. Alex is a single dad, recently moved to NY with his young son who Henry hasn't met yet - or so Alex thought. (Fluffy kid!fic)

(Klaine) Sanctuary - (Klaine Word Scramble 2023) Crown Prince Blaine has stumbled into a secluded glade, trying to escape the horrors of the bloody war his father had brought upon their kingdom. Mourning his beloved older brother and faced with the burden of taking his place in the kingdom, Blaine yearns for a place to hid from the world to deal with the issues weighing on his heavy heart. He encounters a mysterious elf, the guardian of the magical spring that Blaine has mistakenly defiled, whose growing connection to his life the young prince can't ignore. (Inspired by an idea/ artwork by @datshitrandom and @justgleekout)

Not published yet WIP :

(these are in various states of readiness: some outlined, some partially written, some still in the brainstorming/research phase)

(RWRB) I approach, and I withdraw (tentative title) - Historical fic - Alejandro Diaz was still a boy when he followed his father into the thick of the fight for Mexico's independence. A series of unfortunate events, however, led him and his family to flee his home and to adopt new identities for their own safety. Years later, after he finds himself well ensconced in his new life as an attaché to the office of the new American ambassador to England, Alexander Claremont soon finds his past catching up to him. (Inspired by these historical paintings by @stormtrooperjeff17004 as well as artwork from @artofobsession seen here and here.)

(RWRB) Shaken, Not Stirred (Spy!AU) - CIA Officer Alex Claremont Diaz is not new to working on joint operations with other foreign agencies. He does it often and he does it well, which is why his superior, Zahra Bankston, never hesitates to assign them to him. What he wasn't expecting that morning was to be put on a new assignment with his least favorite MI6 operative, Henry Fox - and that they had to use being a newly married couple as their cover to get the job done. (Inspired by this drawing by @noodles-and-tea )

(Klaine) Cuffed (a D/s and soulmate story and prequel to my first ever fic, Trick or Treat) - - Musician Blaine Anderson has always been lonely sub, yearning for a place to belong and someone to belong to. Kurt Hummel is the an overworked and high in demand designer - a Dom with no time to sit and relax and focus on what his needs are. When an old friend hires Kurt to revamp his new club, Kurt's life becomes intertwined with Blaine's in a way neither of them could ignore.

(Klaine) Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weenie (Day 2 /Bikini - Klaine Advent 2023/ PWP) - A casual little fashion critique while the boys are on a well needed vacation, leads to a little outdoor fun. (Set in my Trick or Treat AU)

(RWRB) how ardently i admire and love you (online auction!AU) - Alex is desperate to find the perfect birthday gift for Henry, and eventually finds himself in an online bidding war for the one unique item that he knows his boyfriend would just adore.

(Klaine) I Know You Wanna Take Me Home (tentative title) (Klaine Valentines Challenge 2024/Pretty Woman!AU) Well established business man, Kurt Hummel never thought he could find anyone of substance among the escorts at Dalton House. But after being convinced to visit the upscale club by his friend, Kurt's mind is quickly changed once he sets his eyes on a beautiful boy in a gilded cage who was up for auction that night.

(Klaine) Untitled Klaine fic (Klaine Advent 2022) - Set in my Klaine superhero AU - Under The Cover of Darkness) Blaine decides to go home with Kurt for the holidays and doesn't make the best first impression with Kurt's parents.

(Klaine) Untitled Klaine fic (Feudal Japan!AU) - based off of novel The Tokaido Road - On a personal mission to avenge the murder of his father, Kurt travels the Tokaido , braving its dangers and interesting characters on the way. As the son of a nobleman, Kurt travels in disguise, unaware that the person who sanctioned his father's murderer has also sent Blaine, a talented and deadly ronin, to find and kill Kurt as well.

(RWRB)- the phantom touch of your hand (tentative title) - (Fantasy/cursed tattoo fic!AU) Two young swordsmen are determined to vanquish a sorcerer who has laid a tragic curse on them both. The problem is, the curse keeps them from being together at the same time, doomed to travel alone, one by day, the other by night - the only reminder of the other being the cursed tattoo burned into their skin.

(Klaine) - Untitled Klaine fic (While You were Sleeping!AU) - Kurt Hummel always wanted to live in NYC - his dreams were to be on Broadway. Being on the Broadway stage that is. Not working on the corner of Broadway and 44th in one of those coffee/food carts parked out on the street. Things for him change the day that Cooper Anderson, Kurt's gorgeous repeat customer whom he secretly fantasizes about, nearly gets hit by a bus. After following him to the hospital, Kurt gets mistaken for being his crush's fiancee which should have been his dream come true - until he meets Cooper's sweet down to earth brother, Blaine.

(Sebklaine) Untitled Klaine fic (PWP College threesome) - heavily influenced by "one of those movies" - wink, wink . . - Kurt's frustrated ( in more ways than one) and his good friends Blaine and Sebastian find a way to help him out.

(Klaine/RWRB) - Untitled fic (Scheherazade/ 1001 Arabian Nights !AU) - A lone traveler gets captured by a band of sex slavers in the desert. After being subjected to the horrors of slavery, the young man gets rescued by a desert prince in disguise, chosen to be his sole consort. Every evening, the consort tells his prince a story for him amusement. - planning a series of probably shorts all in the same style. Maybe it'll be a collection to do with other writers? Not sure yet. Might alternate with either Henry/Alex being the Prince and Consort and Blaine/Kurt being the characters in the bedtime tales or vice versa. Or maybe create 2 OC to be the Prince/Consort and have the other four boys be the characters in the shorter stories. I'm assuming it would be alot of mature/explicit shorts - but wouldn't mind a mix of other ratings in between as well.

Tagging ( only if they want to play): @myheartalivewrites, @clottedcreamfudge, @hkvoyage, @kirakiwiwrites, @gleefulpoppet, @gleefuldarrencrissfan, @onthewaytosomewhere, @sarkyblueeyes, @madas-ahatters-world @rougedraconteur, @yadivagirl @lilinas, @forabeatofadrum, @kiwiana-writes, @spaceorphan18, @special-bc-ur-part-of-it, @fallevs @daisyishedwig @annepi-blog @wowbright @backslashdelta @kurtsascot @coffeegleek @14carrotghoul @rockitmans @teilo @iboatedhere, @orchidscript @welcometololaland . . oh hell and anyone else who sees this and wants to share their WIP - go for it!

#ask game #wip ask game #bitbybitwrites

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wolfpawzjakey · 12 days

Note

I read your post and remembered something from my Brainrot.

fatal flaw of Percy - loyalty and I headcanon his dual Roman heritage of Venus and Apollo. The common symbol of these gods is a swan... The swan in culture is a symbol of loyalty to their beloved, these beautiful white-feathered creatures choose one pair for life and die if she dies or they remain lonely for the rest of their lives. Do you understand what I'm getting at? When Jason dies, Percy remains alone forever. He is the grandson of the goddess of love and the grandson of the god known for his tragedies, loyalty is sewn into his soul by the rest of the threads. He and Jason were doomed from the very beginning.

When Jason dies, a part of Percy dies with him and he no longer feels life the way he should - the sun is not as warm and bright, the air is heavy and life is no longer so good without Jason. a couple of years pass and Percy is still lonely and fiercely rejects all those in love with him. His loved ones are worried about him, they say that life goes on, that Percy shouldn't bury himself alive, that he should move forward, that his Jason wouldn't want endless grief for him. But Percy can't, he just can't, he doesn't even see That he can fall in love again, Jason is his soul mate, his soulmate is the love of his life after all. Percy is loyal, terribly loyal, and he will remain loyal to Jason until they reunite in Hades.

ANON YOU ARE SPEAKING MY LANGUAGE.

I absolutely love your thought path and agree entirely. I love letting Jason live him life out filled with new memories and love. But letting Percy live out the rest of his life after losing Jason is just as tempting.

Not to be that guy but Percy losing his will to live, maybe struggling to keep up his self care, going from bright, snappy Percy to a bleak version of himself. He loses weight, loses his muscle, he’s hardly functional and if anyone had any handle on him, he’d have been banned from battle long ago. On top of him battling depression though, I feel as though his temperament would drastically change, especially as time progressed on. He pushes more people away with time. He’s either so depressed that he’s impenetrable to anyone’s help, so enraged at the misfortune he’s faced in his life (obviously when a tragedy happens that’s so large and impactful, like the loss of a lover, the other impactful things you’ve been pushing away for later just tumble out), or spending his time just locked away, sobbing until he’s listless and numb.

No doubt passes through my mind that Percy is either the strongest person externally after someone important in his life passes away or the absolute worst. But all in all, we know he deals with sui*idal thoughts. He’s had them represented to us in the writings and even if they weren’t explicitly there or not there at all, there’s literally nothing a single person could do to convince me he wouldn’t have such thoughts after living the life he does. NOTHING! So losing Jason, it’s like a 24/7 struggle. He is either diligent in ignoring it or it’s a one more small tick of a box and it’s over for him. No doubt in my mind. I’d dealve deeper into that but this post is more about jercy and the tragedy of it all than it is my character deep dive all about Percy and how dingy his mental health must be after some digging.

Jason, I miss u everyday.

Thank you anon for your genius brain moment and for sending me my first ask

#jercy #jason grace #percy jackson #pjo #hoo #toa #jason grace deserved better #asks #idk what to call my replies #pawz replies #tw sui ideation #tw sui implied #sui mention

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ctrlyomomma · 2 months

Text

★ connected in more ways than one ★

pairing: christian pulisic x footballer! oc! reader

summary: they’re both footballers in europe, going to international camp. a lil fight at the end between them.

author’s note: just wanted to write abt chris 🤨 clearly this gif isn’t mine and this is longer than expected 😋 also reader has a bit of hatred towards gio- the nepotism made sense for the story and the comebacks- sorry. also tons of foul language used in the argument. mistreatment of women and misogyny are mentioned. okay enjoy :)

*written really fast, so if you see any errors- 😀

it was quite odd how this relationship came to be between two americans. especially playing in different leagues in europe.

her from arsenal, him from ac milan. it was quite interesting how they were together but never in public.

they weren’t those types to have affection in front of others, mostly protective of those feelings.

mostly him anyways, but she felt the same way especially after her public romance of a few years back was revealed to the world.

it felt so weird but so well. they complimented each other, especially after meeting through weston mckennie, her old juventus friend.

so when kailani met christian on a cold night, weston had invited her to italy for new years of 2023.

she flew to turin, italy for the first time since 2022.

kailani loved turin, yet when she was having the greatest time, juve had called her letting her know they sold her to a five year contract at arsenal.

much to her dismay, she left turin and headed to north london, home of the gunners. making herself at home yet missing a certain american. her westy.

kailani missed that most of turin, yet when she entered wes’ apartment she wasn’t expecting anyone to be there.

christian pulisic, was there in all his glory sitting on the couch, talking and smiling with wes. it looked weak but still holding on.

guess the chelsea season wasn’t going so well?

she knew who he was but didn’t know him well enough to assume.

weston stands as kailani waves hi and speaks, “hi, westy.”

they begin to envelop into a hug. “kails, i missed you so much.” he tells her.

“yeah, me too.” she whispers, not wanting to fall apart.

he remembers again that chris was with them, before turning towards him. “kails, this is christian. he’s american too. one of my best friends.”

now kailani wasn’t sure whether wes thought she was an idiot or something but she knew who this guy was.

she leaned towards christian, over the coffee table and said “kailani, but everyone calls me whatever they want. nice to meet you, christian.”

he grabs her hand while looking into her eyes, “nice to meet you kailani.” he smiles.

they certainly had felt the connection, or she did at least.

it’d been hard finding new friends at her new club. it felt like the same way whenever she arrived at juventus from college with three years of eligibility left.

she smiled and enjoyed her ‘lonely’ new years with her best friend and a guy.

she left turin the day after, not realizing that her and christian had the same flight heading both to london.

they both arrived at the london airport, bumping into each other on accident.

finding one another’s instagram account, and even stalking one another before he sent a dm.

“so what do you do?” he asked casually, she assumed that he did know who she was.

“you might not like this answer,” she responded. “why wouldn’t i?” he asked innocently.

“i play football at arsenal,” she responds quickly. it turns into their little ‘fight’ due to his loyalty at chelsea.

boo gunners, he tells her

boo up the chels, she tells him. his contract was due at the end of the 24’ season. it was a matter of time before renewal or new club rumors started.

he smiles at his phone before he secretly likes the message.

they both subconsciously turn off their phones heading on their way to their respective destinations.

it felt different with christian than it did with wes. she felt understood by him, whether she admitted it or not.

there were feelings, waiting to be explored.

so that’s what happened, they explored.

those weeks they spent being friends, turned into seeing each other whenever they could.

and when they couldn’t, they’d facetime.

over the course of time, it was a slow burn kind of love.

sharing kisses in secret, being each others crushes.

before they’d even attend international camp, they planned out their ideas to hang out before arriving.

being called up after impressing coaches at their respective clubs.

he’d asked her out a week before they attended an nba game during july, even inviting weston.

christian had the idea of inviting her over to his hotel, scaring her texting, “come over, we need to talk.”

that text was one thing to make her pace her hotel room.

they were on a floor distance. they had to be especially being on the uswnt and usmnt.

she came and knocked.

he opened the door, swiftly and quietly. scaring her a bit before pulling her in quickly.

he looks at her before inhaling out and wiping his palms on his pants.

“i like you a lot, and i want to explore something with you. so will you be my girlfriend?”

her brows furrow. “sorry what?” she asks.

he’s confused now. “i thought you had the same feelings too- maybe i shouldn’t have assumed you liked- i mean we kissed. multiple times.” chuckling as he tries to finish before she realizes.

“no! i do like you. a lot. i will be your girlfriend” she smiles.

he sighs in relief. “thank god.”

she walks up to him before placing a kiss on his lips.

ミ★

they’re on the sideline, waiting for the lakers and warriors to start playing against each other. the jumbotron turns on before the game starts introducing the celebs.

“introducing stars from the world..”, he continued before finally introducing everyone “christian pulisic, and weston mckennie.” they waved as you just looked and smiled.

you weren’t mad about it- it was expected. after they showed their faces. you went and whispered in weston’s ear, “do you know the plan for next week’s training?”

he shook his head, “nah, all i know is that we’re getting new training kits. might have a lil media day too, if we get lucky.”

she smiled, “oh westy, you make me smile.” before he smiled.

“is it me,” he interrupts. “or does christian like you?” laughing as he whispers.

“i actually have no idea.” playing dumb.

“cause all he does is stare,” as you turn and look over at your new boyfriend.

“what?” christian asks as both of you stare at him.

you and weston had finished chatting before you turn and whisper in chris’ ear- “he’s onto us.” you let him on.

“what? how?” he’s confused, he for sure let weston know that he wasn’t into you days prior. “i literally told him i wasn’t into you days ago.” he told you.

you shrug, he just told me that. you smile before saying, “don’t worry about it, i’ll handle it.” winking.

you continue to watch the warriors v. lakers.

the game finishes and all of you go on court to speak with the players.

chris, westy, and you chat with steph curry.

he goes immediately to you, “kailani, so good to meet you!” he seems excited.

she smiles, “hi steph.” before going into a side hug.

you continue to chat all together before leaving in an suv all together.

she goes onto twitter.

“them not putting kailani smith on the jumbotron is crazyyy. like ain’t she scored double of what weston mckennie and christian pulisic scored combined?”

“k smithy deserved to be on that damn jumbotron. shame on the nba.”

she laughed as weston and christian lean on her shoulder as westy notices, “woah. why are you laying on her shoulder? she’s my friend not yours.” making you smile even harder.

“woah weston chill, you getting jealous?” she asked.

“yeah, some mans tryna get your attention so badddd.” he laughs.

christian shaking his head, westy opening his mouth wide.

“no way, he didn’t deny it!” he begins to laugh hard and point his finger at christian.

his eyes are wide now, before you speak. “chill weston, leave him alone.”

he laughs and turns to look at you, “no way, you’re dating. you’re already defending him. you did the same thing with fede.”

your jaw drops, it’d been more than two years ago since you had dated federico chiesa.

when the romance between the two was revealed, it wasn’t a pretty sight to see. the internet couldn’t stand seeing both of you in public anymore- throwing hate on you for being with fede, it was you deciding then it was time to call it quits with the italian baller.

you looked down before saying, “yeah well it’s different.” shaking your head.

seeing christian in your peripheral, he looked awkward.

while weston said, “how different?” all serious, no longer laughing.

“i want this to be private, i want the loving and caring parts of him to be private. i don’t like the outside world i don’t know of to know what its like. thats only for me.”

you continue to rant, “i don’t want to be hated for being with a guy i like a lot.”

he nods his head as i look over at chris.

“he wants the same, he doesn’t like the outviews of the world. he’s a shy guy.” you say placing your hand on his cheek, during the last sentence.

christian leans into your touch.

ミ★

a week later, you’re off sneaking kisses in his room before heading to training in california.

he no longer kisses you, stopping. “you know, i never thought that i would have a crush on you. i didn’t even know who you were.” he smiles.

you laugh, “now i’m your worst nightmare.”

he chuckles, before getting serious. “nah, you’re the best thing to me,” he looks into your eyes. “you’re teaching me what love is within a week or two of being my girlfriend.”

you smile, “good.”

the men’s national team was due to leave before the women’s team. christian decided it was almost time for him to leave.

“alright, i’m heading out. i’ll see you there baby.” he said before leaning down to pucker his lips for a kiss.

you look up from your phone, smiling. you throw your phone to the side before grabbing his face. “okay, have fun, tell westy i said hi.”

“oh i will,” he smirks, “he’s gonna be so mad about it.”

you laugh, “be nice please.”

“fine i’ll be nice, only for you. see you later.” he kisses your cheek before walking out.

you grab your clothes from your overnight bag and begin to dress.

placing sunglasses over your hair in a tight bun. you looked around seeing if anyone was looking before rushing.

you head downstairs into the bus. running into lynn and korbin.

“hey,” korbin smiled at you. “just got told that we have new kits today at practice.”

“nice, i’m so excited.”

lynn continues, “also supposedly we’ll be working with and against the men’s national team.”

you jaw drops, excitedly. “i’m so excited to go against westy.”

ミ★

the bus arrives at the fields in cali. uswnt admin is videoing, before saying “good morning!”

“good morning, how are you?” you asked

answering your question, “good, how are you?”

“great, ready to get the job done.” you smile as much as you can.

they take a picture of you smiling and thumbs up.

you skip hurriedly to the fields with mal and soph.

“someone’s excited to get playing.” soph says as a joke.

i smile, “duh, i mean everyone i love is here.”

she smiles, “aw i love you so much lani.”

she hugs me.

ミ★

we did drills and then conjoined with the boys.

we approached their field, “oh, yeah. now this is what i’m talking about.”

we did starting xi’s

ミ★

the game had started, giving the ball to you, trin, and soph.

the ball, passing through the boys.

defenders pressing on trin and soph.

trin passes to you, making most of the defenders starting to shift towards you.

you see a little passage way, running towards it and quick.

you try to cross the ball before running with no more space to go, and with the grass being wet. the accident was bound to happen.

trying to stop or slow down, you can’t with wall hitting your body.

you fall to the floor, “oh my god, kails!” hearing lindsey.

she runs towards you while you look up hearing her voice.

your vision seems a bit blurry, you think you’re hallucinating whenever you see weston and christian beside lindsey.

“you’re okay,” she tells you. “let’s get you on bench.”

weston and christian helping you up.

placing you on the bench.

you sit, leaning down on your lap. staring at the grass.

lindsey states, before walking away “stay here till the trainer gets here. we’ll be fine out here.”

weston pats your back, “better be well, or i’m gonna kick your ass.”

you hear his cleats walk away.

christian squats down to your face level, “so are you gonna speak?”

you look up, “i would but then i’d want to hug you to make me feel better.” sitting straight up and leaning back.

“oh really? do it.” he talks boldly.

you whine, “i don’t want anyone to know.”

“and that’s fine, but i just wanted to cure your pain.” he smiles.

you sigh, placing your right hand on his left shoulder. you tap his shoulder saying, “it was a nice try, go play. i have to be checked out.”

he chuckles before getting up and going to play.

the trainer checks you, telling you to rest for the remainder of practice, insisting not seeing symptoms of a concussion.

you’re let to go by an assistant coach, “twila said you’re free to go.”

“ok, thank you.” walking off the grass.

ミ★

you head back into the locker rooms, changing into your original outfit. heading out towards the gates for those who watch the practices. walking towards them, to sign things or just even chat. it meant a lot to you, sentimental, it just made you feel like you were doing just something little for those who believed in you the most.

you see most of your teammates out there signing, yet you’re the only one changed.

a little fan, probably 4-5 years of age asked if you’d sign her shirt.

you squat down speaking to her through the gate, “of course.” you smile.

you grab her shirt and a pen from her parents. signing it with pride.

you continue to sign before walking away, noticing the buses’ arrival.

you grab your bag from your locker, you head towards the bus.

sitting down, on your phone. waiting for it to leave.

☆ you finally arrive at your hotel room.

walking in, immediately getting a call from wes.

“are you good?” he asks.

“yeah, just really tired.”

“can i come see you?” he asks laughing, you sense his smile through the phone.

“yeah that’s fine, just knock and i’ll come get the door.”

☆ in a min or two you hear a knock.

you open the door, wes is there with his drink, slurping it down.

“hey! where’s chris?”

you rub your eye, “i don’t know, haven’t spoke much with him today.”

“trouble in paradise already?” he asks.

“no, just haven’t texted him.” you shrug.

he feels the somber energy, “what’s wrong kails.”

“i just don’t feel that well right now, heat is super crazy right now.”

he furrows his brows, “did you drink water?”

you shake your head, “not that i remember.”

he sighs, taking his backpack off. pulling a water bottle out with a pack of electrolytes. “take it, you’re dehydrated.”

you grab it with hesitation before sipping it down. feeling a bit better, “wanna go grab lunch downstairs?” you ask.

“yeah sounds good.” he replies as you both leave your hotel room.

☆ you’re downstairs talking with wes

you go through the line of food, sitting at a table with wes.

christian spots you, before heading towards you and squeezing your shoulder affectionately.

you smile weakly.

“what’s wrong?” he asked. weston answers quickly, “she doesn’t feel good.”

chris’ eyebrows furrow, “what- why?” he asks.

wes shrugs, “she was dehydrated just a while ago.”

chris grabs you, “i’m taking her to my room. would you bring her food up?”

wes nods his head, chris takes you into the elevator. hugging you, you smile.

“jeez, didn’t know you wanted me this bad.” you laugh softly.

“always do.”

you smile before letting go and grabbing your buzzing phone.

next thing you know, you’re answering your mom’s facetime call.

pushing chris, out of view.

“hi mama.” you answer, her blonde hair appearing.

“hi kails, how are you?” she asks while, wearing her reading glasses.

“good, just finished training and lunch, we have a break before heading out again.”

she nods her head, “oh i’m so excited for you my sweet girl.”

you laugh, as chris is persistent in meeting your mom.

“thanks, mama.” you smile.

chris finally appears in the screen, “hi mrs. smith.” he tells her.

“well hi, kails, who’s this?”

you blush, getting redder by the second.

“he’s my boyfriend.” you smile, shyly.

your mom freaks out a bit, “excuse me? honey, i didn’t know about this!”

“well it’s kinda new mama. you’ll meet him when you get down here.” you say.

“good.. alright i’ll leave you to enjoy some time by yourself. love you so so much kails.”

you smile before practically speaking, “love you more mama! take care!” you say waving in the camera.

you hang up, “why’d you do that?” you ask smiling.

“cause i wanted to meet your mom.” he smirks.

“well get ready for me to get spam calls.” you say as a call from your sister appears.

you decline. “see what you’ve started!” you say sarcastically.

he smiles before grabbing your hand and running out the elevator to his room.

“stop it!” you laugh.

ミ★

you’re laying down with chris in his bed when wes comes knocking.

“wake up, lovebirds!” he yells as he knocks.

you laugh before running to the door. you open the door and grab your food.

you place yourself on the ground, before westy sits on chris’ couch.

“i’m starving, you took so long. where’d you go?”

he laughs, “had a chat with g.”

chris laughs too, you feel confused.

“g? no fucking way, what’d he say?” christian sits up, excited.

wes chuckles, “he talked about how beating the girls in practice later would be so easy since kails isn’t ‘cleared’ to play.”

you furrow your brows as chris laughs.

“so hilarious right?” you sarcastically remark with attitude. dropping your fork in the food.

“kails, you know he’s joking.” chris states, while you turn your head to face him.

“yeah you’re right, he thinks that just because we’re girls and i’m not there, we automatically lose? yeah no, that’s misogyny.”

wes tries to cut in. “kails-”

you put your hand up, “don’t. i don’t even know why you brought it up. you know how i feel about this.”

chris looks at weston.

“you guys don’t understand how being a girl is and how underrated we are in this world of sports. as far as i know, gio fucking whines. if anything, he’s a nepo baby!” you freak out.

you sigh, “i need space. see you at practice.” you grab you phone, food, and keycard before heading to the door.

you throw your food away in the trash can in beside the elevator. you leave wes and christian speechless. confused.

☆ you walk into your hotel before realizing you need to leave anyways. you grab a water, a granola bar, and your backpack before heading out.

putting on your headphones to cancel the noise.

you get on the bus, wanting to leave. desperately

☆ you arrive at the fields, in a mentality to beat gio.

you dress in your training kit once more before heading to the field in your cleats.

the coaches start a scrimmage as soon as everyone arrives.

alex and trin covering the front. you, linds, and korb covering the middle intersection. girmy, crys, tierna, and emmy covering the back.

christian, balo, and kev covering the front. weston, yunus, and gio covering the midfield. miles, jedi, dest, and ream covered the back.

this was gonna be a fun game. the ball begins with the boys

you cover gio as yunus and weston are guarded by korbin and linds.

the ball goes around a bit, dancing between both squads.

you gain possession of the ball from girmy and gio pushes you as you have the ball. the ball continues to be at your feet until you push it towards trin.

he keeps grabbing onto your shirt, trying to stop you, while you’re trying to keep calm as much as you can.

trin passes to alex to leave an open space, it’s near you and you’re hungry. desperately trying to prove to gio that you’re not here to lose, not with your girls.

alex passes to you,

a right foot on the ball with a shot and score.

1-0

☆ the game continues.

gio continues to grab on you, desperately trying to challenge the defense, hitting your ankle as you pass to korbin. turning around, pushing him off. the game continues.

“get off me.” he gets up, angry.

he gets in your face. “don’t you ever push me again, you hear?”

“what the fuck are you gonna do? tell your mommy and daddy to not call me up?” you say putting your face up to his.

“i might.”

“yeah go ahead and try, i’m so scared!” you taunt.

he scoffs, “yeah i thought you’d say that.”

you remark quickly. “yeah, and you thought you’d win without me.”

he gives you a little push, or a shove backwards.

you stumble a bit, managing to keep yourself upright.

“wow, way to be intimidated by a girl.” you laugh. the whole team running towards the both of you.

“oh i’m not intimidated, you whore.” he states.

“oh i’m a whore? so why the shove back, nepo baby? oh wait you’re intimidated. thought you’d win in practice cause i wasn’t cleared?” his eyes go wide before he gets in your face once more.

“yeah and i think we’d still win.” he laughs.

you mumble, “yeah without you.”

he manages to hear you, pushing you harder.

this time to the ground. the team manages to get there but not on time.

you laugh before getting up. “see i told you, you’re scared.”

gio yells in your face, “oh yeah? am i? say it to my fucking face!”

chris gets in between the both of you

you begin to yell back, “as a matter of fact, i will. just quit being scared and say the facts to my face, you fucking loser.”

moving to grab gio as christian grabs you.

“get the fuck off me,” you say, shoving his hands off you. “next time, you tell your friend to show some fucking respect.” you say to him. walking away.

the coaches, end the game. they call gio and you over separately.

“so what the hell happened?” twila asked you.

“he called me a whore, told me he’d win against us if i wasn’t cleared, grabbed my shirt, kept pushing onto me. even fouling me. he even threatened me, saying he’d tell his dad and mom to let the board of the national team soccer not call me up ever again. i’m sorry but that sent me.”

she shook her head and let you go.

you change in the locker room, desperately trying to get to the hotel room.

☆ you head to the bus, as christian and weston stop you.

you scoff, as they cross their arms. eyebrows furrowed.

“what the hell happened?” weston asks you.

“get out of my way.” you say sternly.

he asks once more. “i’m not telling you anything.” stating, rolling your eyes.

he raises his hands in defense before dropping them, “fine. i quit.”

leaving christian by himself.

“kails what the fuck happened?”

“i don’t know you tell me?”

he scoffs. “i’m not gio so stop fucking with me.”

“well you’re on his side aren’t you?”

“i can’t control who i play with.”

“i don’t care who you play with, it’s whose side you’re taking and you thought it was a joke, meaning you liked it.” smiling sarcastically.

he drops his head sighing.

walking away. you yell out, “and when you’re ready to apologize for being an ass with weston. let me know.”

he turns around, walking towards you. “you’re being unreasonable.” he says.

“yeah and like i said, you were being an asshole about the joke.” you say.

he scoffs. “fine. whatever but i’m not apologizing.”

you challenge back, “then i guess we’re on a break.”

“fine.” he scoffs going on the bus.

ミ★

sorry bout the ending, i had to stop or i would go on forever 😌

also yayayaya on uswnt winning gold cup today!

#christian pulisic #football x y/n #footballer x reader #footballer!reader #christian pulisic x reader

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