#at least from the ones I’m familiar with

[jongseongsnudes]

kiss me (part three)

bff/fwb!jake. 1.4k words. ✨️smut✨️ + angst ft. lee heeseung. (part one) (part two)

“you’re so hot,” you hear him mumble into the kiss, his lips barely leaving yours as he does. his hands are everywhere, your waist, your ass, your thighs. the man was desperate for you and to be fair, you wanted him too. 

what started as a few flirty kisses with heeseung and a childish way to show jake that you in fact did not need him, turned into a full fledged heated make out session in the back of the cab, all the way into your apartment. it was the last thing you wanted yet all you wanted at the same time. someone to distract you from a particular someone else.

you were too occupied with heeseung’s lips to notice the familiar pair of men’s shoes by your door once you enter your home, ones that were surely not there when you left.

jake sim was in your apartment.

“hey- h- heeseung,” you manage to get his attention, your hand now gently pushing against his chest, “i um- i remember i had some plans tonight actually... rain check?”

you can see the disappointment wash over his face for a split second before smiling again, an understanding smile. and this was one of the many things you’ve always liked about him lee heeseung. that he respected you.

“yeah of course love,” he says while rubbing your lower back, “you need me to drop you off anywhere? it’s getting pretty late.”

“no my friend will pick me up. sorry hee, another time?”

“definitely,” he leans in to kiss you, short and sweet, “be careful okay.”

you begin to second guess your decision to abruptly kick heeseung out but the last thing you wanted was to be in the middle of a confrontation between the two best friends right now. besides, you needed to deal with jake. the thought of him currently somewhere in your apartment got you mad, especially after the fight you had earlier.

the house is quiet, the only light source coming from your living room’s television screen, exactly where you expected him to be with a bottle of alcohol in his hand. you can feel your chest heave to the sight of a topless jake, it took almost everything in you not to pull your panties aside and climb on that lap.

the things you’d do for jake sim...

“seriously? you’re just going to break into my apartment?”

your words are left unanswered as the man continues watching the screen ahead as if you weren’t standing right in front of him.

“whatever then. at least close the door on your way out when you get bored.”

you leave him be, no longer wanting to deal with the toxic situation that shouldn’t have been a situation in the first place. 

bits and pieces of your clothing and accessories are scattered behind as you make it to the bathroom, wanting nothing more than to sink into a warm bath and relax for the night. but of course the world always seems to have other plans for you.

“didn’t think you had it in you.”

sigh.

you don’t bother turning around to his newly arrived presence at the bathroom doorway, instead opting to continue slipping out of your undergarments as if he wasn’t even there, “i don’t want to talk to you right now jake.”

“so you let heeseung put his tongue down your throat but can’t even talk to me?”

you were quick to whip around this time, a frown dawning your face at how ridiculous he was being. the audacity this man had to even speak to you that way, in your home after ignoring you just a moment before.

“excuse me?” you were on the brink of exploding now, your hand balled up and ready to throw him out if you had to, “you broke into my house for what? to say these things to me?”

“well i’m not wrong! why bother fucking with me then go straight to heeseung?” he was now right up against you, his much taller frame towering over yours, gradually cornering you in against the vanity, “he’s my fucking best friend!”

you’ve seen jake angry numerous times before but never have you seen him like this. he is evidently fuming with eyes so dark, even his breathing was ragged.

“so that’s your problem? so you’re saying that i can fuck anyone else besides your best friend? easy. i’m sure sunghoon or jay would be down if i was to call them right now.”

if jake was considered stubborn, well, you were even worse. between you and the man, you were the one who always got your way. to be fair he did have a soft spot for you and you’ve used this to your advantage... when necessary. 

the bathroom then goes eerily quiet, the two of you though still visibly angry, are now much calmer than before. the heavy tension that filled the air just a moment before was now slowly turning into a different kind of tension.

the one you always felt when you both wanted each other.

“i’m tired jake... please just go-”

he leans in without hesitation, kissing you hard and cutting off your words. he even cups your cheeks, angling your face up to him so he can deepen the kiss and you let him. by now you weren’t even fighting him anymore, your entire body melting right into his hold.

as always.

you did’t want to admit it but this kiss with jake sim was the one you’ve been yearning for all night, even when kissing someone else.

you were just crazy for him.

“it’s not them, it’s you...” he whispers, his voice barely audible as he pulls away slightly, “you’re my problem.”

“what- what’s that supposed to mean?”

“i don’t want to see you with anyone else.”

before you could even respond, jake slowly moves down your body, his lips leaving behind a trail of soft kisses on your skin. you almost scream when he reaches your panties, the man’s mouth just hovering over it for a few moments. just to drive you insane.

“you’re perfect you know?” he coos, his hands now grasping onto your waist as yours grab onto the vanity for support.

“you say that sim... but then turn around and say the same to other girls...”

“they’re nothing baby. i’ve always wanted you.”

your breath hitches when he yanks your panties aside and lifts one of your legs over his shoulders, his lips immediately pressing onto your clit without warning, eager to have you. his wet tongue laps at your heat, tasting every part of you, causing your knees to almost buckle at the intense pleasure your whole body immediately feels from it.

you watch him through hooded eyes, the view of jake sim kneeling before you, one that always pushed you over the edge, that had you seeing white. that had you going completely feral.

but despite the moment, with his tongue deep in your folds and with your fingers knotted in his hair, you just couldn’t forget all that happened tonight.

what should’ve been a strictly no strings attached situation had become something it shouldn’t have. it all somehow spiralled out of control so quickly, like the flame in your heart that grew to the point of no return for the man.

and from what you’ve learned from romance movies your whole life... this was not going to end well. especially for you.

“ja- jake...” you barely manage to push him back by the shoulders, stopping the man from doing what those lips were literally born to do. he looks at you with concern as he stands to his feet, arms immediately holding your sides to pull you closer.

“what’s wrong baby?” 

you may regret this later but you knew it was the right thing to do... before you fall even further.

“i don’t want to do this anymore jake. lets... stop.”

end(????)

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#jongseongsnudes #enhypen #enhypen drabble #enhypen fic #enhypen fanfic #enhypen scenario #enhypen imagine #enhypen reaction #enhypen smut #enha #enhypen x reader #enhypen heeseung #enhypen jake #enhypen hard hours #enhypen scenarios #sim jaeyun #sim jaeyun smut #sim jaeyun fanfic #sim jaeyun fic #sim jaeyun scenario #sim jaeyun imagine #sim jaeyun x reader #sim jaeyun hard hours #jake sim smut #jake sim fanfic #jake sim fic #jake sim imagine #jake sim scenario #jake sim x reader #jake smut

[dyaz-stories]

say my name and everything just stops || gojo satoru x reader

synopsis: You welcome Gojo back after a mission that lasted longer than expected.

(He fucks you on your desk)

word count: 2.6k

genre: canon compliant, smut

cw: porn with some plot, porn with feelings, vaginal sex, fingering, gojo is a tease, light angst, some fluff too, reader is afab, implied fwb, gojo calls reader sensei but they're both teachers

a/n: just a little thing for fun and practice :) enjoy!

more gojo x reader here

Though the sun is setting outside, you’re still at your desk, dutifully filing paperwork. You’ve dismissed the students a long time ago, of course, but you haven’t left the classroom yet. The door sliding open, though you haven’t heard any footsteps, has you glancing up, on high alert. The worry dissipates right away when you’re met with familiar white hair, a broad grin, and all-black clothing.

“Well, well, sensei,” Gojo Satoru says as he approaches your desk with a nonchalant pace, hands in his pockets, “working late, are we?”

“Gojo,” you reply, eyes back on the paper sheet in front of you. “How was your trip?”

“You know you can just ask Ijichi to do that for you, right?” Gojo continues, now standing in front of your desk. “No need for you to do all that by yourself.”

“Ijichi is busy,” you answer, unperturbed by the way he ignored your question. “You’ve been gone a whole week. Did something go wrong?”

“Aw, sensei,” he coos, “were you worried?”

You put down your pen to look up at him. You’re always worried, obviously. While you’re a teacher at Jujutsu High, the main role you’re expected to fulfill is that of strategist, to better coordinate group actions. You wouldn’t be able to do that without being at least a little paranoid.

It just so happens that you are very paranoid.

Faced with your stare, Gojo’s grin widens.

“Well, I guess they were happy to have me around and they had me fix all the little problems they hadn’t been able to get rid of by themselves,” he tells you with a shrug. “If I didn’t do it, no one was going to, so, might as well get everything taken care of in one go.”

It’s hard not to openly grit your teeth at his words. You’re not thrilled about the way Gojo just gets used and shipped off to wherever the elders deem fit. You and Shoko, on the other hand, are expected to remain caged in the more ‘safe’ properties, all in the name of the greater good. You’re not sure what good it’s doing. You still know better than to say it out loud.

“You stopped by Shoko’s before coming here,” you say. It’s not a question, and his face lights up at it.

“One day, you’re really going to have to tell me how you do that.”

It’s not that hard. A light smell of smoke lingers around him; the last button of his shirt is unbuttoned, likely because of an examination; there’s a pen sticking out of his pocket that you suspect he’s stolen off her desk; and he’s not wearing his usual travel shoes, meaning he changed since coming back to Tokyo, and knowing him, you must have been close to the top of his list of people to see, so you don’t think he went home, so Ichiji must have brought them to him at the lab.

You could easily have been wrong, of course. You just made an educated guess, and it worked out well for you.

“I found something weird out there,” he states matter-of-factly. “Didn’t need any patching up. C’mon, don’t tell me you were worried?”

You roll your eyes and push your chair back to stand up. He should have been back three days ago, and you didn’t hear from him. Not that the way your relationship works means you should have. It explicitly doesn’t.

“We don’t know what kind of curses are out there,” you say. “Anything could happen.”

“Aw,” Gojo says. “But you know I’m the strongest. I can take everything they throw at me.”

He says it with such absolute confidence that you want to believe him blindly, but all your instincts rebel at that idea. You can’t let yourself think he’s invincible. You can’t make your plans based on that idea. There’d be too much to lose if— if—

“With how gloomy you look, it’s hard to think you’re happy to see me,” Gojo pouts. “And here I was, thinking I’d get a warm welcome back…”

You scoff, fighting the smile that wants to break on your face, then make to move past him. You have no intention of actually leaving of course, but you know that—

Of course, the second he thinks you’re getting away from him, he grabs your wrist and twirls you around and into him. His arm wraps around your waist smoothly, presses your chest against his.

“Really? You’re not even a little bit happy?” He says it lightly, but you don’t miss the very light twinge of annoyance in his voice.

You like to think that you are one of the few people that can get a rise out of him.

It goes both way, of course, but now that you’re in his arms, after a week without touching him, anger and fear melt away all too easily, and all you want is him.

You put both of your arms around his neck, and push yourself on your tiptoes to capture his lips. There is a second during which he remains still, as if unsure, no matter how unlike him that would be. It’s like you don’t have him back yet, like there’s a part of him, of his mind, that is still out there with the curses.

But the moment passes, and then he’s kissing you feverishly. He pushes you back until you hit your desk, then helps lift you on top of it. The papers you’ve filled so dutifully fall to the floor, but he doesn’t care and neither do you. His warm tongue meets yours and you feel small moans escaping you, which he swallows hungrily. One of his hands sneaks under your shirt, the other pushes up your long skirt as he lifts up one of your legs, fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh.

You burry your hand in his hair, try to pull him closer to you, because fuck, you’ve missed him, you’ve missed the weight of his body on yours, and you want him, you need him to be as close as possible. He groans inside your mouth, and when your other hand moves down to trace his jaw, his neck, the muscles of his shoulders, before trying to unbutton his shirt, it turns into a full whimper.

Unfortunately, that sound also brings you back to reality, and while your body is an inferno right now, you feel your cheeks heating up even more.

“Wait, wait, Gojo—”

“Satoru,” he almost growls. Now that you’re trying to speak, he presses open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, then down your neck, sucking and biting lightly at the skin.

“Satoru,” you whine, left with no strength nor desire to fight him on that, “we shouldn’t— students could—”

“They’ve gone home,” he dismisses your worries easily. “None of them are going to show up here at this time.”

He’s hooking his fingers in your panties now, trying to slide them down your legs, but you catch his arm first. You’re quite the spectacle, breathless and panting, clothes half off. Even then, there’s that serious light in your eyes that just has him weak in the knees.

“Yaga— Yaga could—”

“If you think about it, that’d be doing him a favor,” Satoru hums. “Would give him some really, really good material, if you ask me.”

He doesn’t add that the material in question is all his, and that he’d never let Yaga catch you in the act, just for that reason. He doesn’t have to, because his answer makes you laugh softly.

You always laugh for him.

“He better not find us,” you warn him, as your grasp on his arm relaxes.

“Hm, that shouldn’t be a problem, as long as a certain someone can keep quiet…”

You roll your eyes, and then you pull him back down against your lips to interrupt his laugh.

He manages to get your panties out of the way, and then pushes a long finger inside you. You’re already so wet for him, he marvels as it slides in easily. He soon follows it with a second one, spreading you open carefully, and that’s when you throw your head back, closing your eyes and pushing your hand against your mouth to muffle your moan.

“So you’ve really missed me, huh?” he can’t help but tease as he chases your mouth. He’d love nothing more than to hear you loud and clear, but he knows you won’t risk it, no matter how empty the school is right now.

Underneath him, your body trembles, and he can’t resist any longer. He pulls his blindfold out of the way, drinking in the most beautiful sight he’s ever beholden. You’re trying your best not to let the pleasure get to you, but even then, you manage to open an eye to look at him, and you’re met with the stunning blue eyes you wish you could see more often. Something softens inside you, and you reach up to touch his cheek.

“Of course I’ve missed you,” you answer.

Shit. He doesn’t know how long he can keep this up. He’s already rock hard and all he’s done is rock against you. He wanted to take his time with you tonight, because all he’s had the past week is the memory of you, and that’s nowhere near enough, but it’s not looking like he will last that long.

“Yeah?” he insists as his thumb finds your clit and he starts rubbing carefully. “Thought about me while I was gone?”

You let out a loud cry, manage to cover your mouth again before another one comes out. Your thighs are trembling around him, and fuck, he’s going to have to fuck you real soon, otherwise he’s just going to burst in his pants without you even touching him, at this point.

“I’ve thought of you,” he tells you as he pulls his fingers out of you to get rid of his pants. “Thought of how good you feel around me, of how good you sound for me, of how pretty you are when you’re bouncing on my cock…”

He guides his cock against your entrance, presses it against you. You buck your hips, unable to stop yourself, but he doesn’t give it to you, not just yet.

“You really want it that bad, don’t you?” he practically purrs.

“Satoru,” you whine, and oh, if you knew what it does to him when you say his name like that… “don’t make me b— Ah!”

Finally satisfied, he sheathes himself fully inside of you, and fuck, it’s all he’s been dreaming of for days now. Next time he swears he’ll come running back to you the second he’s done with the stupid assignment. You reach up for him and he lets you, lets you dig your nails into his shoulder blades as you bury your face in his neck to stifle your moans. His hips set up a lazy pace at first, and you try your best to follow, try to meet him with small movements of your own, before you feel his breath against your ear.

“It’s all good,” he says warmly. “Just let me take care of you, babe. I’ve got you.”

That’s when he picks up the pace, and you’re left to writhe underneath him, whimpering his name desperately against his skin like a prayer, Satoru, Satoru, Satoru!

You come, shaking, around him when he brings his fingers to your clit once more, and he doesn’t lose a second of it. The high-pitched moan that you just can’t hold in, the way your head falls back, how your thighs shake on either side of him, it’s all so perfect. You’re perfect.

He does his best to let you ride your orgasm on his cock, but he comes inside you just a couple seconds later, unable to last longer. He collapses on top of you, and your labored breathing fills the room. Your hand on his back moves gently, tracing circles on the nape of his neck, gently running through his hair.

“If you’re not down for a round two just yet, I recommend you stop that,” he mumbles against you, only to regret it immediately, because you do stop.

“We should— we should take this elsewhere,” you say quietly.

Ah, now that’s more like it.

“I can call Ichiji and we could do that in the back of the car on the way home,” he offers cheerfully as he gets up, putting the blindfold back in place, though not before he can see you grimace in horror at his suggestion.

“Absolutely not,” you say firmly, though once more, he was only teasing. He’d never let Ichiji see you like that. “Although, if you could call someone to come clean up in here, just, uh, just in case…”

Cute.

“Done. Now, about that round two…”

“Else. Where,” you insist, and you don’t fall for his cute pout.

He sighs but takes your hand to help you to your feet, then turns around as he pulls out his phone. He’s about to hit Ichiji’s number when your fingers on his skin almost bring a shiver out of him.

“Shouldn’t this be healing?” you ask, frowning, and he realizes you’re talking about the marks you’ve left on his back.

“Nah, I quite like them, actually,” he grins back. “Don’t you?”

There’s a lot of unsaid things that hang between the two of you. A lot of things that are better left unsaid. Sadly, you’re too smart for your own good, and you know better. You leave them be.

“I was worried for you,” is what do you say.

Satoru’s expression shifts. The grin vanishes, and you can’t see his eyes, so you’re not sure how he’s feeling, not until the corner of his lips lift up in a soft smile.

“Thank you,” he says, voice uncharacteristically low.

Then he turns away from you, and he’s as loud and boisterous as ever when Ichiji answers.

Of course. The strongest can’t let himself grow soft.

You bend down to pick up your papers, rearrange them neatly on the desk, eyes still on him, on the animated way he moves around the room.

You think you’re more grateful than he knows, for him being back here. Not because he’s the strongest, not because no one gets rid of a curse like he can, but because he’s Satoru. It’s probably better that way, though. You’re both too busy for distractions.

With a sigh, you put your papers back on the desk, then start moving towards the exit.

“Aren’t we going?” you ask Satoru right as you’re reaching the door.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows.

“Hope you wrote all that down, ‘cause I need to get out of here,” he says on the phone, and you hear Ichiji protest, but that doesn’t stop Satoru from hanging up unceremoniously. He follows you in the hallway, shoulders brushing against yours without quite touching.

“Hey, if not in the car, there’s a supply closet on the first floor—”

“No.”

“Yaga’s office is probably—”

“Absolutely not.”

“How about in my bed?” he asks, right against your ear, breath tickling against your skin. Your cheeks heat up.

“…Sure.”

He only savors his victory for a second.

“What about the couch?”

“Don’t push it.”

But he does, and you let him.

How could you not, when you finally have him back?

still trying to get used to writing gojo's character, don't know if i quite have him just yet. i hope you enjoyed this, any feedback you have is welcomed and encouraged! reblogs and comments are what keeps me writing, so please engage with my work to let me know if you'd like to see more~

if you enjoy my writing, you can find more gojo x reader here

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo imagine #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #satoru smut #gojo fluff #jjk imagine #jjk x y/n #my writing

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 15

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I became suddenly ill about three days ago and my brain is still quite mushy so I think this has been proofread but there might be some errors here and there I’ll try to iron out once I’m better!! Sorry for any scruples and I hope you enjoy!! 🧡💛

warnings: angst, general depression, violence (self-attempted)

word count: 16,175

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

Azriel catches her eye from across the room, weary hazel locking with bright amber that swirls in the faelight of the living room.

His tension is more palpable than usual, the conversation from yesterday with the golden-eyed male only further contributing to the death knell gonging quietly at the back of his mind, creaking through his knees, echoing in each footstep—each breath he takes. Time seems to be dripping by faster, even more so than usual. In the cobwebbed chambers of his mind he’s able to recall a time where days were his chosen measurement, where a twenty-four hour period contained beginning, middle, and end. But as he’d grown older, those chunks had grown with him, his perception of time shifting the more of it he lived through. Soon enough weeks were his days, calculating how much could be done over the period, sleep a small break to be indulged in between work. Then it had shifted to months—twelve to fit everything into, nights morphing into short naps.

Now years feel like days once had, time no longer a steady drip of water from the roof of a dark cell ceiling where he’d been kept locked away from the light, but a steady trickle as it carves its way through stone.

Shadows conceal his absence from the laughter-filled room, removing himself from the uncomfortably bright corner to a place of familiarity, shifting into the darker hallways as he sighs, feet positioned instinctively equidistant, weight spread evenly, fearing one lapse in discipline might bring him back to those days where he knew nothing of fighting, nothing of how to defend himself. To those days where he had to learn relentlessly, practice until his body couldn’t move in desperate attempts to cover the ground he’d lost years to.

Mor enters into the darkness, coming from the yellow-orange light that’s spilling into the blue-purple hallway, heels effortlessly silent upon the floorboards as her nocturnal eyes seek him out. Her features are already serious, easily picking up on his mood despite his efforts to conceal it. The depths of it, at least.

“Az?” Mor asks quietly, expression curious but solemn.

“She’s gone,” he murmurs shortly. Mor’s eyes flash with alarm at the revelation, before her brows tuck together. “What do you mean she’s gone? Where?”

“I don’t know,” he admits grimly. “I paid a visit to one of her friends afternoon yesterday, but he refused to answer anything.”

“What do you mean, she’s gone, Az?” Mor hisses, disbelief sharpening her muffled tone. Azriel grinds his jaw, but relents—this is more important. “I mean, she isn’t at the House of Wind. She left a note saying she would be at Bas’, and would be back but she wasn’t. When I went to get her, she wasn’t there either,” he summarises, expression sombre.

“What else?” Mor asks sternly, the brightness about her having faded faster than a flame extinguished. Azriel licks his lips, bracing himself, before explaining: she has magic but it’s been giving her trouble, she’d wanted to try using it without anyone else knowing and he’d let her, Elain’s vision prophesying his death at her hand.

To Mor’s credit, her features don’t drain entirely of colour, and it takes her no more than a few seconds of heavy silence for her to muster up a response. “What magic?” Mor asks first, keeping her tone quiet but clipped, judgement clear enough she doesn’t need to voice it. And Azriel won’t address it, either. “Her hands could glow a little around the fingertips. We didn’t know what it did, though.”

“And the trouble?”

“It dried her skin out, among other things.” Mor’s lips part, eyes closing briefly as she sighs. “The gloves.” Azriel doesn’t need to provide confirmation for her to have connected the dots.

But then her eyes open, slowly sliding to his, an edge of viciousness underlying their amber cut, one he withstands reluctantly. Mor swallows, jaw tense, watching him. “How long have you known about this?” She asks, lethally softly. Not how long has she had magic, how long has he known. And not told them. “About a fortnight.”

Mor’s eyes gleam with hostility, and his features become stony, walls raising up as she watches him silently. Judgement falling heavy on his shoulders. “Why tell me now?” She asks shortly. She isn’t chewing him out, nor is she outwardly rancorous. Not good a good sign. “Bas won’t tell me where she is,” he replies neutrally, Mor’s eyes flaring as she puts it together. “You want me to ask him.” Azriel nods, despite her already knowing.

She glances at him reproachfully, another look he withstands passively, and then she’s turning sharply on her heel, making back toward the light, back toward the laughter. Silent as a shadow, Azriel catches her upper arm, having to exert surprising force to keep her still. “Where are you going?” He asks coldly.

“Where do you think?” She counters sharply.

“They have enough on their plates,” Azriel mutters. As if on queue, Nyx’s laugher giggles through the halls, a stark contrast to the gloom lurking just beyond the light’s end. Mor snatches her arm away. “You have enough on your plate,” she says lowly, eyes glinting as they cut through him, “we could have made room. You should have told us.” But Azriel stands his ground, not giving an inch. “It was the right call.”

“You have no idea where she is,” Mor counters. “No idea where she is, or what state she might be in. What makes you think that was the right call?”

“You’re questioning my judgement?”

“Yes, I’m fucking questioning your judgement,” she hisses back lowly.

“She told me she didn’t want any of you to know,” he counters coldly, “she’s reclusive anyway, suddenly outing her wouldn’t have done anything helpful.”

The wording seems to strike something in Mor, ire banking, eyes shuttering briefly, before she’s gritting her jaw again. “You should have told us.”

“She barely managed to tell me,” Azriel states, “Elain didn’t even know until the vision that her sister had magic.”

“You know you should have told us.”

“And betrayed her trust when she chose to tell me?” Azriel asks cooly. “You didn’t see how scared she was.”

“Maybe she wasn’t scared of us finding out but of speaking with you.”

Azriel blinks, the only sign of his falter he’ll allow, caught off guard by the accusation. She’s never shown any fear of him before… “She has no reason to be scared of me.” He says finally.

A look of frustration flits through Mor’s amber eyes. “She’s young. This is probably the first time she’s experiencing strong feelings toward someone else,” she says lowly, “surely you can remember what that’s like.” Azriel bristles at the pointed look, the insulting comparison between his past love for Mor and the affection being unwelcomely pushed his way. “She’s infatuated. It happens,” he replies tersely, not taking kindly to the manipulation. “And she went through the war too—she isn’t that unaware. You’re doing her a disservice.”

“The disservice here is you not affording her the care she needs—to the point she’s chosen to run away,” Mor practically spits.

Terse silence stretches between them, sour and resentful.

“We aren’t going to come to an agreement,” Azriel says at last, tone clipped, but both of them know it’s better to move on for now. They can fight it out later, once things are resolved and taken care of. “You speak to Bas first, then we can find out who she’s gone to. She could be anywhere in the Night Court, knowing him.”

“We tell Rhys and Feyre first,” Mor demands lowly. But Azriel shakes his head, “if you want to be the one to tell Feyre her sister is missing and we don’t know where she is, be my guest.”

Silence stretches further, growing tauter by the second, until Mor sighs sharply. “Fine,” she grits out. “Bas first.”

Azriel nods, making to turn around, heading for the door.

“But you are telling Feyre,” Mor hisses lowly. “Whether we find out or not. Tonight.”

Azriel pauses, jaw tightening. But gives a sharp nod.

————

Once again he slinks back to the male’s house, the bright sun lost to winter’s oncoming grip, dark clouds shielding the stars from view.

Despite the silence between them, he can feel Mor’s judgement pressing into him, but he has no time to argue or persuade. After the…discussion, with the male the other day, he’d needed time to plan, regroup his thoughts. Time. Seemingly so sparse, as of late. He could afford little more than twenty-four hours of inaction before a decision would have to be made—he hadn’t come this far by sitting around aimlessly when faced with a hard choice. It seemed the only reasonably way forward would be to acquiesce to the male’s demand, as much as Azriel despised so. It was the smarter option.

The other would have been to lay hands on him, and no matter how urgent the matter was, the male was still a civilian, and untrained for war, at that. Violence was entirely out of the question.

He knocks thrice on the door, sharp and punctuated hits to alert the male of company, before stepping back to allow space for Mor.

Gleaming golden eyes pierce out into the darkness, and Azriel knows he doesn’t miss the hint of smugness in their gilded depths as he marks the presence of another, as he’d requested. To verify his claim that there were indeed urgent matters afoot. Azriel refuses to show even a hint of irritation, keeping his face cold and passive—Bas won’t get the satisfaction of seeing him riled. He’d have to work much harder for that.

“You’re back late,” Bas drawls from the warm glow of his house, once again leaning cockily against the broad wooden frame, ankles crossed, one foot keeping the door held to—away from prying eyes. “And you’ve brought company,” he muses, glancing to Mor at his side. The female steps forward, the yellowy-orange light from inside making her glow as she offers a tight smile. “Bas, correct?” Golden eyes sweep over her analytically, before he nods, shifting slightly. “Mor,” he acknowledges, “she mentioned you, too.” No signs of surprise mar her open expression, kept sealed beneath that deceptive mask she can wear to charm at any time.

“That’s why we came to see you, actually,” Mor begins calmly, straightforward. “I’m of the understanding you know her whereabouts, but are unwilling to disclose them for various reasons.”

“That’s right,” he replies slowly, expression shifting to something more wary. His provocative nature shying away from perceived earnestness. “She doesn’t want any visitors.”

Mor nods her head gently, understanding shimmering faintly in amber eyes, threads of her hair catching the golden glow of inner light, glinting with the motion. “I can understand that, but this is very important,” she says sincerely, worry shining in her face Azriel know she doesn’t have to fake. Still the male remains cautious in the doorway. “Azriel wasn’t lying when he told you this conflicts with Court matters,” Mor begins slowly, and the shadowsinger tamps down on the urge to glance at her warily. Though he knows she won’t reveal anything, there’s no need to offer scraps. “I’m afraid there’s little I can honestly tell you due to their private nature, but nonetheless I would like to speak with you about her. She is a part of our family, and we are deeply concerned about her. I’m sure you can understand our worry.”

Quiet pauses long enough to take a deep breath, before resuming to its consistent noise.

Eventually, Bas nods his head, standing straighter. A grain of tension is released from his shoulders as the male opens his door, yielding to a conversation. He makes to step forward, but sharp golden eyes flick to him, piercing and accusing in their nature. “I’ll speak with Mor, and Mor alone,” he states clearly, an edge of provocation creeping back into his features, though the Shadowsinger doubts its sincerity.

But Mor nods her head, “that’s fine,” she answers, brushing past his side, pulling the cold night air with her, a whisper of icy breath grazing his side as she moves forward, leaving him out in the dark. “Don’t move from here until we’re done,” Mor instructs from over her shoulder once Bas has disappeared from the entrance hall. Azriel nods, understanding the implication.

Listen in from outside.

————

The room she follows Bas into is cozy, well-kept. Clearly lived in.

The pillows of the sofas are slightly worn, slightly faded in colour, waned down to more earthy tones that compliment the pale terracotta of the walls. Fire crackles from the hearth, dried rosemary hung from the ceiling beams, as well as other dried herbs and plants. On the wall are some paintings, mostly stills, but they’re watery around their edges, faded colour bleeding over fine, distinct ink lines.

Bas takes a seat that seems to fit him comfortably, likely one he usually chooses, while Mor opts for one nearby, a quilt thrown over its back, squares of purple, blue, turquoise, and magenta knitted together, and she can make out small patches in the yarn where its been run thin and had to be darned with slightly mismatched thread.

“So,” Bas starts, quieter than she had expected, sitting forward in her chair, attentive. “You’re worried about her. Why?” It’s hard to conceal her frown at such a strange question, but she doesn’t really try to. She doubts she’ll get anywhere through masking her reactions. “She’s part of our family,” Mor replies, “why wouldn’t we be worried about her.” Bas settles deeper into his chair, hands braced on arms, head tilted back into the pillow as he watches her intently. It’s not an expression she’s unfamiliar with, but not one she had expected to encounter here—something wary and deeply protective.

“She doesn’t speak much about any of you,” he hedges slowly, keeping his posture relaxed. “But it’s enough. You aren’t as close knitted as family.” Mor opens her mouth to speak, but he continues. “Even if you try to be,” he says, nodding, “she isn’t easy to get to.” Mor closes her mouth, lips pursing in a tight line. He sighs, shifting in his seat, pushing a thick loc of hair from his face, hooking it over a thoroughly pierced ear. “I believe that you’re concerned about her, and that you truly want to help,” he says heavily, attitude shifted from how he’d been outside, and Mor wonders what Bas might have been told about the Shadowsinger to warrant such ice.

“We do,” she urges sincerely, and Bas nods again, hearing her.

“What I…worry about,” he starts hesitantly, forming the words carefully, considering each one. “I worry you don’t understand her enough to make an informed call,” he settles on, and Mor bristles a little. How long has Bas known her for? Does he know her more than Mor does? “What leads you to that way of thinking?” She asks, keeping the stiffness from her tone.

“I know you don’t see her much,” he replies simply, and again Mor’s lips purse. “She doesn’t enjoy…full, settings. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t care, though.” He sighs, eyes briefly closing, before reopening with a fresh intensity, sitting upright in his chair, forearms braced on his thighs. “Do you know how we met? Me and her?”

Mor’s brow dips, but she answers anyway, curious where he’s going with this. “Through Nesta, right?” Bas nods, something passing through his eyes at the right answer. “Right,” he confirms, “making time to visit those stuffy inns, filled with groping hands—she hates places like that.” Bas sighs again, hand rubbing one side of his face. “I don’t even know if it helped at all, but I know she felt it was all she could do. Even if it was just company, and nothing material. Even if it might not’ve had an overall impact, that was her way of trying to help.”

Mor remains quiet, not seeing what he’s trying to say.

Bas shakes his head, as if telling her to forget about it, again rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, I don’t even know if I can speak on her behalf, and I like to think we’re fairly close with one another,” he admits, sighing heavily. “I don’t want to mislead you.”

“So you’ll let me where she’s gone?” Mor asks, concern heavy in her voice, making no effort to conceal her worry. She watches as the pads of his fingers rub over his eyes wearily, as she wonders if this is straining on him more than he’s letting on. “Try to understand her, when she talks,” he requests quietly, eyes still shut, fingers rubbing faintly. “She still confuses me sometimes, and she never shows if it bothers her, but I can’t imagine someone being okay with being misunderstood.”

“Bas,” Mor urges gently, sensing he’s on the verge of telling her whereabouts. “Please tell us where she’s gone. We don’t want her to feel alone.”

Bas doesn’t look up, face still covered by his hands, but Mor can make out the tightness of his brows, torn between his decisions. So close to cracking open.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

Mor blinks, eyes locking with gold as he looks at her through his fingers, fatigue obvious beneath his gaze, the lines more pronounced as the flame casts the shadows of his digits across his features, deepening the half circles that have appeared.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mor asks, biting down on shock, clearing it entirely from her voice. “She didn’t tell me,” he answers quietly.

Silence stretches, and even in the haze and confusion that’s been stirred up she has enough clarity to feel the piercing weight of a glare through a window, heavy and accusing. Tension crackles in her spine, flipping her golden hair over a shoulder, a subtle message to piss off to the shadows that are watching from outside.

She sighs heavily, meeting the golden eyes of the male opposite her, now sat back in his chair as he was before, but his back is slumped, as if containing all that worry had been stretching him taut. Relieved to no longer be the sole barer of her secrets. “Do you—…” Mor eases in a sharp breath, settling the worry and gradually increasing panic that’s tightening around her throat. She swallows, pulling herself together. Recomposing herself. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” She asks calmly. “Anything could help.”

But Bas shakes his head, guilt clear in his golden eyes. “She didn’t give me any hints. But she had a bag with her, so I’m guessing she had somewhere in mind and didn’t just aimlessly wander off.”

Mor nods, getting to her feet, golden eyes tracking her movements. “Thank you for telling me,” she says sincerely, before turning for the door.

“I know that leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone where you’re going seems rash—maybe even a bit stupid,” Bas says after her, voice a little clearer to catch her attention. “But she’s smart. I’d wager it was probably something she’d had in the back of her mind for a while.”

Mor swallows thickly, the possibility not sitting well with her, but nods nonetheless.

“I’ll let you know when we find her.”

————

Azriel waits sullenly in the front garden for Mor to exit the male’s house, darkening the doorstep he’d been instructed to remain in until she was done.

He watches the door open and close, Mor stepping out into the night air, latch clicking softly as it locks behind her, and the two make their way silently at first down the garden path, back into the street before they begin communicating. “That certainly didn’t take long,” he muses lowly, glancing at her sidelong. “I take it you heard everything?” She asks quietly, tension clear in the cold bite of her usually honeyed voice. Azriel gives a brisk nod, and Mor sighs. “What now?”

“There are only so many places she could have gone to,” Azriel replies smoothly, mind already running through the possibilities. Honestly, Bas not knowing almost helps more—it has to be someone she knows. There are only two places she could have possibly run off to, though neither of them seem particularly believable. That being thought, he knows where he’ll check first.

“You have an idea?” Mor asks tightly, a bit of a bite to her question. Azriel nods grimly, “Elain mentioned a fox in her vision,” he explains, “apparently they grow close—enough to make a bargain of some sort, anyway.”

“Elain saw the bargain in her vision?” Mor questions. Azriel nods. “We don’t know if that’s symbolism or not,” she mutters, “we have no idea how accurate they are, either. Nor how soon they’ll come to pass.” Her tone softens toward the end a little, but Azriel isn’t willing to speak about that part of the prophecy yet. That he will be dying. Probably soon, going off how vivid Elain’s descriptions were—as if it were urgent. Impending.

“And you’re sure Elain doesn’t know where she’s gone?” Mor asks, keeping her gaze ahead, brows pulled together in concentration, a glint in her warrior’s eyes. “She might do,” Azriel sighs, “they are close, after all. And the fox…”

“Could be Lucien,” Mor finishes heavily. “You think she’s run to the mortal lands. Back to her home.” Azriel remains silent, keeping pace as they return silently to the River House.

Piercing amber eyes dig into the side of his skull, the intensity of her attention almost startling if he hadn’t had centuries to grow accustomed to it. He senses the question, just as she could sense he was holding something back.

Azriel doesn’t look at her as he speaks, “there’s only one other person the fox might represent.”

Even without visuals, he can hear how her pace nearly falters, then comes to a stop. He pauses with her, at last turning to face the golden haired female. Her skin is paler, even taking the silver of the moon into account. “You think she might have gone to Eris?” She asks, voice thick, but quiet. No more than a breath of wind. “I think it’s one of the two. There’s no one else it could be.”

“She’s only met him once,” Mor snaps lowly, nails digging into her palms. Azriel makes a show of shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s one or the other,” he says calmly, “if she isn’t in the Mortal lands…”

Mor stares at him, amber eyes drained a little. “You really think there’s a chance he could have…taken her?” She practically spits, unable to keep the hiss out of her voice. Because when it comes to that long ago trauma, her only responses to fall back on are fear, or anger. He doubt she’ll allow the vulnerability of fear right now. Not with the tension between them. “I think it’s better to question Elain first to see if she knows anything. If she doesn’t, I’ll make my way down Prythian.”

Mor blinks, realising the situation. She had demanded Azriel be the one to tell Feyre, regardless of whether they find anything or not. But with the new possibility of her having somehow found herself in the Autumn Court…Mor’s throat rolls heavily. She can’t bring herself to go there. Even now, the thought alone…she pushes against the urge to settle her palm over her abdomen. “We question Elain first,” she manages quietly, and Azriel can see how she’s gathering herself back together.

Instinct is the closest it comes to, that feeling she’s somehow run off to the Autumn Court, like a tug toward the unfamiliar land. Surely Elain would have mentioned something to him about a plan for her sister to leave when she’d been telling him about the vision. It’s the option that makes the most sense, for her to have spoken with Elain, and used a tunnel to reach the border quickly. With all the books she’s read in the library…the kind of things they contain, he doesn’t doubt she’d be more than capable of figuring a way to sneak out of the Night Court. To sneak out of Prythian if she set her mind to it.

Mor nods, and Azriel redirects his attention to the street, continuing the pace. “Question Elain,” she murmurs, “then head to Autumn first. If she isn’t there, go to the Lower Lands. Be as quick as possible.” He nods, admittedly relieved he won’t have to yet face Rhys for the mess he’s inadvertently caused.

————

“Eris, I’m tired,” you sigh, hands aching, sitting dejectedly on a tree stump.

As much as you’d protested, he’d dragged you back out into the forest, where everything feels encased in a glass bubble. It’s hard to explain when you think about it, but it’s like being in another world, how easily the trees sweep away and redirect noise. Hairs prickle at the back of your neck as you remember the giant, boar-like creature that had rampaged upon you mere days ago. The sight and smell of steaming blood as skin slid from flesh, melted apart.

“You haven’t even done anything,” he mutters, watching. “Get back up.”

You sigh heavily, reluctantly getting to your feet, then blinking heavily, suddenly crouching down as you press your palms to your eyes, trying to steady yourself from the abrupt dizziness that had ballooned into your head. Lips part as you try to concentrate on your breathing, wishing away the sudden feeling of unevenness beneath your feet. Eventually it passes, a few extra moments spent crouched for good measure, before you slowly stand back up, hand pressing to the side of your head. Cutting whiskey and amber eyes are piercing into you from across the clearing. You scowl back.

“What was that?” He asks, disapprovingly, your scowl deepening at the tone.

“I told you: I’m tired,” you snap, but it lacks the bite you’d wished for, fatigue building into a slow but heavy pulse inside your head, just above and behind your brows. A yawn rises from your chest, and you cover your mouth as it stretches you open, eyes squeezing shut, watering a little before you slump back into your usual posture, no longer pulled taut by your muscles.

His sharp eyes narrow accusingly, and you bristle at the look, trying to summon up the energy to glare at him. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” He asks sharply, and you grimace, knowing he won’t approve of the answer. But you really don’t have the energy to lie, either. “No, I didn’t,” you sigh, “I was feel sick.” Something flickers behind his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly for you to even attempt to recognise. “You were probably feeling sick from hunger,” he mutters, as if it’s obvious, arms folding over his chest, leaning back against a tree. “Using magic can take up a lot of energy, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You should have—”

“I know the difference,” you hiss, lip twitching up in the beginnings of a snarl, before once again flattening out, and you sit back on the stump, uncaring if it pisses him off. You hope it does.

“Do you?” He muses, a bladed edge to his tone that has your stomach tightening, glancing at him warily from across the clearing. You tense as he pushes off from the tree, then vanishes, and you jump as he appears on your other side, peering down at you, unimpressed. “You know how to tell when your magic is draining you? Because those are some pretty big steps to have made seemingly overnight.” Your lips purse, averting your gaze, sullenly looking away. “That’s what I thought.”

“I know the difference between hungry sickness and—” you falter, but manage to finish the sentence, “…and being unwell.”

Eris pauses, and you want to meet his gaze and glare at him, but your head just feels too heavy on your shoulders, and the general fatigue hasn’t been aided by the light sheen of sweat that’s been layering your body each morning, before you’ve wobbly stumbled to the washroom, clutching your stomach. You’ve yet to actually regurgitate anything though—your one blessing. It’s like those initial months after the Cauldron all over again.

“Look at me,” he instructs, and you glare at the ground, irritation growing in your chest. It wouldn’t hurt him to be a little more gentle with his attitude. His demeanour, in general. A curse sits, unspoken, at the tip of your tongue when he grips your jaw, angling your chin upward so he can examine you. Again your lips twitch in a slight snarl, but the energy fails quickly. Amber eyes sweep over your features, and you avert your gaze when his own settle intensely on yours. He releases you after a too-long moment, allowing you your space again, and you glare at him. “What was that for?”

“You look worse than usual,” he answers flatly.

You glare at him resentfully, unable to muster up the laugh you usually would whenever he makes a comment like that. Instead you just feel irritated. His brows narrow further, “how much have you been sleeping recently?” He pushes. You shrug, briefly glancing away.

“A normal amount. I’m fine, just let me sit down, it’s not that big of an issue if I’m not standing, right?”

“Are you coming up for your cycle?”

The bones in your hands creak, groaning with strain and you hiss as pain flares weakly beneath your gloves at your fingertips. You tuck your hands under your arms, trying to soothe their sting as you glare at him. “Do not ask me that,” you snap, legs crossing on the tree stump. You half expect his lips to quirk at the easily given reaction, but his brow dips a little. “You don’t have to give me a direct answer,” he says at last, a touch gentler than before, but still stern. “Just answer if it could be related.”

You hesitate at the tone, jaw still tight with tension, but you swallow thickly. “No,” you manage quietly, “not for another few months, at least.”

“Then as much as you disagree, it would be a good idea to eat first, then see if you improve,” he replies, back to his usual drawl, laced with distaste. Enough to almost have your lips curving a little at their edges. “So we’ll be going back to have lunch right this second,” you muse, glancing up at him, “and you aren’t going to set some stupid challenge for me to fulfil beforehand. Right? Because that would be very impractical.”

His amber eyes glint with something you’ve decided is the closest he’ll get to open amusement, brow raising slightly. “Why waste a good motive?” He counters, “looks like you’re catching on.” You force a groan, if only in attempts to lighten the mood from whatever dark grave it had settled into, and you reluctantly get to your feet, taking it slow incase your head starts swimming again. “What is it this time?” Eris nods to the tree that looks to have been recently cut down, the counterpart to the trunk you’re sat upon. “I want you to try touching the bark,” he instructs, and you look at him quizzically. Seems easy enough.

You watch him questioningly as you stand and make your way over to the tree, putting your hands down.

“Done?” You say slowly, confusion blatant in the furrow of your brows as you stare at him.

Eris stares at you blankly, before raising his palm to cover the lower portion of his features, concealing his mouth. “Using your magic,” he adds disbelievingly, mouth still covered.

You blink, then flush with embarrassment, hand covering your own mouth as laughter bubbles up from your chest. “Oh,” you manage, shoulders shaking lightly, not helped by the matching amusement reflecting in his amber eyes—amusement he’s struggling to conceal. “I thought—” you break off, a smile stretching wide behind your palm, chest stuttering with mirth. “I thought you meant I just had to touch it.” He shakes his head, seemingly beyond speech. “You want to see how the bark reacts when I touch it with my magic,” you clarify, nodding your head, still trying to tamp down the laughter that’s heating your eyes faintly. He confirms with a slight nod of his head, and you take a deep breath, trying to sober up. “I see,” you nod again, at last recovered enough to lower your hands to remove your gloves, a smile still faintly curving your lips. “I’ll give it a go.”

“Why would I ask you to touch a tree?” Eris asks from somewhere at your back, tone almost settled back to his usual drawl, dripping of disapproval. “I’m tired,” you reply, not nearly as practiced as he is at keeping your tone neutral as you glance at him over your shoulder, “you should have clarified better.” Eris shakes his head, before nodding to the tree trunk.

You take in a breath, returning to look at the bark—what would happen if you touched it?

Closing your eyes briefly, you steady out your breaths, inhaling slow and deep, feeling your shoulders lose their tension before reopening your eyes. Focusing on the bark again now that you’re settled. “What should I do?” You ask, not taking your gaze from the tree or your hands.

“Try thinking about different things, exploring how they make you feel,” he replies steadily. How helpful, you think, but leave the comment unvoiced—you’re trying to concentrate. You think about how the light had appeared before, when he’d gotten you to briefly sustain it. It had hurt at first, you’d had the chance to realise, but after the initial rush of pain, the creak of bones and your groaning carpals, it had faded more into a slight tingle, like your fingers had fallen asleep, wrapped in a vague warmth.

You swallow thickly, thinking about the flat-topped ring in your pocket, the absence of weight in your ears, how they correlate. You don’t regret the decision to sell them off, to your slight surprise. More indifferent to the change, if not slightly excited at your choice. Doing something for yourself, on your own, that nobody knew about. It’s nice, having secrets.

“Now press them to the bark,” Eris instructs, and you look down in surprise to spot the faint greenish-gold glow weaving between your fingers—almost like fish slowly weaving throughout water as they struggle upstream, but less frenetic. Slowly, keeping your breathing steady, you press your palms against the bark, palms shaking slightly as the light flickers, almost flinching slightly as it hesitantly makes contact with the new surface.

You jerk away when something lances up your wrist, stinging pain spearing beneath your skin as the tang of copper bursts in the air. The magic extinguishes in an instant, snuffed out with a single recoiling thought, and your breathing loses its pattern as you glance down at your right palm. What looks like a popped blister sits on the heel of your hand, except the liquid that gleams had a red tint to it, mixed with blood. You sigh heavily, left hand holding your right wrist lightly, thumb pressing the flesh just below the blister, watching as blood rises to the surface. The skin around it is flakier than before, a little discoloured, and you spot a mole at the knuckle of your little finger, poking meekly out from the skin, as if worried over being spotted and pulled away.

Eris walks up to your side, glancing down at the bark, the absence of any sort of change. It looks exactly the same. “I guess nothing happened,” you hedge, glancing warily down at the tree, searching for some kind of change.

Eris is quiet, and you at last turn to peer up at him, wondering what he’s thinking. His silence is waring. Amber eyes latch with your own, narrowed and slightly impatient, before the emotion is swiftly wrapped away. “I had hoped to make more progress,” he muses lowly, and you regard him with caution at the hushed tone. His eyes gleam with something you can’t figure out, wariness intensifying as he pulls something from his pocket—a small silk pouch.

You tilt your head, brows furrowed, “what is that?”

His lips sharpen at the edges, and tension coils beneath your skin—that type of expression is never good. “Open it,” he instructs simply, and you cautiously take it from his fingers, eyeing him again before carefully pulling the strings open, tipping the contents out into your palm. You blink as you take in the smooth band of metal, silver and gleaming against the flaws of your skin. “A…ring?” You ask, peering up at him questioningly. He nods, and you suppress your jolt when his fingers brush over your knuckles, plucking the band up and watching you intently as he smoothly slides it down to the base of the pointer finger on your left hand.

His demeanour has noticeably shifted, and your brows narrow further, suspicion roiling in your gut.

“It’ll help with keeping your magic calmer,” he explains lowly, secretively, and you manage a nod, confusion running rampant in your blood stream. “How so?” You ask, glancing down at the band, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist to keep you from moving. “You have a habit of straining yourself to keep the full force of your power from coming out,” he answers, thumb brushing your knuckle, and this time you glare up at him. His mouth only sharpens, amber eyes glinting with something that has the hairs raising at the nape of your neck. “I’m sure you’re familiar with how the Illyrians use siphons—so their raw type of magic doesn’t destroy everything around them?” You nod, tension lessening, again glancing down to the band. “Think of it like that—now you don’t have to waste concentration on keeping it all in check.”

He releases your hand, and you pull it closer to look at the silver, angling your head a little, understanding this must have been what that exchange had been about, when he’d gone down that dim, dark alleyway into the hidden chamber. “So it’s…a magic ring?” You ask, brows scrunched together as you look up at him. He raises a brow, “how astute of you.” You glare, lips curving faintly at the familiar intonation.

You swallow, stepping back a little, nodding your head. “I guess…” you breathe deeply, “as good a time as any.” You pull the flat-topped ring from your own pocket, and extend it toward him. “I saw this the other day in the market,” you say honestly, watching as his expression shifts, brow raising as he opens his palm. “It reminded me of you a little, and I probably won’t see you over the solstice anyway, so might as well give it to you now.”

Eris takes the ring, examining it, the small carving of the fox set in sterling silver. “A rather unique gift,” he muses, making the edges of your mouth curve.

“If you hate it, you don’t have to wear it,” you say, smiling lightly, “I just wanted to get it.” Though to your surprise, he doesn’t seem to despise it, sliding it over the thumb of his right hand—it seems to actually fit.

That viper’s smile returns to his sharpened mouth, eyes glinting again. “I don’t think your family would approve of a gift like this,” he drawls, more clearly than before, causing you to cock your head in question.

Lips fashion themselves into a razor-sharp grin, the expression more vulpine than fae.

“Isn’t that right, Shadowsinger?”

————

Eris raises his gaze to the forest, how the trees had whispered to him, calling out about the figure stalking their movements. Really, the shadowsinger should know not to hunt outside his own territory. The hulking, shadowy figure steps silently out into the clearing, with a quiet that’s been well-earned by the Spymaster of the Night Court.

Powerful wings are pulled to his body in traditional Illyrian fashion, save for the darkness wreathing the gleaming talons at their peaks, cold hazel eyes clashing with Eris’ own. Marking what the Spymaster has come for. It’s proximity to the male he hates viciously, bloodily, gruesomely.

“Shouldn’t you know not to sneak around in the shadows by now?” Eris drawls, hands settling around its shoulders, feeling stone-tight tension beneath his palms. Its magic fading, unable to winnow two people away, so left trapped in the clearing as the male prowls closer.

“Eris,” the Spymaster greets coldly, darkness unspooling upon the ground he treads, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing. Not close enough for hand-to-hand combat, but too nearby for a proper display of magic. At least he’s smart enough to recognise he’s at a disadvantage in a foreign court—uninvited, at that. “Shouldn’t you know the consequences of displacing a member of Rhys’ court?” The Spymaster questions, lethally quiet.

Tremors flutter beneath Eris’ hands, still gripping her shoulders to keep her in place, and he glances down, only to find her already watching him. If it weren’t for the tremors, she would be as still as death. Her brows lifted and slightly curved, mouth pointed down at the edges. Betrayal stark in her normally bright eyes.

“You’re clearly uninformed,” Eris muses, pulling away from her scared eyes to meet cutting hazel. “This is a perfectly amicable meeting, isn’t it, cygnet?”

The Spymaster’s canines flash at the pet-name, the blatant taunt, the insinuation he’s made that she would choose himself over the Spymaster. That well-concealed wrath suffers a blow when she raises her hands to grip his wrists, nothing demanding about the touch—it’s a weak hold. As if asking for attention.

“Amicable or not,” the Spymaster says, expression stony, “you’ll return her. Unless you want Rhys to know about this abduction?” Eris shrugs, amusement sharpening his mouth as he selects his words carefully, “I’m not her keeper. She will return when she likes.” By the looks of it, the arrow lands, pupils constricting as the Spymaster takes a menacing step closer.

————

Your ears have hollowed out, stomach swallowing your heart. A quiet kind of panic tightening through your chest, pulse spiking. Dread sluicing through the rope holding you taut.

You’re staring up at him, holding on with as much strength as you can manage as a strange emotion rushes through your blood, softening your muscles until you’re struggling to stand, pushing every pleading word you’ve ever read into your eyes, silently begging for him to do something. To keep you from facing him on your own.

You know how easy it is for him to shatter you.

Amber eyes lower to yours, walls risen against Azriel’s presence, and your fingers stutter over the cuffs of his tunic, before the last of your strength drains. They’re glinting again with that challenge, and in the very back of your mind you can understand he’s using this as just another training exercise, but it’s hard to focus on through the ringing in your ears, that strange quiet that’s so loud it drowns out every other thought, like a thousand whispers hissing instructions too swiftly, too viciously for you to make them out, coming together in a swirling spiral that’s pulling you under.

Eris’ mouth is moving, eyes peering at something behind you, but you’re fine not hearing. Would prefer to fade from the world, to slip away quietly, unnoticed and un-missed. But then amber again returns to you, and with it sound comes crashing in too. “Pack up,” Eris orders, and you blink, his hands tightening on your shoulders as he feels the slight sway of your body.

“She’ll take a while,” Eris drawls, glancing back at the Shadowsinger—your stomach lurches—who remains a heavy presence at your back. “You may be unwelcome, but let’s not waste this opportunity. Using your General’s absence as an excuse not to meet has lost its worth. You will suffice.”

————

You feel half-awake as you pack your things, watching from some far away place as you fold clothes meticulously, with much more care than you usually would, taking your time gathering the few items you brought.

Clothes, an empty blue box, the thickly bound volume. A thin wooden box about the length of your arm, a note attached atop.

Use it wisely.

You pack the box in your bag, recognising the elegant script.

————

Azriel had followed silently, concealed within Eris’s shadow as he’d strode through the stretching hallways, leading the way to his own chambers, where they will be able to speak freely and most importantly, privately. Tension had simmered beneath his war-roughened skin the entire time, disliking even having to blend his shadows with the heirling’s, but it’s an intimacy he’s forced to yield.

The room Eris takes him to is big, to say the least, and open, with a large bed against a wall, a wooden chest at its foot, his desk adjacent so natural light fills the cavernous room—one that’s above ground. It’s here he emerges from shadow, filling space just beside the large wooden chest, an unlit fire quite a way to his left. Eris takes his time walking around the desk, sitting down comfortably, having the nerve to look relaxed—prick.

“So,” Eris begins, and Azriel bites against the urge to grind his teeth at the smug tone. “She ran away from you. Took her long enough.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Azriel asks coldly, completing a triple check of the room, making sure there’s no one else around. “You act like it was my idea,” the autumn heir drawls, successfully snaring his attention, something foul rising at the back of his throat at the implication. Likely the confirmation he needs that she had indeed left of her own volition. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

“You want me to believe she came all this way on a hope that you’d provide temporary asylum?” Azriel asks, rooting deeper. “She has a smart head on her shoulders,” Eris drawls, amusement glinting in sharp, amber eyes, “she knows how to bargain.”

His blood ices over, skin turning cold at the wording, demeanour plunging as his shadows deepen. “You made a bargain with her?” Azriel growls, pulse spiking. If a bargain has already been made… But Eris waves his hand, enough of a light dismissal for Azriel to figure she hasn’t mentioned Elain’s vision to him. One small ray of light amongst the storming thunder clouds she’s already brought upon herself.

“Do you find it so unbelievable that she might be capable of making arrangements on her own? Why do you assume I had any hand in it?” Eris drawls, making that glittering rage sharpen into razor-tipped icicles, poised to carve and slice. “You’re a conniving bastard,” Azriel says lowly, violence glinting in his hazel eyes, “she wouldn’t have come to you without some prompting.”

“You think I tricked her?” Eris muses, a trace of humour in his tone, Azriel’s brows narrowing with detestation. “What would I get out of that, unless she was complicit? I have no way of forcing her magic out of her, she has to want that on her own—as much as that might irritate Rhys.”

Loathing simmers in Azriel’s chest, but he remains quiet, allowing Eris to talk so he can gather as much information as he can from both sides. So he can compare her side with his later.

“I’m sure after Nesta Archeron, Rhys would be eager to find out what other weapons he might have at his disposal.”

“She isn’t a weapon,” Azriel snarls lowly, fury held back by straining iron manacles.

“But she could become one,” Eris counters, tone shifting to something more serious, and Azriel stiffens. “The timing’s a bit strange, don’t you think? Her magic only now coming through? After two years?”

“That’s not for you to speculate on.”

“Even without an alliance, it is a matter of concern,” Eris growls, brows narrowing as ire blazes in his eyes, glowing like freshly forged steel. “Why doesn’t she know anything?”

Azriel growls in warning, violence itching at his fingers, fists aching to slam down. Sparks crackle in the air, his own intentions seemingly reflected in the male before him. “You don’t have the luxury to ignore this pathway,” Eris growls lowly, “choosing to turn a blind eye would be damning.”

“She has her own problems to deal with,” Azriel snarls lowly, “you do not get to make that call.”

“I will make the call if Rhys doesn’t,” Eris snarls back, canines flashing viciously, “she could use some toughening up.”

“You don’t know enough to make an informed choice,” Azriel mutters coldly.

“Then Rhys had better hurry up. It’s not as though he’s unaccustomed to having to make decisions like this. What’s taking him so long?”

Azriel keeps still, features neutral, refusing to let even a hint of emotion appear in his blank expression.

Eris’ eyes narrow, sensing he’s being denied information. Vulpine senses picking up on a weak spot. Unnervingly keen. Then he blinks, leaning back in his chair, torso losing tension. “You haven’t told him.” Despite the utter neutrality, Azriel knows he’s figured it out. The heirling nods, a cynical curve to his sharpened mouth. “She didn’t give the impression she’d willingly display her failures to you.”

“They aren’t failures,” Azriel mutters, ice burning in his eyes as he watches Eris with a glacial look.

“No? Because the control over her magic was pretty pathetic to me,” Eris replies lowly.

Azriel snarls, low and threatening, shadows concentrating into a darkness worthy of the Night Court’s Spymaster, deep and deadly as they writhe in warning. “I didn’t realise she had you so tightly wrapped around her flaky little finger,” Eris croons, and darkness rears back, preparing to strike, when three quiet taps are landed to the door, meagre and unimposing.

————

You peek your head into his chambers, bag slung over your shoulder as you pause on the threshold.

Tension is blatant in Azriel’s shoulders, wings slightly flared, an icy emotion tucked between the stern set of his brows, shadows darker—more frenetic—than they usually are. Looking over to Eris, you can see how he’s leaned back in his chair, that taunting glint in his naturally piercing gaze, and you can guess fairly easily the conversation they were having was not a friendly one—even without the aid of body language.

Maybe they were discussing Court matters.

“I—…Should I wait out—”

“Come in,” Eris orders, cutting you off, and your brows narrow a little at the tone, before softening out again, remembering who else is present. You shut the door behind yourself, turning your back to them to make sure it clicks shut quietly, then walking further into the room, stood a little distance from Azriel, not wanting to encroach on his space while he’s surely furious with you. At the very least immensely disappointed.

“Took you long enough,” Eris drawls, bringing your attention away from Azriel to meet his cutting gaze. Well, your eyes meet his. It’s practically impossible to not focus on the male at your right. You’re not sure if you're imagining the displeasure rippling from him, but you can only hope Eris hasn’t intentionally stirred things up. You know you won’t be able to protect yourself against whatever words he has for you after your abrupt departure.

“You haven’t left any tatters behind?” Eris asks, and a slight scowl dips your brows.

“I have everything,” you reply, readjusting the strap of the bag on your shoulder.

“Excellent. Then you can leave.”

You blink at the abrupt dismissal, glancing at him warily. “Weren’t you discussing something?” You ask Eris hesitantly, cautious about prodding where you aren’t welcome. “We were,” Eris replies, a viper’s smile on his sharp lips, amber eyes cutting to the male at your right. “But it appears your Spymaster doesn’t think you’re trustworthy enough.” It’s obviously a manipulation of truth, but that doesn’t make it easy to hear, heart hollowing out, spine losing a bit of rigidity.

“And who could blame him,” Eris continues, “you haven’t exactly been particularly honest with him, have you, cygnet?”

Your lips purse, averting your eyes from both of them, peering at the floorboards to your left, shame tightening around your throat. “Seems logical enough,” you say quietly, managing to keep your voice steady. You’d rather vanish right then and there, wiped clean from memory and existence than allow a tremor into your voice.

You’ve gotten yourself into this situation. Self-pity won’t fix anything.

“Then that is that,” Eris muses, pulling you from your thoughts. Azriel shifts, not saying another word to either of you as he makes for the door, and you glance at Eris a little longer, searching for a way back. He quirks a taunting brow, resting his jaw on his right hand, the flat-topped band of sterling silver catching the light with the motion. Your thumb brushes the ring on your own finger, before you turn, making for the door where Azriel’s waiting to take you back.

Back to the Night Court.

Back to Velaris.

Back to your family.

Back to be judged.

————

It was unnerving how alone you’d felt on the way out of the palace. Even knowing he was present, slipping through shadows, you couldn’t sense a single thing, and on more than one occasion had glanced around, worriedly trying to find him—but nothing.

It wasn’t until you passed the walls, heading out into the forest again that he emerged—silent and looming—unable to hear his footsteps even when he was right beside you. Unnervingly ghost-like.

You wait for him to speak, to say whatever it is that’ll inevitably bring tears to your skin, but he’s completely silent, leading the way. Knowing you’ll follow behind. Knowing you won’t speak to him until he initiates.

You’d been brought here by winnowing, but he makes no move to wrap either of you in his shadows, and a small part of you whispers that he wouldn’t want you to contaminate them. You try to ignore that part, but even the quietest voice will be heard over silence. Instead the tales spin deeper, that he hadn’t even wanted to retrieve you, content to have you out of the way, out of the Night Court, away from his home. At least that way there’d be no chance of his prophesied death coming to pass.

He’d be safe, and you wouldn’t be bothering him.

Wouldn’t be bothering any of them.

He walks deeper into the forest, silent and steadfast, while you watch as his boots tread through the fallen leaves, not daring to look any higher in case it disgusts him further. You have no concept of how long you follow after him for—long enough your feet begin to ache lightly, but you push through it—silently waiting for the conversation to start. For the first question to be asked. For the first blow to be landed.

Azriel doesn’t stop when you try to shift your bag to the other shoulder, your right one aching, and something in your stomach drops when your pace slows but his remains constant, so you hurriedly finish the switch, and make an effort to catch up, careful not to trip. Hunger gnaws at your bones, but you keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt his pace. It’s not until your stomach audibly protests that he comes to a pause, glancing over his shoulder to you, and you swiftly duck your head, averting your eyes from his painfully familiar hazel set. Breaths deepening as you come to a stop with him.

“When did you eat last?” He asks. The first words he’s said to you.

“Yesterday,” you answer quietly, pressure tight across your chest as you try to keep your breaths quiet but even. “Do you have food on you?” He asks. You nod. You’d wrapped up a pastry from breakfast, it being the only thing you’d be able to savour. Even years later, the habit of not wasting food still remains prominent.

His boots shift, turning to face forward as he begins walking again. You follow silently, seeing no point in nodding or replying. It’s not like you’re going to do anything else. “There’s a clearing up here. You can eat there.”

Azriel pauses beside a particularly large oak tree, and you swallow, and you habitually consider where the least offensive place to sit would be. So you’re nicely out of his way. The ground is muddy, so you’re forced to follow beside his footsteps to the oak, setting as silently as you can on one large branch that’s gnarled and shoved through the earth to curl into a large seat.

Your pulse spikes, wondering if this will be where you have the one-sided discussion, perching the bag on your legs, searching through for the little pastry. It’s made harder by your bare hands, how every piece of fabric seems to bite at your skin with each brush, piercing painfully as you search, until you spot the orange scarf, pulling it out to find the pastry wrapped in a napkin.

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel like you’re wasting time.

You peer at the pastry in your hands, not particularly keen on eating it. You’re close enough to nausea as is, and don’t want to tempt fate with giving your stomach something to regurgitate. But it would be weird to put it away now, so you’ll just have to take small bites. Hope that you can stomach it. A few minutes pass, but you’ve hardly made a noticeable dent in the food, guilt weighing on your bones, pausing between each mouthful to peer around the clearing dully.

Your fingers fumble a little when Azriel moves, settling on the root beside you, your muscles stitching themselves taut, and you hastily shift yourself tighter so he has his space. Almost dropping the pastry in your stuttering movements.

He’s quiet for a bit, and you swallow thickly, attempting to focus on the food before you so as not to stare, but internally you can feel the beats passing, heart ticking tighter…tighter…

“Why did you leave?” He asks quietly.

You still, able to feel the narrow wooden box digging into your thighs. Pausing as the tension abates a little, like how you imagine it would feel to watch an arrow loose from a bow, watching it arc in the sky, then slowly plummet down, seeking out its target. The breath that would breathe out in relief once it embedded itself in flesh, those few, stretching moments at last having come to an end, and one can relax into the clarity of the pain. The certainty of the wound.

“I wanted to get out,” you mumble thickly, keeping the shake from your voice.

“So you went to him?” Azriel asks. You head lowers a little in sorrow.

Where else were you supposed to go?

“You could have asked to be taken somewhere,” he says quietly, and guilt tightens itself around your throat. Is there any way to explain to him why you’d left when you hardly understand it yourself? It had been a crescendo of nerves, of bottled up worries tightening with pressure, like air being blown into a brown paper bag until it burst. Is there any way to tell him you’d like to be able to ask things of him, but in truth you’d rather be slowly pulled apart by pressure than worry him with pointless tasks that only serve your benefit? How can you ever hope to speak with him honestly, when your very heart seems to be the thing warning you away—that same heart that wants to press into him, to beg and cry for forgiveness and reassurance.

“At least have the decency to answer,” he says quietly when you don’t respond, and you feel the small tremor that shudders up your throat, fearing the oncoming disaster. “I wanted to go on my own,” you get out, words softer than a whisper.

He’s quiet, and you wonder if that’s the end of the discussion for now.

But, “did you think at all about what the consequences would be from going to him?” He asks, gaze ahead, but attention pressing down on you. “Or did you forget you have people around you, that your actions impact.”

Your grip loosens on the pastry, choosing to wrap it back up in the napkin, fingers shaking slightly. A lump rising in your throat.

“Answer,” he murmurs, promptingly.

“I just wanted to go,” you whisper hoarsely, fingers wringing together. “I thought—… I thought it would be better if I was fur—… If I was gone.”

“Are you going to tell Mor where you went?” He questions softly. “Or did you not think about that part either?”

“I made progress,” you try, raising your gaze to his. “I can summon it, if I concentrate.”

His lips remain unmoving, but his eyes…gods, his eyes. You betrayed her, you know. All of them.

Breath catches in your throat, and you have to look away. Unable to face him. It. Any of it.

“Why is it so bad?” You ask quietly. “All I did was leave for a little under a week. I was trying to get better.”

“Stop. Lying,” he mutters lowly, blood freezing in your veins, fingers wringing together. Silence ticks by, and you wonder if he can hear the humiliatingly loud pulse of your heart, erratic and stumbling as it usually does around him. You don’t think he’s ever so obviously shown what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.

Why is this the first way you see it?

Why is this the first time he allows it?

“Just tell me what you want,” you ask quietly, voice faltering as you stare at him helplessly. “You’re never happy with anything I do,” you manage, trembling with growing turmoil, “so please, just tell me what you want, and put me out of my misery.”

He exhales harshly, leaning back into the trunk, lips tugged down at the corners, reproach tucked between his brows, so rarely softened by charm anymore. At least not while you’re around. Almost never when you’re around.

“I don’t feel I should have to tell you how you fucked up here,” he replies lowly, and you push back on the flinch at the crude wording. “You made a bad choice.”

“Imagine how much worse the others were,” you reply lowly, a hint of resentment—not directed at him—present in your tone. He stiffens at your side, then his gaze slides slowly over to you, lethal and condemning, but it’s like you can’t look away. You physically can’t duck your head, or shy away. “You’re really joking at a time like this?”

You meet his eyes fully, presently, taking him in against the darkening sky, winter sun already on the way out for the day, the chill more than prominent, but you don’t dare reach for the scarf in your bag. “Tell me what you want,” you repeat softly, no louder than a last breath on dying lips.

“I want you to be honest,” he replies, brows narrowing, “for once, apparently.”

“About what?”

“Why you went to him.” He nearly spits, unable to entirely keep his ire at bay, something passing behind his eyes.

You’re quiet. Silent.

Then you lean back into the trunk of the tree, head tilting back into the rough bark, hands settling numbly in your lap. Shoulders slope, and you peer up into the grey sky, gloomy and heavy with unshed tears. Thick and thunderous. Fitting for the storm that’s on its way.

“Please don’t be angry,” you whisper, hardly a breath from your lips, a prayer whisked away by the static air. He’s silent, and your throat closes up. “Azriel,” your murmur, swallowing thickly. “Please.”

Moments tick by, stretching and warping as your heart thumps heavily in your chest, utterly bewitched, utterly at his mercy. It’s exhausting.

He sighs, and you try not to stiffen as he glances over to you, feeling that familiar prickle of skin as lovely hazel settles on you. A few warm rays making it through the dim clouds before being frozen off by the icy breeze. Winter’s most definitely on its way.

“I won’t be angry,” he murmurs softly. “Just…talk to me. Like you used to.”

Your arms fold over your chest, closing in on yourself, feet pressing together as you hunch over the bag in your lap, peering at the muddy ground. The smell of parchment rises from your memories, dusty and familiar, but lacking the warmth of nostalgia. Like the bitterness of a tea left to steep for too long, so it dries out your throat, eyes watering from its ticklish bite.

“I couldn’t do it on my own,” you admit quietly. Fingers brushing your knuckles. Raw and flaky.

The thoughts swirl in the back of your mind, ready to roar and rage, becoming so loud they’re deafening, suddenly cutting quiet so fast you have no desire to understand what it means when the waters draw back. What it means when the sea itself shrinks away, leaving a barren and washed-up beach.

“But, the idea of trying in front of you…any of you…and then falling flat at such a small hurdle…” You look to your left, away from him, pulling tighter into yourself. Can anything good come of this kind of honestly? With him?

“I don’t have much anymore, Azriel,” you breathe lowly, struggling silently with the humiliating vulnerability. How bare you are, just waiting for steel to pierce your skin. Like tossing yourself over a cliff and hoping the jagged rocks far below will soften your fall.

“I just wanted to keep my dignity. The scraps left of it after…what happened…”

Your toes curl in your shoes, feet crossed, feeling as though your heart is trying to cave in on itself, swallowed by a vacuum suctioning you back down with the force of a flooded spring river.

“So it was better to fail in front of Eris?”

“But I don’t owe him success,” you argue uselessly, eyes squeezing shut in attempts to keep the tears at bay as your head falls into your hands. “I don’t—…I don’t owe him anything.”

“You don’t owe us anything either,” he replies.

“I owe my entire life to you,” you nearly hiss, spine curving in as your brows cramp together, jaw wound so tight you feel like a tooth might crack beneath the intense pressure, nails pressing into the soft skin of your brow.

“Feyre was the one who saved the three of you,” he reminds quietly, slowly, but you’re shaking your head. Staring down into your lap, tension rippling so clearly from your bunched up form Azriel considers laying a hand on your trembling shoulder as if to pull you from a trance. “No. I know, but…” Your fingers press into your eyes, unable to articulate what you can feel in your stomach. “If she hadn’t gone to Night,” you breathe heavily, shakily, “if she hadn’t gone here, we’d still be back there, entirely human, and I—… I wasn’t going to last much longer there.”

Azriel pauses at your side, taking on the information silently. “You were ill?” He asks softly—he’d had no idea about that. Your shoulders shake, and he can’t tell if it’s with laughter or muffled sobs. Maybe a little of both.

“Maybe,” you whisper, “I don’t know enough about medicine to say, but I…” You shake your head again, and he’s able to sense that’s as much as he’ll get. It’s been over two years, and this is the first he’s hearing of it even in vague detail—he knows this isn’t something he can press.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you say with rueful conviction, palms pushing wetness from your cheeks, spine straightening before collapsing back against the trunk. Tired and exhausted. “We’re out. I don’t need to do anything now.”

Azriel’s brow furrows. “You’re content to stay in your room and rot away?”

You rest your head in your hands, leaning over the bag, staring down into its contents. What else is there?

“You could spend time with your family, for starters,” he replies and you aren’t sure if you imagine the note of impatience in his voice. “Your sisters worry about you a lot. It’s not good for you to be up in that room all the time.”

“Well it seems every time I come out of that room I somehow end up getting in your way.”

“Is that what this is about?” He asks abruptly, and your lips press together, lower one curving over. “I thought we sorted that out,” he says quietly, calming the sharpness of his tone, hearing it even in his own ears, glancing over your hunched figure. “We did,” you reply, muffled by your arms, voice turning watery as you ease in a short breath. “We did.”

A beat passes, then tension stutters in your chest as he gently lays his palm over your shoulder. “Please just talk to me,” he says softly, and you struggle to keep your breaths even as your lungs shudder beneath that touch. After spending so long wanting it…craving it…convinced feeling how gentle his touch could be over and against your skin would fix everything…even temporarily… You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “If not me, then Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta,” he pauses, “…Bas.”

You aren’t paying much attention, though, thankful for the way your mind melts beneath the warmth of his palm. How heat is sinking into your skin, slowly spreading through your shoulder as your muscles thaw. Pressure is lessened, and the tension that had been stitching the tendon taut loosens, allowing breath the ease in and out of your lungs with tiring relief. You could deflate with fatigue. Just turn limp and boneless, better for absorbing impact than having it crack against you.

“Just talk with us some more so this doesn’t happen again,” he urges quietly. “Come down to the river house—you know Feyre keeps your room open—or join us for dinner. At least try. If that doesn’t work, we can find something else.”

You don’t reply. Just remain tucked away from the world. Content to remain within your small shell as long as you can keep that warmth on your shoulder.

The pressure lightens, and your heart hides away as his hand slips from your shoulder, leaving your skin starkly cold with the absence of his presence.

“I’m sorry for what I…for how things transpired. Between…us,” Azriel murmurs, unsure how much to say, to not bring up past pains, especially if they aren’t as healed as you’ve led him to believe. He’s starting to become unsure what to believe about you—he hadn’t ever considered you might run from them. How bad things might have become to force you into that position. Are things that bad?

“I’m sorry, too,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse, and Azriel listens attentively. “I shouldn’t have told you how I felt, in the library. I shouldn’t have made my feelings your problem.”

“They aren’t,” he says softly, but you shake your head as if you haven’t heard him.

“I’m sorry.”

————

He tries speaking twice more on the way back, but the conversations lead nowhere, no longer flourishing as they had, once upon a time. So long in the past they feel coloured by age. Turned stiff and yellow at the edges.

He tries slowing his pace so she’ll walk at his side, but she just drops further back, silently pressing between his footsteps as she trails, head kept down to remain focused on taking one step at a time. The shadow that is cast across her face from the down-tilted angle of her head is deeper than he would have expected.

When he hears her shifting the bag across her shoulders for the third time, he quietly plies the straps from her hands, relieving her of the physical weight. She makes no obvious protest, aside from the stiffening of her body at his approach, but he can spot the relief when he takes the bag. Moving it to his own shoulder, he can make out what feels like a wooden box, the kind made to keep a weapon from being damaged. The thought gives rise to instinctive alarm.

Why might she have a weapon in her bag?

His shadows subtly shift at his back, rising secretively to examine her. Questions begin rising to his mind: unkind, unfair questions that are habitual in his line of work. He tries to shake them off, but they remain firmly rooted in his mind, burrowing deeper with each stride that has the narrow box digging into his side, as if already trying to burrow into his flesh.

How did she know Eris would take her in? How could she possibly guarantee making the trek across Prythian over night would pay off? It’s an absurd risk to take, regardless of circumstance. He can think of answers to those questions, but they don’t sit well with him. An answer to why she might be so familiar with Eris supposing they’ve spoken less than a handful of times. A certainty she must have possessed to take the risk that isn’t one she would have from that little contact. And if she’s hiding how much contact she might’ve had with him…

She was already hiding her magic from them…then there’s the prophecy too. Bas, and the illness. Why were these things she hadn’t mentioned? He can understand the recent silence, but why not before…? Regardless of immediate relevance, it shows she’s prone to secret-keeping.

Azriel eases in a steadying breath, descending into a calm, cold mental state. Sinking into indifferent objectivity.

She isn’t stupid. Far from it, having spent so much time in the library, where there’s all kinds of information just ripe for the picking. And Eris isn’t stupid, either. If he saw a weak spot, he’d go for it. And if Eris went for her, would she be able to resist something she was unable to see for what it truly was?

Azriel’s skin goes a little cold, reminded of the prophecy.

He will die, and it will be by her hand.

He supposes he can only control how much impact it will have on those around him. If Eris has managed to wrap her up in some slow-moving scheme…but that’s just speculation. Still, his instincts are telling him something is wrong with the narrow wooden box, one that must have come from Eris. A box fashioned like those to hold weapons. From Eris. To the female who will kill him.

He should ask her what it is.

Azriel would’ve shaken his head if those habits hadn’t been crushed out of him centuries ago. He can’t just ask her if she’s planning to kill him.

But it would allow a chance for her to explain what’s in the weapon case.

But it would alert her to his knowing about the blade inside her bag. She’d wanted to hide her magic from the start, and earlier she’d mentioned she’d gotten further…how much further? If it’s magic any similar to Nesta’s, it would be unwise to have a confrontation here, alone. Still within Autumn Court territory.

But it would be more dangerous to bring her back to Velaris. To bring her back into the beating heart of the Night Court where her detonation would be fatal.

Azriel blinks, and returns back into the waning light of day—it’ll soon be night.

What can he do, really? If he’s destined to die….who is he to try and get in the way of the Mother? Would he kill her to save his own life? Is that what he would do in order to live a little longer, before a new threat looms to end him? He wants to kill her no more than he desires his own death.

But if it came down to it…what would he choose?

His shadows observe her silently, as they had been throughout his internal struggle. He focuses on what he can see, discarding the lens of suspicion that’s been embedded in him as Spymaster, centuries of limited trust having an impact on his mind.

All he sees is a young woman walking through a dark forest, following him off the pathway.

Internally, he sighs—there always seems to be a constant flow of problems as of late, and peace seems to be persistently remaining just out of reach. A few more years, and then there will be peace; a few more political aggressions to navigate, and then they can rest; just one more person to heal, and then they can be happy. When will the peace truly arrive, though? Is it all wishful thinking? An imagined utopia that will make every sin he’s committed acceptable? Is it just his mind finding more excuses to justify the things he’s done in the name of protecting his family and court?

She’s just one more disturbance, keeping peace from settling.

Azriel swallows, thinking heavily. Even if she was out of the way, there would still be everything else to deal with. Will this problem be the last one, or will a new threat fall in to fill the space of the old one? Hasn’t it been long enough, by now? Hasn’t he done enough?

Shadows check on her again, her head hanging silently, those once bright eyes dull and dark as they follow numbly in his footsteps. The female with whom he’d spent so many afternoons with discussing things in the library…where is she? Is he at fault for her disappearance?

Closing his eyes briefly to relieve the ache that’s been slowly building just below his brows, he allows himself to ponder.

Is it pointless to try and salvage their relationship?

Would it be better if she did kill him?

————

The storm clouds have gathered, full and swollen with rain and thunder. No lightening though. Lightening would suggest some kind of magnificence, and there’s nothing magnificent about the cool temperature of your blood, nor the dull buzz in the back of your mind. The overwhelming grey of your surroundings as you emerge from the tunnel.

The air is drier in the Night Court, you vaguely realise. No dampness nor humidity that you’d grown subconsciously accustomed to from less than a week’s stay in Autumn. A small break of sunshine between the dismay grey you’d all grown so accustomed to for the first few months of the year, back when you were human. Weak, fallible humans, but simpler. Quiet and peaceful, even if that silence was from the constant prowl of starvation. It had been easier to bear.

You don’t wait to see if Azriel will try to speak again once he’s flown the both of you back up to the House of Wind, silently turning your back to trace the familiar halls of the House, moving without awareness, muscle memory guiding you down the corridors, past the tables littered with napkins and cutlery, past the shelves displaying pale crockery and silver chalices, past the chest with a few discarded daggers atop, arrowheads littered haphazardly across the surface as if someone had cast them down carelessly.

The room is greyer than you remember, too tidy to be a lived in space, but it has those reminders—the gifts you were given, and you absently touch your earlobe, squeezing it between your finger and thumb.

Azriel pauses at the threshold, taking the bag off his shoulder. Does he know you sold the earrings? Those pretty, pretty earrings? Probably some of the nicest things you could have believed to be your own.

They must be getting tired by now. All of them.

Blonde hair and sparkling eyes pass dully through your mind, and your heart dies a little more, understanding how you’ve ruined the small blessing. There’s no coming back from what you’ve done—not without significant work, at least, and you’re so tired. In your bones, in your eyes, in your mind. You’ve lived through a lot, but thanks to immortality, you have no choice but to live through more. A body being dragged through the mud, carried towards a grave that was never dug.

Azriel’s mouth is moving, has been moving since he removed the bag from his shoulder, but you haven’t been hearing. Mind too tired and numb to manage focus, grasping only basic colours and lines.

He’s looking at you, and you’re looking back, but not into his eyes. His words pass through your mind meaninglessly, and you wonder if you’re real. A strange pressure is wrapping its tingling fingers around your skull, squeezing like you’re wearing a hat that’s a little too tight. It will take a lot of work to fix what you’ve done. A lot of work you can’t manage. A debt that deepens faster than you can repay it. A sink draining faster than you can fill it. Blood cooling faster than you can stop it.

Maybe it would be better to let it cool, for a while.

————

Azriel doesn’t feel comfortable leaving her in the House alone, with that dull look in her eyes.

He had planned to fly back down to the River House, to let Rhys and Feyre know she was back, and she was safe, to give her some space maybe for an hour or so to let her get her bearings again. Not too long alone, though. That look hadn’t been bright. Instead he ends up slumping into one of the boney, wooden chairs in the kitchen, the House already brewing two cups of tea. He reaches out for Rhys, mentally feeling for the hidden bridge kept open. He finds it almost immediately, and an icy wind slams into him in greeting. Cold, swift, and perfectly telling to his brother’s current temperament.

You’re back.

Azriel bites back on the cringe at the ice in his High Lord’s voice—belying fury. He should have put together Rhys would be furious for Feyre, too, for stirring up this kind of stress for his mate.

She’s with me. How is Feyre?

More furious than I am, though I doubt she’ll show you.

There’s a pause, and Azriel steadies himself.

How is she?

It would be good for her to have company. Preferably in the River House, but if not, then having people up here. This time Azriel pauses, before adding, I think the ward on her room should be removed. So she’ll be able to hear that people are around, should she need them.

He’s met with silence, and Azriel wonders if Rhys is repeating the message back to Feyre, or if he’s simply that furious. A small part of him feels resentment at the constant speculation, that if the matter had been left between him and her then it wouldn’t have gotten so blown out of proportion.

We’ll be up in ten minutes, comes the clipped reply, before the mental bridge is severed. Leaving Azriel no choice but to wait in silence. It will likely be Rhys and Feyre coming up then—knowing she isn’t ready to see all of them so suddenly, though they’ve yet to learn where she’s been.

Feyre will go and speak to her sister.

And Rhys will be the one to speak to him.

What a mess.

The tea has a few minutes left of brewing, and he wonders if the House will demand he be the one to take the mug to her, or if it will be delivered on its own. He’s not sure she would appreciate being disturbed right now.

As if his thoughts summoned her however, he hears quiet footsteps out in one of the hallways, reaching his sharp ears even through the closed doors and secure walls. He listens carefully, but she seems to just be pacing around, not coming toward him, or even really going in any particular direction. They pause, the silence heavy, and Azriel pays full attention. Another minute passes, then another, and another, but he couldn’t have missed those familiar footfalls.

After a fourth minute, he hears them again, ever so slightly heavier than before, and then they cut off abruptly. Sound sliced in two as she closes the door to her room.

Azriel glances over to the brewing tea, then blinks when he realises the House has set it on the table within reach. Just one cup, made with milk and sugar—not the way he likes it.

Looking over to the countertop, his mug remains steeping, steam trailing up from the hot liquid. The House seems to be demanding he take her the tea now.

Azriel shifts in his chair. It isn’t a good idea to disturb her again. He’s trying to give her at least these few minutes to herself, before Feyre arrives with Rhys—and that’s a conversation that might very well stretch hours. There’s a lot to discuss, after all. She’ll need her energy, and he’s probably the last person she wants to—

The mug slams down on the table before him, hot liquid spilling over with the force that it was dropped onto the surface.

He stiffens, watching the mug tensely as if the House might spill it onto his lap. The liquid ripples in the mug, splashing from side to side for longer than it should, before reluctantly calming.

Blowing out a breath, Azriel wraps his hand around the mug’s handle, reluctantly standing from the kitchen table.

If the House is being so adamant about giving her the cup, then he supposes he’ll just have to follow.

He still finds it a little strange, how the House came alive after Nesta lived inside it.

————

Silence hums in your ears, so quiet.

You’ve caused them so much trouble. Irreparably ruined your ties to the people you hadn’t wanted to hinder.

Silently, quietly, you move the bag to your bed, able to even hear the stretch of fabric as you raise it from the unnaturally clean floorboards. Opening it, you begin pulling the first thing you see out—the orange scarf form Autumn that has some small crumbs tucked between its folds, smelling faintly of pastry and something damp. One piece at a time, you make the slow trek to and form the wardrobe, feet unfeeling as they tread numbly across the smooth grain of the wood, mindlessly repeating the to and fro, the mechanical movements of unaware motion, folding fabric and hiding it away.

Your fingers bump the box, surprised by the hard collision, having expected to find more fabric, but are instead confronted by the narrow, wooden box. Use it wisely, written on the note in a neat and elegant script. Raising it from the bag, you sit down, hands resting over the surface before slipping your fingers into the indentations for ease of opening, cracking it open to find what’s inside. Eyes ease across the narrow length of wood tucked inside, the softly flared end for it to whistle through the sky.

The world disappears around you as you fall into thought, suctioned inwards by a gentle riptide as you dissolve into your mind. Imagining the blank look in Mor’s eyes when she finds out what you’ve done to her, the wall that will rise up as she sections you off from her life, rightly so, brings a quiet kind of sadness into your chest. A longing that has been numbed and dulled, desaturated by hopelessness. Imagining the dinners, voices chatting merrily around you but never at you, the way she won’t look at you. They are all immortal, and their disgust will reflect their lifespan.

You’ll be stuck. Endlessly dragging you feet after them in attempts to make amends. Stumbling and fumbling carelessly trying to make reparations, but smashing more pieces in your frantic hurry to clean the mess you’ve made. Gazing up from the pit of a well as the icy water slowly drains in, the small pin-prick of daylight so far above there’s no hope even trying to scale the wall. It would be more honourable to drown.

To wipe yourself from memory.

It would be better, you understand. To snuff out your own dwindling light, than force the trouble on them of bearing your sputtering flame.

You walk out into the hallway, quietly, silently. Passing the table with napkins and cutlery set, past the shelves with crockery and cups, past the chest with dull steel and blunt arrowheads. Passing further along, until you pause before the large mirror that’s mounted on the wall. You peer dully into the reflection, deciding to look upon and assign shape to name for what’s been causing all these problems. To see what they think of when burdens are mentioned, to understand where the impatience is directed.

You peer higher, the reflection skewed as you meet your own eyes in the blade’s polished steel, held above the mirror’s frame.

Time warps, and you look through the drawers. A few daggers, some unused sketchbooks, a piece of yellow wool, a ball of string. You check the second draw. Some folded napkins, more arrowheads, a shard of porcelain, a thimble, a discarded marble. You check the third draw. Some salts, spices, dried leaves, matching Illyrian blades, pots of ink, a copper coin. You check the fourth draw. Crisp bedsheets, off-white pillowcases, a dented metal mug, a small container of some kind, one arrowhead, a crossbow.

You return to your room with the ball of string and the empty crossbow.

Swallowed in the silence of the bedroom, hidden behind the wards.

The snare is easy to set up, directions still vivid in your mind and for a few short moments, you allow yourself to settle into the certainty of following through with those instructions. Encountering a bit of trouble with how to keep the tension of the string with no earth, but your mind works quickly, weighing the string taut with the one book from your shelf, and a square box containing a mechanical universe. Making sure the string is just tight enough so the faintest touch will snap the tension loose.

You glance at the string on the floor, eyes catching on the small painting on your desk.

You slot the arrow into the crossbow with a satisfying click.

The ash stings your fingertips.

You stand with your back to the door, facing the crossbow head on. Your heart bleeds a little, tears at last dripping slowly down your cheeks, but it will be better this way. Easing in a deep breath, you relax into that feeling deep in your chest that’s telling you this is the right thing to do. It was always going to happen, there was never a path you could have taken that wouldn’t have lead you to this one way or another. It’s a feeling almost like relief: there’s finally a way out.

One perfect, swift, execution. An ash arrow to your heart, splitting the muscle and ending its relentless beat. Your breathing increases to a stuttering pulse before calming, and you swallow, glancing to the windows. You know you’ll cause a mess.

Fingers open the latch to the window, fresh air gently rolling in, and your breathing stutters again. You’ll be irrevocably gone.

Peering about the bedroom, one you hadn’t felt was truly your own, but had stayed long enough to begin putting down roots—the bookmark laying beneath the pendant on the desk beside the painting, the jigsaw still wrapped in a bow beneath the bed, the sealed nail polish and briefly used lip tint within the cupboard. Sobs shudder through your chest strangely.

A part of you doesn’t want to leave yet.

A small, human part, that still fears solitude despite your chosen loneliness.

You step toward the book, body caving in, heart collapsing in on itself, the emotive feeling similar to the convulsions you’ve experienced after vomiting. A vacuum hidden inside of your chest, finally imploding. You should end it now.

The door creaks behind you, and you flinch from terror at someone witnessing your vulnerability.

Hazel eyes meet your own, at once scanning the room out of habit, and those lovely eyes widen as you recoil on instinct, foot knocking into the book.

————

Given the pleasure of time, he had been allowed to ponder the impossible question: to choose between his death and her own, each equally impossible. How is anyone to make a choice like that?

But, caught in between precious moments, there’s no time for thought or debate. It’s easy to declare gallantry, to flippantly comfort a companion with those easy words—I’d take an arrow for you.—but it’s an entirely different matter when the arrow is whistling straight toward them.

And yet before the mug has even hit the floor, he feels the familiar, burning pain as the arrow pierces through his flesh, slicing him open as the wrongness bleeds into him, swiftly poisoning his blood, draining the inherent magic from his body.

————

You stare up into wide hazel eyes, agony etched across his delicate features, the very tip of the arrow lightly piercing your skin from where it’s shot straight through him, caught in his flesh.

He groans lowly, his weight falling more heavily on your shoulders where his hands had grabbed you to switch your positions, and you’re helpless as his knees give out from pain, dragging you down with him as he collides with the ground.

Horror pounds through your body, heart beating a thousand times a second until it’s risen into your throat, hands shaking violently as you try to hold him steady, stinging with the burning heat of blood from his side.

Mother murder you.

“Az,” you stammer hoarsely, staring at his twisted features, brow furrowed deeply, breathing ragged as it puffs against your skin. The familiar scent of blood filtrates through your system, undiluted and metallic, and he’s dying he’s dying he’s dying—

His hand weakly grasps the back of your neck, grabbing your attention as your hands fumble, trembling with uncertainty and despair, fingertips beginning to sizzle as panic floods your veins, tossed into the rapids, utterly out of control as your mind unravels, regret stabbing through your heart.

His lips are moving but your ears are ringing, itches burning at your skin, a streaking noise piercing through your head like the screaming from those bloody fields. He’s speaking and you try to read his lips, but your eyes aren’t focusing, tears blurring your vision as sobs heave in and out of your chest, burning at your throat and lungs. You had tried to stop it! You were so close to preventing it!

Your hand settles on his cheek, already feeling cool beneath your burning, burning, glowing—

Feyre and Rhys, his lips form, and you shake. Eyes scanning his features frenetically. His own flick to the door, and you understand them to be here? You stare at him helplessly, hopelessly—it won’t matter how you scream or cry for them, not even if you bled your throat raw. The ward against noise that you’d been so thankful for, that Feyre had given in attempts to help, to remedy a wrong.

Something so small, yet so immoveable. Impossible to defeat. Felled by your own, stupid need—

He’s going to die.

Neither you nor Azriel have a second to prepare as the power wells up inside of you with the force of a damn broken loose, that internal wall shattering entirely, blown to bits as you feel the staggering pressure swallow your brain, crushing in intensity at the rapid division of cells, splitting atoms colliding as the explosion blows you apart.

Brilliant green light detonates, silence settling for a second before the noise crushes back down, the room blown to pieces.

The ground shakes beneath you, floorboards cracking and splintering as a hole is torn through the side of the House, tearing through the wards as the noise thunders above the city, sweeping across Prythian with the force of the Cauldron that had torn down the Wall.

One final surge of magic before the life is taken from his body.

Pain lacerates through your figure as something fundamental cracks open inside of you, all at once draining the agony that had beens steadily building up, all of it gushing out, skin resplendent with a sickening golden-green light, radiating your flesh.

Then you collapse, falling into the pool of steadily cooling blood surrounding Azriel’s body.

The prophecy having come to fulfilment.

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

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

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

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fic #cbmthy #can’t bring myself to hate you

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

a waste of a beautiful dress - n. hischier

summary: an unhappy valentine's day date doesn't always end up with you watching lord of the rings alone with a glass of wine...at least, not when a certain captain can help it

warnings: talks of sex/bad date, mention of alcohol consumption, descriptions of the above facial injury, swearing, cutesy 2.1k thing

a/n: this is a short imagine-thing i wrote on valentine's day that i kind of forgot about (i was gonna write more but i just couldn't think of what to do, so if the ending's weird, that's why!) and i didn't want to not publish this for you guys, so...enjoy!

“Is everything okay?”

You blinked, the elevator coming back to focus around you, the walls distorting the reflection of someone that, rather against your will, you’d found growing increasingly familiar with each week. The bottle of wine in your grasp felt suddenly heavier under his careful scrutiny, and you felt your fist tighten around it, almost protectively.

You could only imagine what you looked like: nice clothes – maybe a little too  nice for an evening stroll or a walk around the block, and a tarnished, almost numb expression on your face, even despite the conflicted tornado swirling inside your mind. There was no doubt he’d deciphered your distracted look and the dejection written so plainly on your face. Yet, though you knew what he saw, you refused to feel pity for yourself.

You inhaled, plastering a tight smile on your face as you looked towards him, his beloved beanie on his head and a backpack on his shoulders. His head was dipped a little, a slight furrow between his brows, ever telling of his caring tendencies, and you suddenly felt a little better, even despite the previous events.

“I’m fine.” You tried, slyly moving the bottle further out of his sight. It didn’t work: his eyes seemed to catch the slight motion before meeting yours, a look of disbelief on his face, “You?” You asked, desperate to turn his attention away from you.

Nico Hischier wasn’t someone you’d have found yourself chatting to casually mere months ago, at least not past the usual pleasantries. Though, it seemed the mutual friends and the many parties had oiled that creaking joint somewhere along the way, and – hesitantly – you were friends to some degree. So much so that every so often the two of you may find yourselves in the other’s apartment with a mug of coffee or a glass of wine in hand with something playing on the TV.

Of course, no one else knew about that.

He sighed, leaning back against the mirror opposite you. There was a cut under his eye you hadn’t seen immediately, but when he leant back the light seemed to catch the green skin and the scratch. He seemed to notice your concerned wince before you could point it out, his hand flying up to lightly press underneath it, “It’s fine, I just caught a puck yesterday.”

Before he could say anything else, and you knew he would because he started to frown again, you interrupted, a slight laugh of mirth passing your lips, “No big deal.”

He froze a little, but still a smile replaced the apprehension as he shook his head, "Better my cheek than my teeth.” 

“That’s true.” You grinned in agreement, attention immediately turning to the opening doors as they dinged, your floor appearing before you.

“After you.” Nico gestured, following closely behind as you both wandered to the end of the hall, your eyes glued to the patterned tiles beneath your feet, before a thought suddenly struck you, and with some urgency.

“Do you have Arnica?” You turned to Nico, your hand hovering under your own eye when he blinked in confusion, shaking his head, “For your eye? It helps with pain and bruising.”

“Uh…”

“Unless you want to keep your battle scar?” You teased lightly, unzipping your bag to pull out your keys, only to notice his still-close presence by your shoulder, even despite being outside your door.

You looked up, only to be met with a sheepish smile, one that you knew meant you’d caught him, but he shrugged, “The Arnica seems sensible.”

“Sensible?” You pushed your key through the door, turning the lock.

“It’s not much of a battle scar when a rubber disc wins.” He rationalised, walking through your doorway when you held it open for him and immediately gravitating towards the cat bed towards the far end of your apartment.

By the time you’d locked the door, shed your coat and placed your bag and the wine on the counter, he’d returned, still in his coat, beanie and backpack with a fond look on his face, your cat snuggled in his arms with no complaints of the attention except a rumbling, contented purr.

His eyes seemed to drop to your dress, and widen a little, and you knew there was absolutely no dodging his questions, not when he seemed to grow a little wary and dart his gaze to the bottle of wine on the counter.

“Did you have any Valentine’s plans today?” he asked lightly, briefly turning his attention back to the cat in his arms, most likely to give you a moment to steel yourself.

You hesitated, adjusting the straps on your dress. Nico was lovely, you knew that; he’d never once said or done anything to make you feel uncomfortable, but there was something more serious and vulnerable as to what you were about to say – lying wasn’t really in the cards, mostly because you knew he knew whatever had happened already hadn’t particularly ended well.

He’d caught you on the verge of tears in an elevator by yourself, clutching a bottle of wine, for fuck’s sake. You didn’t do that on Valentine’s day unless something had gone wrong.

“I did.” You breathed, quickly wiping down the counter surface and avoiding looking at him, trying to fight the embarrassment clawing its way up your throat, threatening to spill colour onto your cheeks.

You had nothing to be embarrassed about whatsoever.

He said nothing, just watched you carefully, keeping his distance. If you didn’t want to talk about it, you knew he wouldn’t even press the subject.

“I had a date earlier–” out of the corner of your eye, you saw his gaze cut to the clock on the wall: half-past six. “It didn’t go well.”

He nodded, treading carefully with his words, “How come?”

“He made some comments that I couldn’t really ignore, and when I asked him about it, y’know, to just clarify some things, he kicked off, I corrected him, he sulked, and then left halfway through when I went to the toilet.” You said in one breath, feeling your skin prickle with the reminder of the entire ordeal, scrubbing at a spot on the counter – sometimes grease just didn't budge.

There was the dull thud of paws against your floor, and you looked up to see Nico standing at the opposite side of the counter, an unreadable expression on his face. His brows were pulled together, but there was no telltale crease; his mouth was parted, but in a way that suggested he was a bit more hesitant at finding out what you had to say than a mortified scowl.

“What did he say?” His tone of voice was unwavering, but the slight edge to it sent your heart pounding a little harder nonetheless.

He had a sister, he was probably thinking of all the worst possible scenarios.

You felt your voice get caught in your throat, and you found yourself wishing you’d never even been this honest with him in the first place, because you felt…embarrassed, almost, to admit it fully, “He made a ‘my place or yours after this’ comment and I told him I didn’t want to sleep with him, so he left the first chance he got.” You said quietly, still making yourself busy with tidying the kitchen.

You inhaled deeply, spinning on your heel and fiddling with some of the utensils before you could gain the courage to even look in his direction. You didn’t want to see him pity you.

Except, when you did look up, you saw none of the pity you’d been expecting. In fact, his mouth was pressed firmly shut, and when he caught you looking at him, he – very insistently – muttered, “Well, he’s a fucking dick.”

You felt the corners of your mouth twitch up in some hint of a smile, “Thanks.”

Then, almost like it did in the elevator, the light seemed to catch the shiner under his eye, reminding you of the very reason he’d walked through your threshold in the first place, and you began to wander through the hallway, “I’ll go get the Arnica.”

He nodded in response, shucking his coat and draping it across the back of one of the stools, before bending down to stroke the cat nuzzling at his shins. You rounded the corner into your bathroom, rifling through the cupboard for the tube of cream, before making your way back into the living area, the tube outstretched in your hand.

He took it from you gently, leaning his elbows across the countertop as he read the information on the back of it silently.

“What about you?” You asked, and he looked up, “Any Valentine’s Day plans?”

He blinked, sighing, “I laid in bed for an hour longer than usual.” He said simply, “Then I went to a late morning skate, came home, watched some TV, went to the gym, and now I’m here. So, no, not really.” He inhaled, and you felt yourself grow a little uneasy when he started poking the swelling under his eye, looking into his phone to apply the cream, “You got any more plans?”

Your eyes darted to the bottle of wine, “I was gonna drink wine and watch Lord of the Rings.”

He breathed a startled laugh, “Sounds like a good plan.”

“It is.” You agreed, pausing to consider something, before taking a breath, “Do you wanna join me?”

It wasn’t something you’d never done with each other before; in fact, the two of you seemed to get along better without a cacophony of people interrupting (though that wasn’t much of a surprise), however there was something more delicate and meaningful in the knowledge of the day: Valentine’s Day was undoubtedly something that was weighing on both your minds. It was impossible not to – the posts on social media, the love hearts plastered in shop windows and the flowers everywhere didn’t let you forget it.

It just felt different, somehow.

Nico’s fingers faltered under his eye, and he looked up, brown eyes a little wider than usual, with his mouth parted in surprise. Evidently, he’d been thinking along similar lines to you, but Valentine’s Day wasn’t just about romance and love and whatnot: it was also just another day.

He blinked, eyes searching your face for regret in asking, or for some sign that he should turn down your offer, no matter how tantalising it was.

“It’s not gonna drink itself.” You joked lamely, watching as he slowly nodded, ducking his head down to mask the smile you knew was now on his face.

“Are you sure?” He mumbled, placing his phone on the counter and screwing the top back onto the cream. His eye was now shining a little, but it gave you inexplicable comfort to know that it was at least taken care of temporarily.

Even looking at it seemed to send a dull ache thrumming across your cheekbone.

“I’m sure.” 

Then: “Did you eat on that date?” He asked, raising a brow.

“No.”

He frowned, but showed nothing to say he was particularly shocked by that answer, and stood up from the stool very quickly – quick enough to startled the cat, and quick enough to have to catch the stool from falling over in his haste, “Do you maybe want to get something to eat, first? I know a good place a couple of blocks away.”

You stuttered, not entirely expecting such a spontaneous proposal, “Sure, I just—I should change first, though.”

His eyes dragged down your figure, and for the first time ever, you found yourself trying to regain control of the sudden blush that threatened to stain your cheeks, before he tutted, met your eyes, smiled and shook his head, dimples as clear as they’d ever been. There was something bright in his eye, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d assume there was some mischief lingering there – as though he knew exactly what you were refraining from doing under his gaze.

“Personally,” he started off slowly, “I think it’d be a waste of a beautiful dress.”

You sucked the inside of your cheek, looking down at your dress. It was beautiful, though arguably it had already been wasted on the day considering the hellish date experience, but maybe eating out with Nico would change that? 

“In that case…” You trailed off, grabbing your coat and slipping your shoes back on, “But–” You whirled around, Nico’s hand going suspiciously fast to cover his mouth, though the crinkles by his eyes certainly told you everything you needed to know, and arched an accusing brow in his direction, “I’m changing when we get back.”

“Fine by me.” He held up his hands in surrender, mouth pressed tightly together to prevent himself from laughing, and you rolled your eyes at his innocent act, but said nothing.

#nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier oneshot #nico hischier fic #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #nhl imagine #hockey player x reader #hockey fic

[luveline]

i would absolutely love a Hotch and stripper reader, him taking care of her after some kind of incident at her club or something? maybe a bit of angry hotch at the beginning, some angst? 💗💗💗

Your throat burns by the time his car pulls up. 

You take the butt of the cigarette from between your lips and ash it next to the first. Your hand is sore between the index finger and thumb from a bad stretch, aching as you press into your pocket for your stolen box of Marlboro golds. You’ll apologise for taking them some other time. 

You press the third between your lips and flick the lighter. You’re not good at lighting them, worse at the first inhale, your throat an agony that rivals the sting of your battered cheek. 

Shoes on the sidewalk, a scratch of loose gravel. Your eyes well with another line of tears that you work hard to hold in, taking another quick, cruel drag. They don’t make cigarettes long enough, in your opinion. They don’t last. 

He stops in front of you. Quiet, Agent Hotchner looks down at you where you’re sitting on the low wall, expression as steely as ever. You meet his eyes, worried your wobbly lip is giving you away, not sure calling him was the right thing to do after all. 

When he raises his hand to the cigarette you let him take it. His fingers wrap carefully around the butt of it, the side of his thumb brushing your lips. 

He flicks it to the ground and steps on it flat. 

You don’t say hello. It’s obvious you’ll cry, he can tell too, and he doesn’t make you. You wince as he raises his hand again, your eyes squinting closed, but he isn’t going to hurt you. His palm is warm where it cups your cheek, turning your face to the light emanating off of the club neons. 

“Do you know his name?” he asks. 

“No.” 

He raises your chin higher still. His frown turns to a glare, the brunt of which is directed elsewhere but intimidating all the same. His touching is gentle at least. 

“What happened?” 

“I told him no.” 

His jaw ticks. “Can I take you home?” 

You sniffle, turning your face out of his hand and down to your lap. He’s kissed you, he’s done more than that, but he knows you’d felt like you had no choice and so he’s giving it to you now. It’s exactly why you’d called him. It’s the man he is, and he should never have ended up looking after you. 

“Sorry I called you,” you say, hiding your face in one hand. Pain flickers behind your eyes as tears mount for the tenth time tonight. 

Hotch gives a sigh, sitting on the wall beside you. He wraps his arm behind your back and with a familiarity you need desperately. You press yourself into his side, sew your arm hesitantly over his stomach, the starch of a pressed shirt crisp on your clammy skin. 

“It’s cold out here,” he murmurs, bringing both hands to your arm, one to hold you tight, the other to rub your cool skin. 

“I think I want to quit.” 

He nods into the side of your head. “I think you should,” he says, “if that’s what you want… honey, you can do whatever you want.” 

“I don’t think I can. I’m trapped and it’s my fault.” 

“It’s not your fault.” He encourages your head under his, your face to his neck. When he talks, it’s a quiet, lulling promise. “You’re not trapped. I’ll do anything you need me to do. If you want an apartment, I’ll get it for you. If you want to shut this place down, I will. The last thing either of us want is for you to work here when you don’t want to.” 

“You don’t have to say work here like I’m not a glorified prostitute,” you say hotly, anger turned in rather than out. 

“You don’t really think that.”

Being a sex worker is complicated. You don’t know how you feel about it, and you can’t ever understand why Hotch would bother with you. You’d worried at first that your vulnerability is what attracted him, like a kid with a broken bird, but he’s proved a hundred times that your job is pretty much separate from why he likes you. He thinks you're pretty. He loves your voice. You make each other laugh, and somehow inexplicably he’s the first person you call when things go wrong. 

“Quit your job,” he says. “Even if it’s just to dance somewhere else.” 

“You can say strip.”

He nods. “You shouldn’t have to worry whether your ‘no’ will be met with a backhand. You know that breaks my heart?” 

You blink and pull away from him. He isn’t unemotional, but it’s a surprise nonetheless to hear him talk like this. “Aaron–” 

“Please,” he says. “I shouldn’t ask you to. But there are better places for you. You deserve more.” 

If it were anyone else you might get defensive. Only people who do your job could understand why you do it, it’s a hundred different things to you, but you do deserve more. You’re sick of leery men, sick of wolf whistles and bad tips and other people's hands. Hotch has never asked you to stop, but now he is, it’s to keep you safe. 

You can’t begrudge him. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“No.” He rubs your arm. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. And I’ll make it right.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“I’ll make it right,” he promises. “No matter what. No one gets to hurt you.” 

You could quit. You want to. Even if it’s just for a couple of weeks, just so you don’t have to pretend you know what you’re doing. You’ll think about it in the morning. “Could I stay with you for a bit?” you whisper. “Just tonight. Please.” 

Hotch taps your back for you to stand. He stands with you, brushing down your coat, his eyes impassive where they look over your face, your purpling bruise. 

“You can wait in the car,” he says quietly. “I’m going to ask a few questions inside before we leave.” 

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

[lowgothree]

𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ━━ ❛ 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 ❜

chapter no. 001!          

𝗈𝗈𝗈.               ⠀CONTENT : paige “with” another girl (for the plot). reader is so terribly down bad. also, i don’t proofread so if you see typos or grammar mistakes i’m sorry. and this chapter is kinda boring but it's necessary soo.

𝗈𝗈𝗈. ⠀      WORD COUNT : 1.5k

𝗈𝗈𝗈.   ⠀AUTHORS NOTE : yall seemed to like the prologue so i hope yall like this too!!

THEY’RE KISSING. and she’s enjoying it, by the looks of it. you can tell because she’s doing that thing where she pulls the other person closer like they could never be close enough. the thing she used to do to you. 

it’s almost comical that the first time you see paige again, she’s kissing some other girl with eyes like yours outside the diner where you and the girls were. she thinks she’s being sneaky (she’s not). she always thought she was sneaky, you remember that much. in fact, you somehow remember everything about the blonde except what her lips tasted like. so of course you’re a little jealous, feeling a bit out of the loop. that’s normal. right? and maybe definitely it’s stupid to mourn so deeply over a relationship that you ended but, whatever, you can’t help that you miss her.

there was nothing human about the feeling, it was more like a typhoon or a volcanic eruption, something so completely out of your control. it was purely sickening…but whenever you see the peroxide-blonde with someone new, you  find yourself apprehensively scanning their hair, their skin, the words that they would say –– always finding a hint of yourself within them. the delusional part of you wanted that to mean she still wanted you, but logic said that maybe she just started having a type. but then you’d think back to before…the paige before you never had a specific type. but since you? there’s an unmistakable one. but that’s not enough proof that she still feels for you. in fact, it’s nothing. it’s hard not to see yourself when you’re actively looking for it. you’d keep up with the torture by staring at paige kissing that girl through the window but then you feel a sharp kick to your shin from underneath the table. 

“stop staring, perv.” nika mutters, rolling her eyes lightly. although nika was one of the few people who knew about the dead relationship, she didn’t know that your feelings for paige still lingered. she only knew what paige told her, that the two of you were friends.

“i wasn’t ––”

“you were.”

okay –– maybe you were. you sigh silently to yourself, taking a sip of your milkshake. this is the first time you’re actually hanging out with your friends together rather than just one on one (which you only did because you didn’t want to see paige). the two of you agreed to be friends but that was clearly not going to happen. however, you felt bad for denying your friends every time they asked to spend time with you. so, you sucked up your pride. you could spend an hour in paige’s presence, it wouldn’t kill you. at least not literally.

angel, a redhead who shares a dorm with nika and a major with you, is sitting in between azzi and you. she’s eyeing you carefully, after all, the two of you are very close and she knows why you and paige broke up. she also knows that you still care about her. her gaze is simultaneously suffocating and protective.

“...are you okay?” she whispers only loud enough for you to hear. you simply nod, munching on your fries trying not to look out of the window again. in truth, your head was spinning. you haven’t seen paige face to face since the breakup. you were hoping you’d never have to again…

then she finally enters, walking up to the booth. every step she takes is just as confident as they always are. her hair is down, running across the length of her back. her eyes meet yours, they’re more familiar than your own name. her beauty is still unquestionable –– but you wouldn’t admit it. it would make looking away from her even more difficult. so instead you pretend not to look as she sits down at the booth right next to nika…right in front of you. she pokes nika’s side just to piss her off  before snatching a fry from angel’s plate and dipping it in her own milkshake. angel rolls her eyes but says nothing.

“that’s disgusting.” nika turns up her nose as paige bites it. 

“don’t knock it till you try it.” paige dramatically licks her fingers. nika makes a fist, gently hitting the table a few times with her knuckles. you chuckle at nika’s attitude.

“what are you giggling about? you used to like it too.” paige mutters, smiling lightly but her words send a pang to your chest. nobody else seems to catch the bitterness in her tone….but you do. her eyes look almost guilty when she sees the sharp intake of breath you take. but before she could say anything else, you look away. you avoid her eye contact like it’s deadly.

nika clears her throat, eventually sensing the tension, and turns her attention to azzi whose eyes are close and head is rested against the booth. “you okay?”

“mhm…just really tired.” she mutters, opening her eyes to sip her lemonade. 

you chuckle. “i bet you are, we stayed up all last night studying.”

“finals?” angel questions.

“yeah…” azzi mumbles.

“can we please not talk about that right now?” paige groans.

“says you, scholar athlete.” azzi mutters, rolling her eyes at the blonde.

“she’s too busy with that girl to focus on studying these days.” nika chuckles. angel looks over at you for a quick moment but you keep your gaze steady on your plate.

you nearly jump out of your skin trying to relax your tensing shoulders before someone notices. you ended things with her…she couldn’t even call you her girlfriend. so why did it hurt so much to even hear of someone else in your place? this wasn’t exactly the plan, you were meant to move on by now. but seeing her…again…all you can wonder is what she’s thinking about right now.

“who? cleo?” paige snorts. “we’re not talking about that either.”

cleo. cleo. the girl who just had her tongue down paige’s throat no less than ten minutes ago. you feel sick to your stomach at the mention but you hide it well, then you feel sicker when you think about how pathetic it is that you even felt this way to begin with. it’s just another indignity among many.

“why not?” nika mutters. “it’s more interesting than talking about studying.”

“true.” azzi adds.

paige looks over at you, her way of saying that she’s not going to talk about another girl in front of you. “where’s aubrey?” 

you appreciate the conversation shift even if you know it’s in vain. they want to know about this mystery girl and honestly, so do you.

“late.” nika mutters.

“i ordered her food for her.” angel smiles softly. 

“and she’s gonna wanna talk about the girl too.” azzi chuckles. angel’s leg shakes underneath the table, she’s clearly empathetic for you. she knows the girls don’t mean to hurt you but she also knows that it is hurting you. you wanted to relax her, make her feel less guilty for not saying anything even if she wasn’t participating in the conversation.

so you chuckle lightly, pretending to be completely fine and say, “can you please be still?”

“can you please be still?” you sigh softly, braiding her hair in its signature style. paige is sitting in front of you on the bed with her legs crossed. she has a game later, and she asked you to braid her hair for her. 

“you’re pretty.” paige mumbles as you finish up her first braid, still squirming at your touch. 

for a second you almost forget yourself, paige being damn near sickeningly sweet. she seems to notice how her words have temporarily struck you, pride swelling within her since she loves making you happy. 

you shrug it off and remember that her back is facing you, so you chuckle at her commenting on your appearance. “you can’t even see me.”

“i don’t have to. i’m thinking about how your face looks right now.” she turns back to look at you over her shoulder. “pretty.”

you bite back a smile, turning her head back so you can braid the other side. “you’re corny, you know that?”

“i’m enamored.”

“oh, someone learned a new word.” you snort, continuing braiding her hair, being as gentle as you can with her. (though it gets increasingly difficult when she won’t stop moving).

“shut up.” she mutters. “i’m super smart.”

you finish braiding her hair, tapping her side to let her know that you’re done and she can go look. she stands up from the bed, long legs taking her to the dresser which has a mirror over it, she eyes her braids carefully. “they’re a little crooked, babe.”

you roll your eyes. “cause you wouldn’t stop mo––”

she turns back your way, walking back to you. paige towers over you while you sit on the bed, she puts a hand under your chin and kisses you. “i’m joking. they’re perfect. thank you, baby.”

“anything for you…” you whisper back and your words make her smile. it’s wide and toothy –– the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

#anything but you ✹ꯣ #paige bueckers x reader

[rafecameroninterlude]

kook!reader and jj, in which reader gets jj a job and country club but the other kooks are pretty mean to him :( .

warnings: light flirting, fighting, rafe is jealous you like jj and not him, name calling

“so how are they treating you here?” you took a seat at the bar where jj was making a round of drinks. “how do you think?” he looked up from under the wisps of his hair. “okay, cool it with the sass. i was just asking.” he shook his head, huffing out a laugh. “look, i appreciate you getting me this job and all, but this shit blows,” jj glanced in the corner where rafe and his friends were dowing their beers, “and those assholes are the worst part of it all.” you turned around, rolling your eyes when rafe blew you a kiss.

“they’re so annoying, just ignore them jayj.” you sighed, eyeing the veins on his arms. “at least you look hot in your uniform.” jj pushed one of those fruity drinks you liked in front of you, leaning in as he did so. “you think so?” you hummed, a smile forming on your lips as he trailed his fingers down the side of your wrist. “yeah, i like-” before you could finish your sentence, a familiar, aggravating voice cut you off. “i see you’re still doing charity work for this piece of trash.” rafe took a seat next to you, fully aware of the way jj was glaring at him.

“how about you run back there to the kitchen and get us something to eat like you’re supposed to, pogue.” rafe spat the last word, his lip curling in disgust before landing his focus back on you. “do you always have to be an ass?” you shrugged him off, silently begging jj not to do what you knew he was fully capable of. “getting food isn’t in my job description, moron. i think you’d know that if you actually filled out an application.” jj winked, making rafe scoff. “why would i when we have people like you who need it more than i ever will?”

“rafe get out of here, seriously.” you shooed him, only for jj to intervene. “people like me? people who don’t have to depend on their daddy still?” you sighed when you saw rafe get up, his friends all somehow making their way over in unison. ���let’s not do this, please, let’s just go jay.” you adjusted your little purse on your shoulder, motioning for jj to follow you out. “jay? you have a nickname for this loser?” rafe narrowed his eyes, “you know your parents would never approve of this scumbag.” jj reached over the bar, grabbing rafe by the collar of his shirt.

you stepped in front of rafe’s friends before they could team against jj. “and if her parents knew who you really were, they wouldn’t approve of you either. how does it feel knowing y/n will never choose you?” jj smiled. rafe was seeing red at this point. pulling his fist back, rafe swung and landed a punch square on jj’s cheek. the club then broke out into complete chaos. while rafe and jj were full on fighting with nothing but the bar between them, you were pushing rafe’s friends, telling them to let rafe and jj handle their business alone.

“what the hell is going on here?!” the director of the whole place came rushing in, his face beet red as he glared at jj. “just a little falling out, sir. they’re already done.” you flashed him a sweet smile, hoping he could just drop it. “you let go of that cameron boy right now, young man! his father is a very generous patron here,” rafe smirked as jj shoved him away, “and give me that apron, you’re done.” you sighed, shoulders falling in defeat as jj rounded the corner of the bar. this is officially the third job jj has gotten fired from on figure eight.

you followed jj as he balled up the material, chucking it in the director’s chest. “good, this job fuckin’ sucked.” you gasped, apologizing for him as you two walked out of the country club. “what the fuck?!” you stopped him, pulling his shoulder so he could face you. “look, i’m gonna do my own thing on the cut, and get money how i want to, alright? this shit isn’t for me. if you want to be mad at me for how i reacted towards rafe, fine, but i’m done with figure eight.” you watched him get on his dirt bike, pinching the bridge of your nose as he rode through the flowers.

#‧₊˚✩彡 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 #my first jj maybank post on here!! #leave jj requests <3 #outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #jj obx #jj outer banks #obx #outer banks smut #outer banks fanfiction

[chilschuck]

Can i request for chilchuck react to reader who like to daydream and after he tell the reader he is married, the reader keep spacing out more often out of sadness and they also try to avoid interacting with him much so she can move on. But laios and the other think it's normal since she always avoid interacting with people ( the reader interact with chilchuck more after falling in love with him )

Do you think he will notice? (ಥ﹏ಥ) (ಡ‸ಡ)

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ WAHHHH ANON this is such a good concept and made my heart hurt…… i ended up adding some comfort to it because if you’re like me, you need it after reading angst!! :”)))

— OF COURSE: chilchuck x gn!reader.

꒰ warnings: ꒱ sfw + hurt/comfort! might be a lil ooc, lol.

꒰ wc: ꒱ 941

✦ i hope this turned out okay!! i made it shorter than my other drabbles by accident but it felt good to end it where it did. i kind of changed the prompt a lil but only because i wanted to give you guys some love from chil still. (;;;w;;;) i’m honestly worried this turned out bad…. hhhhh. i’m so sorry if it’s not what you wanted. ;;; i still hope you enjoy!!! <333

He knew something was wrong.

It wasn’t difficult to see that you had started avoiding him. Even your gaze refused to meet his own for longer than it had to. Your constant spacing out and stares at the floor said all he needed to hear: you were upset.

It only seemed to get worse when you overheard his talk about reconciling with his wife, any hope you had shattering into a thousand pieces in front of you. From then on, you didn’t smile unless you felt you had to. The thick silence you left in your wake was suffocating, and Chilchuck wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

The other members in the party took it as if you were being your usual spacey self, and didn’t draw any attention to the issue. This only made Chilchuck feel worse; he definitely noticed the change.

You used to hang back with Chilchuck and talk with him constantly, sharing little tidbits about yourselves or chatting mindlessly. Things seemed to come easily when it came to you... Too bad he only realized this now.

The smiles you gave him, the eyes full of affection, the lingering touches… It stung that they were no longer a part of his everyday life. Instead, the sadness that ate at you only bled through to your face, into your actions, and into your silence. It was unfamiliar and unbearable at the same time… Especially with the way you’d closed up further.

Chilchuck wasn’t stupid; he knew you harbored some sort of feelings for him. He wasn’t sure if that made this hurt more than it would otherwise. You were obviously distancing yourself from him, further proving his point that inner party relationships were trouble. Yet, there wasn’t any anger or resentment in his chest towards you. If anything, this was a misunderstanding between the two of you.

Calling your name, he approached you almost apprehensively. The recoil you gave made that familiar sharp pain in his chest reappear. Blurting out an excuse, you made your presence scarce. And just like that, you left him alone again.

Of course he noticed. If anything, he hoped that it was all some sort of miscommunication. Sure, he wanted to reconnect with his estranged wife, but… That’s what they were: estranged childhood sweethearts that grew apart. Along with their love, their relationship changed. Things weren’t something he could fix, and his old flame knew that too. But he hoped more than anything they could sort through their differences and still be at least friends.

Of course you didn’t know. There was no way for you to know, or have known his true intentions. Like everything else he tried to bury deep down, you were fading from his life. Chilchuck couldn’t seem to let this one go, to let you go.

So he chased after you. For once in his life, he decided to not swallow these feelings down. He knew there was only so much he could bury, only so much he’d want to bury. You didn’t deserve that, and he needed you to give him those smiles again. To give him those gazes full of adoration and those tender but fleeting touches…

You didn’t pull your hand out of his immediately. Instead, when he called your name again this time, you turned. Chilchuck swallowed.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Surely there was a better thing to ask at this moment, but your lip quivered nonetheless. A deep sigh leaving you, your gaze met with the floor again.

“…So it’d stop hurting.” Was all you replied, the weight of those words knocking the air out of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but you raised a hand to silence him.

“This is for the best... I hope you understand.” Your voice used to never sound so broken. It was soft in a way that he’d never heard before. You had truly given up on this, and he can’t say he blames you. He’d have given up on himself, too.

But he can’t let himself fall into that same cycle of self-pity. Not again, he assured himself, reaching up to grab a fist full of your top and pulling you down to meet his eyes. “Let me explain this to you. Please. I… I’m not going back to her because of the reason you think.” Chilchuck hadn’t heard himself this pleading in so long. He felt pitiful, and he suddenly remembered why he doesn’t like being vulnerable.

You couldn’t stop your head from nodding a yes to his request, that spark of hope trying to ignite once again in your chest. Trying to snuff it out, you waited patiently for him to continue.

And so he did. Baring it all to you, he decided this would be another step towards being more open with himself. Maybe you’d see him as pathetic for this, but he tried to piece the words together as congruent as possible. The feelings he had for her distinguished with the years spent apart and even some of the time spent together. This whole time he’s been sure that he just wanted to right the wrongs he did, and move on. Hopefully with you, when all this was over.

Of course you said yes. You listened, and with every word that left him, the flame within you rekindled. You weren’t sure what to say for a moment, besides giving a light laugh in relief. Even Chilchuck exhaled a brisk chuckle, scratching the back of his head in nervous habit. He’s not sure he could ever get used to this whole “telling your true feelings” thing.

But for you, he’d try.

— dividers by @/cafekitsune!! <333

#⟡ lilia writes! 🌿 #trying to get better at hurt/comfort #and this may be terrible bc i’m so brain fried rn gdhfjfjhj #but i thought maybe you’d want some chil loving too :’))) #chilchuck x reader #chilchuck tims x reader #dunmeshi x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #delicious in dungeon x reader

[endeline]

We'll Be Alright

Paring: Paige Bueckers x Reader Warnings: Angst with no comfort, closeted Paige, breakups, edited and written at 3 a.m. Words: 1,403 A/n: This is my first fic so feel free to critique the hell out of it! (The woman is making me write, send help.) Summary: "I just can’t be seen with you for a while… I can’t be with you for a while," she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion. I watched as her face crumpled under the weight of her confession. She turned away, avoiding my gaze, and in that moment, I felt my world tilt on its axis.

‘I’ve heard her wrong,’ that’s my first reaction, the only rational explanation. ‘I had to have heard her wrong.’ And I almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, because there’s no way this is happening; it’s not possible. Out of everything I’ve learned in this life, only one thing remains steadfast: Paige won’t leave me, not like this. We've been each other's anchors for too long, willingly entwined each other into every facet of our lives—school, family, friends, work; everything leads back to Paige. My life isn’t mine anymore, it’s ours. You can’t just walk away from that; ‘she won’t walk away from that.’

She holds all of me within her grasp. I've given her everything, laid my heart bare at her feet and begged her to take it. I’m not sure I can even remember how to function without her anymore, and I really don’t want to have to re-learn. 

At this, I have to take a breath - ‘she isn’t leaving you’—unclenching my fists, the pain of my nails digging into my palms fades into the background and I try to slow my pounding heart.

‘She isn’t doing this,’ ‘you heard her wrong, just ask her to repeat herself, she isn’t doing this’—I repeat like a mantra. I feel myself begin to open my mouth, but in my panic, I seem to have forgotten what to do next, how to speak, what to say.

I don’t have to though; as I watch her bury her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, I know I've heard her correctly.

Time slows to a stop as I stare at her, the very fabric of our shared existence unraveling before my eyes. She’s trembling, her form completely hunched over, elbows resting heavily on her knees. I strain to hear the faintest sound of her sobs, unsure if it's her or my own heartbeat drowning out the world around me. Everything goes numb, or at least I think I’m going numb; I might be dying. 'I think I’m dying.’ 

One week earlier:

KK has perched her phone precariously above her stove, and she’s behind me. Her latest brainchild? A cooking show live, which is apparently just me awkwardly fumbling through a recipe in front of thousands of people, while KK assumes the role of my enthusiastic (if somewhat reckless) sous chef.  She’s so busy scaring me half to death with her questionable knife skills and insistence upon dancing around the kitchen, requiring me to guard her away from the open flame and from knocking over everything on her chopping board (again), that we both miss Paige getting home.

I’m reaching to taste, and KK is preemptively handing me the salt as a familiar hand snakes it’s way around my waist. Paige leans over me to take my spoon in her mouth. "Tastes good, babe," she murmurs. I’m frozen under her touch, staring at our reflection on the livestream when KK bursts out in fake laughter. "Damn, all you gotta do to get Paige is know how to cook.” I laugh too, now catching on to KK’s cover story, turning to Paige. "For real, Bueckers, if you wanted some all you had to do was ask. Don’t waste your rizz on me," I joke, removing her hands from my waist. Her brow is furrowed, and a confused look passes over her face briefly until she looks up and sees the livestream, which is now blowing up. She steps away from me quickly and forces out a laugh before she slips out of frame and disappears from view. KK wraps the live up soon after this, and I rush after Paige, but the damage is done.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobs, wrenching me back into this harsh reality. “P?” I manage to choke out as I reach my arms out for her. I’m pretty sure I can feel my heart fall out of my chest as she pulls away, her head shaking in silent anguish.

But she doesn’t leave yet. Instead, she’s kneeling by my bedside, where I’ve seen her praying so many nights before. But she’s not talking to her god now; she’s looking up at me, speaking to me, clutching my hands in hers. “I love you, I’m so sorry,” she repeats, and yet even with her declaration of love, all I can do is shake my head in mute denial. “I can’t do it,” she gasps, desperation tingeing her words. “I can’t tell everyone yet. I’m not ready, and I can’t put you through this. It’s not fair to you.” I flinch away from her now, curling up into the corner of my bed.

“I’m so sorry.”

Even as I cower away, her outstretched hand reaches for me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Summoning what little strength remained within me, I unfurl myself from the corner of my bed and reach for her again, ‘maybe for the last time.’ I brushed away the tears that stained her cheeks, my heart aching. “What does me not being seen with you mean?" My voice tinged with a desperation I could scarcely contain. Paige finally looks up at me; her gaze met mine, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I can’t handle the rumors anymore," she cries, her words a plea for understanding. "I'm so sorry" It’s my turn to look away now, unable to bear the weight of her gaze any longer, staring into my lap. And for the first time in my life, I shake my head and lie to Paige Bueckers, gently shushing her I reach for her hand, “everything's going to be okay, we'll be alright.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #kk arnold #womens basketball #angst #paige bueckers fic #paige buckets #wcbb #final four

[pinksugarscrub]

Home

Pirate! Hobie x fem! reader

In the famous words of Luffy (Iñaki) future pirate king, "A ship is also a home".

Inspired by Between the Devil and the Sea by @the-kr8tor

(Tossed draft for The Pirate Princess)

The piano echoes in your mind like an endless melody. Tapping your fingers against the edge of the crow’s nest like you would the ivory keys. You can remember the gold encrusted stars in the ceiling. The walls darker than the depths of the sea. How your heels clicked across a tiled floor that was so iridescent it was like you were dancing on glass.

Although you breathe in the salt from the body of water below, you taste something sweet on your tongue as you reminisce. It isn’t sad, just bittersweet.

“Interupting you am I?”

Laughter bubbles out of your lips as you feel a familiar set of arms wrap around your waist. Hobie burying his nose into the crook of your neck. You never grow tired of the warm fuzzy feeling his presence brings you and you can’t help but try to pull him closer so he’s flush against your back. 

“Woah!” Hobie chuckles,“a bit early for that isn’t it love?”

You click your tongue. Rolling your eyes as you try to jab his side with your elbow. “Oh hush! You’ve officially ruined the moment.”

He snickers, easily catching your arm before twisting you around to face him. “Officially? What are we, bloody marines?”

The chatter from the crew below helps bring you back to reality. Your new reality. One you wouldn’t trade for the world.

Crossing your arms across your chest you lean against the wall of the crow’s nest. Arching a brow at him as you decide to play along. “At least the marines know what to do when a beautiful woman falls into their lap.” 

His grin widens into a smirk you know all to well and you’re already dreading he’ll say next.

“But do they know how to keep their woman satisfied? Hm?” He leans forward. Eyes flicking between your lips and gaze. “Like I do?” 

Of course, like the gullible woman you are, you let your eyes flutter shut. You’re confused until you hear him giggle and you know you’ve been duped because when you open your eyes he’s looking down at you with that cheeky look on his face. It’s so infuriating but it apparently still has an affect on you anyway because you feel heat crawl up your cheeks.

You take this moment of loss to your self-esteem to admire his attire. A newly mended white blouse that’s cut to expose some of his chest. (You’ll have to thank Kamala for that later). Signature holster around his waist. Very casual compared to the thick leather coat he adorns when you go into battle. 

Personally, you believe your crew has more style than a bird of paradise with how many trinkets and accessories they seem to find each time you dock the Mary Jane. 

“Aww darling, c’mere,”he coos. ”You’re so cute when you get all pouty with me.”

You huff in annoyance as you try to keep him away. It’s obvious he’s pretending to struggle but you can’t bring yourself to care. He’s making loud kissy noises while you whine and push your palms against his chest. One on his exposed skin (Were you about to pass up that opportunity? I think not!) and the other on the cotton of his sleeve.

“No! What kind of Captain denies his navigator a kiss!?

He grunts,“The kind that will make up for it later! Now come here-” 

You struggle for a moment longer before you hear someone call out to you. The two of you stop. Blinking at each other before Hobie let’s you slip out of his grasp. His hand on your lower back to keep you from leaning to far over the edge.

“Oh Robbie!” You cheerfully wave down. He’s nothing more than a speck of green but you always manage to hear him clearly.

“Mate,” Hobie yells,“we were kind of in the middle of something important.”

Said first mate scoffs at him before rolling his eyes. Not that you see any of this happen. You just know the man well enough. “Oh yes, so important…” He clears his throat before yelling back,“Riri’s messed with the gear again and I’m pretty sure we’re headed in the opposite direction.”

You can only watch as a tool is chucked in his direction. You’re assuming from inside Riri’s makeshift workshop. Wincing as it successful bonks him in the head. “It’s called renovating!” 

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

“I’ll be right down!” Your boots scuffing against the wood as you make your way past Hobie to the ladder. 

“Pray tell, where-” You squeak as you feel him tug you back into his chest. Stumbling not so gracefully after craning your neck up to see him. “-do you think, you’re going, without giving me my kiss?”

“I’m sorry,” you laugh,”but I have duties, Captain.” He preens at the title. Shifting you around in his arms like you would a rowdy pup. “If we want to reach port in the next six hours and you know, not die of starvation on this ship. I need to go.”

“I never told you not to.” He answers. Grinning as he tightens his hold on you. “But you have at least a minute to spare for your beloved, yes?”

You scrunch you nose, gently shaking your head as if scolding a child. A very greedy child that always seems to attach himself to you. It’s a wonder the crew hasn’t named him the ocean’s clingest sea urchin. “My beloved, yes, my captain…no,” you chuckle. “Come on Hobie, I promise you a kiss after supper and after I help Riri.”

He sighs dramatically before releasing you. His hands up in surrender as he backs away. “Fine fine. But I’m holding you to it eh? The second you’re done you come find me.”

“Aye Captain.” You salute. He watches as you hop down the ladder and after two or three steps you disappear. Once you’re out of earshot he lets out a dreamy sigh, slumps against the walls of the crow’s nest, and cranes his neck up to the sky. 

“Oi, that means you too Hobart!” Robbie hisses. “Stop daydreaming a get down ere’!”

Hobie snorts, fixing his hat. “Alright, I’m comin’!”

#atsv #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #spiderman atsv #atsv hobie #spiderpunk #hobie x reader #spider punk x reader

[hidtired]

Unfortunate Timing [Part 2]

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Description: You found out your pregnant early into your relationship with Daryl Dixon. To make matters worse? The apocalypse happens a few days later! (not fully canon)

4.2k words

Warnings (Pregnancy, gore, abuse, violence, fluff, walking dead stuff, ect.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 etc.

A single moment can change your life, change the world. Everything only seemed to get worse. The quarry was a group of survivors that had formed. You and the Dixons were outcasts, at least it felt like it. The girls seemed to see you in low regard being pregnant. The men were no better. They saw you as a burden. The feeling of people talking behind your back stressed you out. Being pregnant also didn’t help. You felt tired all the time, also being plagued with morning sickness. Which is a stupid name when it happens all day. Throwing up in a world were food is now limited also leaves you uneasy.

You also see that stress weighing on Daryl. It wasn’t long ago he struggled with the fact of having a kid. Now seemed even more terrifying. He was becoming short tempered, to his credit only snapping at you once but regretted the way he almost made you cry. “No! I won’t take a break I have to keep going out there for food! You’ve been throwing up half the shit I’ve already gotten for you!”

He didn’t mean for it to sound like your wrong for doing so, he knew you couldn’t help it. He saw the glassy film come to the corner of your eyes. His heart tugged. You were in your tent you shared, sat on the sleeping bag with your head shamefully down. “No, no. Come on…” he angled your face back up to met his. He sank to his knees in front of you. “I know you can’t help it. M’ just trying to say you need more. I just want to make sure you’re gettin enough.” You had asked him to stay because he was rarely around. He was out alone looking for food and you couldn’t help but see every time he came back a little more on edge. He was getting into his head to much out there.

He knows you’re having a hard time. With being pregnant at this moment in time how could you not. You had tried to talk to the mothers of the camp for advice on anything, they didn’t bat an eye to you. You had looked for support and were denied it. He saw that you were being treated like a Dixon. Something he was familiar with, and something Merle also understood. Merle became more chill around you. No more sexual comments or sexist remarks. Doesn’t mean he is any less better to be around. He treated you like a sister you thought. He still was an ass. Making mean comments or complaining about something you did. But he had become family.

Andrea was your biggest pain. She seemed like she had something to prove. She hated the traditional female roles that had been pushed onto the girls. You understood her disliking for Merle but she attached that to Daryl and you as well. She didn’t say outright mean things but subtle jabs. Week after week it was chipping at your demeanor.

So here you are now, you think almost 3 months pregnant. Seeing Daryl was the highlight of whenever he appeared. You sat in your tent with him getting ready for his 2 day hunting trip for a deer he knew was near by. He signed feeling your eyes on him, “Yer breakin my heart with that look.” Your smiling face replacing your sulking one, “I’m just missing you already.” You stood up, “You should see something before you go.” He turned to you questioningly. You pulled your shirt up over your stomach and turned to the side, “I know I haven’t seen myself in a mirror for a while but, I think I’m showing?” You looked up from your little bump that you could see spotting the surprised face he was making. He gulped before talking, “Ya sure are…” he walked closer placing a hand to your tummy. You saw his teeth were clenched. He felt the weight of pressure crushing him,

“We are doing are best, that’s all I could ask form you.”

He left for his hunt a little less stressed. You also saw Merle off later into the day with the first group run to the city. “Hey do me a favor and don’t get yourself killed.” Merle turned to you, “And have those freaks naw on m' sweet ass?” You chuckle as you walk away, “Let’s just hope you remember your ass from your elbow!”

The day progress like any other. It had just become the afternoon when the sound of the radio chirped on. It cause some disagreement about making a sign to warn others about the city. You just went back to minding your own business. You helped boil water taking notice of Lori trimming her son’s hair. You spoke up noticing the displeased look on Carl's face, “Going for a mohawk Carl? Or maybe you’re thinking bald.” His nose scrunched up at the thought. You laugh at the reaction, “Bald people run faster.” Carl smiled, “Nuh-uh!” You shook your head and shrugged, “How do you know if you won’t try.” He looked to his mom, “I’d rather have hair than be faster!” He said it to his mom like he tried convincing her to not make him bald. Lori smiled at her son, “Ya me to, but if you keep moving you might be bald at the end of this.” He straightened and stilled, but he still spoke, “I hate haircuts…”

Shane came and sat down looking at you briefly. “One of these days you’ll be missing your mother’s hair cuts.” Carl rolled his eyes, "I'd like to see that day!" It had initially shocked you that Shane wasn’t Carl's dad. You always assumed for how close they were and how often they would walk into the woods together. Then it put a gross feeling into your mouth that his father had only recently died. Shane was his apparent best friend and coworker. But it wasn’t necessarily wrong, you just didn’t like to think about it often.

After finishing with boiling water you handed it to Carol. You felt sweaty and all around unpleasant. You needed a nap. You said to Carol that you were going to lay down if they needed to find you. You woke up to arguing. The group that went out had radioed saying there was a problem. Everyone was scared for their respective family that had gone to the city. You felt a pit form in your stomach. The hormones in your body already swarming causing you to be unable to control them. You picture what happened to your Aunt in front of you. Sometimes it still feels as if the blood was still on your face. The thought of knowing she was one of those things walking around somewhere. Maybe they all were already dead let her. You weren’t exactly thrilled about Merle as a person but, you knew deep down he was another person to help protect your baby.

You decided there was no use in stressing yourself, so you went and distracting yourself with chores. Laundry, moving fire wood to our fire pit, took a walk near the perimeter, which now leaves you here at the waters edge. You used the cool water to help with the swelling in your feet and ankles. Week after week you had the sense that being pregnant is going to really suck farther down the road. You fiddle with your knife while swaying your feet in the water. Lost in your own world when an echo starts to ring out throughout the quarry.

The car alarm got louder so you slipped your shoes on and walked back up to the camp. You saw a red car and Glenn standing outside of it. Shane opening the hood and pulling something to stop its beeping. People were yelling at him for answers when a van appeared, ‘so everyone made it back.’ It was a relief to stop the constant thought of the worse. You couldn’t help but notice Merle nowhere to be seen. But that thought was pushed aside when you heard Carl scream,

“DAD!”

You watched with a smile at the reunion of the Grimes family. Also taking notice of Shane making a weird face. He probably was feeling sick to his stomach and you thought it kinda deserved. He did persuade his grieving wife. The thought was interrupted by T-dog coming toward you with a concerned face. You clicked something was wrong, then started to look around. Merle was still no where. The sinking feeling of realization hit you. T-dog watch as understanding washed over you. A hand over your mouth, “W-where is Merle?” A few others turning at the mention, Lori’s husband taking the most notice. T-dog spoke first, “He was putting all of us in danger. He was cracked out of his mind.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, ‘I told him to behave.’ You inhale trying to calm yourself, “He dead?” T-dog shock his head. You nodded looking at all the pears of eyes on you. Your eyes were shiny but nothing fell. You huffed and walked back to your tent. While you were upset about Merle being gone it wasn’t about that. It proved how fucked this new world was becoming. A world your child would have to be in. Suddenly being pregnant with them seemed like the safest place for them. Your thoughts of how it would suck later in pregnancy and 'couldn’t wait for it to be over' stopped. Your child is the safest it will ever be in its life. That terrifying thought scared you.

It wasn’t until later when the sun began to set that you had calmed. It was cold and you wanted to sit by a fire. People were surprised when you appeared and sat with them. You had over heard parts about what happened to Rick. But at the sight of you got them talking about Merle. It was Dale who brought it up, “Who is going to tell Daryl Dixon about his brother?” Rick glanced to you then back to Dale, “I will. I’m the one who handcuffed him.” Then T-dog shook his head, “Nah I dropped the key, makes this one mine.” Based on that information you started to piece what happened on the run. That thought stalled to a stop when Glenn stated, “Not to make it about race but maybe a white guy should tell him?” Is that what they thought about Daryl? They just assuming he is like his brother? You huff in anger, “Really Glenn? He is not racist. He’s only the person that, you know, been feeding all of you.” Glenn turned sheepish at your harsh tone. You stood, “But you know, leave his brother for dead seems like a good trade for how much he has been doing for all of you people!”

You visible deflate mood switching on a dime. You move a hand to your small bump, “Sorry I know you probably had a good reason, Merle is a hard ass.” You sunk back down enjoying the fire too much to go to bed. Rick’s voice spoke calmly, “Your pregnant.” He stated it more as a realization. You look to his shocked face, clearly thinking of how unlucky a timing it was to be. You chuckled speaking sarcastically, “Keep up with those observations and you’re sure to make detective.” His eyebrows drawn in by thought, “Merle was the father?” Disgust washing over your face, “Ew. God I take it back.” Everyone was surprised at your blatant dislike for Merle. They knew Daryl was the dad. You start to clarify, “Daryl is the dad.” You took notice of there original reaction, “Look I don’t like Merle anymore then you probably do. Half the time I don’t think Daryl does either! But he is still at the end of the day my family now.”

Peoples lack of trying to talk to you has put there own version of you in there head. They thought you were quiet and jumpy. Questioning if they did talk to you they would do more harm then good like with Carol. Now the few talks they’ve had or heard from you made sense. You were out spoken and just tired from being pregnant. You stood up again feeling awkward. “I’m going to bed, figure out what to say to Daryl. Maybe watch out for a punch or two.” So you walked off to bed. You were happy you could see Daryl in the morning, but the thought of him learning of his brother broke your heart. You tossed and turned most of the night with the thought.

The light shining through your tent lead you awake. Still trying to cling to as much sleep while feeling drowsy. Then you heard Carl and Sophia screams. You sat up and tried to get to your feet causing a wave of dizziness. The shuffling of stomping feet telling you people were running over there. You slip on shoes taking a moment to become alright with gravity again. Amy and Andrea walking away when you walked over a voice caught your attention, “Its gotta be the brain, don’t youall know nothing?” You smiled glad Daryl is back. When you turn the corner however you weren’t expecting a walker and deer to be sprawled out dead on the floor. You made eye contact with Daryl when the smell of the walker pulled a gag from you. The smile being wiped from your face as a hand comes to your mouth. You immediately turned back around and walked away.

Daryl was well aware of how sensitive your senses have become. You can’t handle anything raw at the moment. He noticed a week into the quarry how you would look at something raw, something that never bother you before, and it would make you queasy. Speaking of raw he should probably get the squirrels ready. He sighed watching you walk away with a love sick hopelessness washed on his face. Something that people have never taken notice of before. So he called for his brother to help, so he could get to you sooner. That's when all hell broke loose.

You heard the calls for Merle hearing Daryl walk back. Then you saw all the guys surround him. Then you watched him place back and forth. You knew that was a coping thing he did so you decided to stand closer. By the time you had walked over he threw the squirrels he’d caught at Rick. You didn’t even have a moment to yell his name when the former policemen jumped him and pinned him. Shane putting him in a headlock and Rick getting in his face. You yelled in displeasure,

“Get the hell off him!”

It was the loudest anyone has heard you, also the angriest. Shane had glanced to you before releasing his hold on him. Daryl sprung back up frustration clear on his face. When he turned to make sure you were behind him you caught a glimpse of his eyes becoming glassy. T-dog chimed in from the earlier conversation you didn’t hear, “It’s not his fault, I dropped the key.” Daryl’s voice strained, “You couldn’t pick it up?!” T-dog looked down guilty, "Well, I dropped it into a drain. But before I left I chained the door shut." Daryl shock his head and started to back up, "That supposed to make me feel better! Hell with all of y'all, just tell me where he is so I can go an get him." You hated to see him upset. You weren't expecting Lori to pipe p and volunteering her husband to take Daryl there. Rick said he was planning to go back anyways saying it was wrong for anything to suffer like that. Shane being the typical hard ass and self employed leader strongly disagreed. With a few others joining it was decided, they were going to get Merle back.

You were finally alone with Daryl again. He still seemed riled over everything but also you could see he was getting emotional. He was turned around facing away from you. You slowly wrapped you arms around him, holding him from behind. He slowly turned into you resting his chin on your head and arms going over your shoulders. You felt him release air, sinking into you. He try's to hide it but you see he is exhausted. You saw he felt like he had to prove something to you, or maybe just to himself. He released you with avoided eye contact. He took a moment with you and collected himself but, he was still a man on a mission.

You watch as Daryl throw things into a bag and refusing to met your eye to avoid whatever look that would break his heart. They were about to take off back to the city and into danger, so you stopped Daryl by putting your hands to his chest. He spoke before you could, "Look I have ta go get him, I know you don't want me goin-" You cut him of by grabbing his face, "When you see him again you tell him I warned his dumb ass, and when you get him back here I'm going to chew him out for this!" He looked at you stunned. You use your grip on his face to drag him into a kiss, "And you better comeback here without a scratch!" He smiled at you, eyes soft, he kissed you again.

"Yes Ma'am."

They had left hours ago and you had that uneasy feeling again. You respected Rick more then anyone else at the camp and he just got here. He was a decent guy but feel bad watching Carl's worried expression. Lori even flipped that he was going right after she herself said he was. Mood swings on that girl, and your the one whos supposed to be pregnant. Jim was off digging which concerned a few. It led to him tided to a tree for his own safety. Granted it was the only eventful thing that would probably happen today. Unless a swamp monster dragged itself out of the water you and all the girls were doing laundry in. Although Ed was a close to one. It was a welcome distraction all the same. To have girl talk again was essential to any girl and none can say other wise. Most of the girls seemed like they could now talk to you and it was a relief.

Although Andrea kinda still sucks the life out of fun, "So how did you end up pregnant?" Most girls look over to her wet laundry in hand and displeased looks by the question. You tightly rung a shirt and looked at her in the eye, "Well, I think your a little old for the birds and bees talk." That gained an eye roll from her but chuckles from the others. You smiled before giving her the answer you are sure she was trying to dig for, "I found out a day before the fall." The thought making you think of your Aunt. You continued on anyways, "Daryl and I hadn't been dating that long I'll be honest, so it wasn't exactly planned. Then I thought it was the end of the world." You look around to the thoughtful faces around you and shrugged, "Turns out I was a day off on that though." It was lighthearted from there, mentions of things that they missed from before. Carols unexpected and less then innocent choice sent waves of laughter throughout the lady's. That fun was crushed by the swamp monster known as Ed.

It lead to something you didn't expect. His sexism rubbing everyone the wrong way. Making Andrea questioned what he did instead of sitting on his ass doing nothing. Which while true and agreed with it lead to him to try to take Carol away and most likely go hit her. When Andrea challenge Ed in doing so it left a sinking feeling in you. You were uncomfortable with confrontation, probably do with the way your parents had treated you. Even with the sinking feeling you try and pull Carol behind you. The exaltation of his action were unpredictable, "Think I won't hit some pregnant whore?!" That was the first swing. It almost fully landed grazing your cheek. Carol had used the arm you had on her to tug you back before he swung. The frightened yelps and yells grabbing the attention from those farther. Carol now stood slightly in front of you, your cold damp hand moving to your warmed cheek he clipped. Ed now focused on his wife slapping her and trying to drag her away but the other girl now stepping in and clung to her. You didn't even see Shane before he pulled Ed backwards and began to lay punch after punch into him. Everyone but Carol were stunned into silence. Carols cry's and the grunts coming from the men filled the air. So many Jim wasn't the only thing that was going to happen today.

Everything was tense after that. With the amount things gone wrong and the still missing members that went to the city, moral was low among the group. Later in the evening Amy and Andrea had gone fishing catching dinner. The sun drifted closer to fully set as the fish was cooked with one question still in there minds, 'Where were they?' The smell of the fish left you gagging and need for fresher air. You found you way back to the water to dip you again swollen feet. It wasn't a unusual thing you did, you did it often. Knife in hand and legs swaying in the cool water. The light dissipated making you aware you should get back soon. You had heard laughs by the camp so moral was rising from the stressful day. You used your cold hands to press to your reddened face from almost getting flattened out by Ed. Daryl would will not be happy about that. You had pulled you feet from the water shaking the water off them to put your shoes on. Then the day got even worse. A scream ripped threw the air making you turn to the sound. You see outlines of figures in the dark. You feel fear crash into you.

'Walkers...'

There were even two coming closer to you from the woods to the side of the water. They had almost snuck up on you if you hadn't looked around because of the scream. A tremble was in your hand as you gripped the knife you had. You slowly back away, hearing gunshots off in the air. Daryl had taught you this for this moment. He had grilled this into in fear that maybe he wouldn't be around to protect you. The first walker was a thin women, the other a male missing its arm and limping. You lunged the knife into the women's eye. Your knife breaking by the blade as the women fell over dead. The snapping of the metal was like slow motion, the other walker steps away from you. You step back bare feet getting hurt by the jagged rocks. You had looked down spotting a larger rock and hurriedly pick it up.

You remember the motions Daryl had showed you for self defense but had never practiced them with him. He didn't really like the idea of rough housing with his pregnant girlfriend even if it was for your defense. You reached and tugged the one arm the walker had and tripped the thing in the motion. It was flat on the floor about to get back up and grab at you. However, rock in hand you threw downward blows one after another even after the thing stopped moving. Blood splatting all over you shirt and down your arms. The buzz of adrenalin causing your hands to violently shake when you stopped swinging. The urge to cry was strong but you notice the now slue of gunshots that had increased stop. The silence broken by the yell and worried cry for your name.

"Y/N!!!"

Your body fluttered at the sound of Daryl. Still bare foot you ran up the gravel hill and yelling back to him with a emotional in your voice, "DARYL!!!" You had made it to the top getting to see him wipe around to your voice. His crossbow dropped to the ground as you both booked it toward each other. He didn't know what to think when he couldn't find you after the last walker fell. The inability to find you cracking a desperate hole into his chest. When he heard you and saw you running to him relief flooded him. As he ran panic rose again seeing you dripping in blood. Inches apart he heard your desperate sobs before crashing into one another. He pulled you off your feet lifting you into him. His voiced stuttered out, "Are you bit?! Are you ok?!" You voice quivering as you sucked in a breath. "I'm alright-t." He felt you shaking like a leaf and whispered into you, "I've got ya, nothin is gonna hurt ya." You had barred your face into his neck now crying in relief. Daryl helped you get cleaned up, that night you clung to him while everyone 'slept'. A moment can change everything, and it was clear to everyone after today.

They were no longer safe here and things were only going to get worse.

Part 3

Feedback welcome and requests open!

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@daryldixmedown @aureolinb @the1eyedmonster16 @lettersfromyourlove @felicisimor

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#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl imagines #daryl x female reader #daryl x reader #norman reedus #twd daryl #angst #fluff

[peggingeddiediaz]

Is kinda sad that can't cope with bucktommy getting so much support and probably being endgame due to fan reaction that you have make a weird af polycule to deal with it

I’ve been getting so much anon hate lately that I really feel like I’ve made it 😎 I’m gonna humor you anon.

I think I’ve said it before but I don’t hate Tevan (bucktommy), I’m incredibly happy that we just got two canon queer characters on the show and that Eddie’s coming out was at least planned at one point and hopefully it’s still in the plans.

The “fan reaction” at least on tumblr and AO3 is more of a thirst reaction really, because fanon bucktommy just did what fanon buddie did but with two episodes of content.

The headcanons for the ship can be summed up in: thirst tropes for Tommy’s actor (dom top Christian grey cosplayer) sounds familiar right? (latin lover trope eddie is in the background laughing) and then you have Evan “self insert” Buckley, in a new ship but never beating the 3 tropes in a trench coat allegations.

I’ve even seen bucktommy fans use pics of Buck during season 1 so Tommy has a “twink to take care of” ???? Buck who is as big as Tommy, a twink...

And is that last part the whole problem with bucktommy as a ship. The fans are willing to pretty much ignore Buck as he is in S7, replace him with his S1 character so they can again, repeat the Top (masculine, big, dominant) Bot (skinny, childish, submissive) dynamic and rinse and repeat the same boring cycle of: character they find hot (Tommy)/ thinly veiled female coded self-insert (Buck) Same thing that happens with fanon buddie.

It is kinda sad to think that if Tommy had been a female love interest, the fan reaction would’ve been very different. I didn’t completely hate Taylor Kelly but it’s very obvious why Tommy, who also did questionable things before, gets forgiven and elevated to “best love interest” in just 2 episodes and 3 scenes.

Tommy Kinnard is just as an undeveloped as Buck's previous female love interests but he's getting a pass from the fandom because he's hot.

Fanon bucktommy is just tropey headcanon over tropey headcanon. You can enjoy that. But I hated fanon buddie for the same reason so I won’t really be entertaining fanon bucktommy either.

All of this to say I’m coming out as a Buck stan as well. He deserves to be a character and not just a flanderized headcanoned trope. So, if you ever want to hang out with the buddietommy crew give me a follow.

#maria answers #maria rants #i don't hate bucktommy #sometimes the fanonification of ships gets too annoying #911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #buddie #bucktommy #tevan #fandom problems #i need tommy to be the most flamboyant and campiest queen ever and see bucktommy fans “pretend” to not see it

[wonuwrites]

Seventeen as Songs From “The Tortured Poet Department: The Anthology.”

A/N: this album is fucking amazing and has inspired me to write so much. So the way I’m doing this is giving a member a song + a lyric with a mini drabble. In future I might do Song Reactions for a few of these songs *cough* Down Bad and Fortnight *cough* but until then I’m doing it like this. If anyone wants more writing of said drabbles please request it 🫶

Also before I get to warnings let me just say: this is 100% fictional and not at all how I think any of the members are irl. This album doesn’t portray the make counterpart in good light that much (minus But Daddy I Love Him, The Alchemy, + So High School.) however I'm in a angsty af mood so I’m writing it. If you hate it, im sorry. I just have to write it to process my grief. ALSO: not all of them are going to be hella angsty but most will be because this album is unhinged

Warnings: angst (not everyone's though: 96 Line + Joshua is lowkey cute,), Jun's is NSFW so Minors DNI, mentions of alcohol, breakups, heartbreak, codependency, pledis, i also wrote some swear words so if you hate bad words: this album and my writing is not for you lmaoooooo

ღ S. Coups: The Bolter "With a quite bewitching face Splendidly selfish, charmingly helpless Excellent fun 'til you get to know her Then she runs like it's a race."

Seungcheol woke up to an empty bed and couldn't help but sigh before rubbing his face. He let you in again, even after swearing to Jeonghan and Jihoon he was done. However, there was something about you that just kept him wanting more and more. He knew that you were never one for commitment because "Where was the fun in that? Commitment just is a recipe for getting hurt." He knew that trying to pursue a "bolter" was a lost cause but he just couldn't help it. He was madly in love with you and every time you left he felt more devastated than the time before. Every 11:11 he wished that one day you would let him at least try to show you that commitment could be a beautiful thing.

ღ Jeonghan: The Albatross "Locked me up in towers But I'd visit in your dreams And they tried to warn you about me."

Jeonghan knew the risks of dating you. You were what some people called a temptress and a "nightmare dressed like a daydream." He knew that there was a chance you would ruin his life and honestly, at the time, he was all in for it. He was sure he could call your bullshit however time showed that his bullshit was called out. He found out that what everyone said was not as true as they thought. He found you to be the most amazing person in this world so when you left he was heartbroken. You told him you didn't want to be what everyone said but you had to leave and you knew he would find someone even better in the long run. However, he saw you in his dreams, he saw you in faces in the street, he saw you everywhere. He missed you and wished you would be able to let him in so you could prove all of them wrong.

ღ Joshua: Fresh Out The Slammer "And no matter what I've done, it wouldn't matter anyway Ain't no way I'm gonna screw up now that I know what's at stake here."

You looked around the crowd of people as you entered a familiar park. You knew this place all too well and your heart was racing. You just got out of six year relationship with someone you swore was supposed to be your forever person. However, you always unintentionally compared him to your first love, Hong Jisoo. For the past year, you were mentally checked out of your relationship because all you could think about was Jisoo. You took a deep breath before you sat down on an empty swing and waited. You waited for what seemed like five hours when the swing next to you was taken. You glanced over and saw Jisoo looking at you with a soft smile. Your heart started to race as you both made eye contact. It had been so long but he looked as beautiful as ever. Jisoo then leaned over and pressed a kiss against your lips while grabbing both of your hands. You smiled as familiar lips that felt like home brought back warm memories. You then put your foreheads together before awkward giggling. "Welcome home, (Y/N)."

ღ Jun: So High School "Your friends are around, so be quiet I'm trying to stifle my sighs 'Cause I feel so high school every time I look at you But look at you."

You are so head over heels for Moon Junhwi as was he over you. You both felt like it was a first love that you would have back in high school. All of the feelings you would feel back in High School came crashing back. One night when you were celebrating something with all of your friends and with his group members you both ran off into a closet and were just making out when it started to get more and more intense. You both were flushed and giggling as you both helped each other get undressed. He made sure the door was locked before attaching his lips back to you. "Try to stay quiet, baby girl," he would whisper as his fingers made their way to your nipples which caused you to softly moan into his lips. "Yes sir." A quickie would be good enough for now as you tried your best to stifle the moans and sighs that Jun was causing. If his friends knew what was going down, they kept it a secret from you but teased the hell out of him when you were gone.

ღ Hoshi: imgonnagetyouback "And I'll tell you one thing, honey, I can tell when somebody still wants me, come clean."

Soonyoung and you kept crossing paths and it was honestly frustrating you. You both didn't have a horrible breakup but it still was a breakup that hurt a lot. It took everything to get over him and you swore you were over him. However, every time you saw him, you couldn't help but second guess everything. At one of these "crossroad" moments, the "crazy" in you came out after you kept making eye contact with him one too many times. You made your way across the room despite your friends trying to stop you and pulled him to an empty storage room. Both of your breath was heavy before you glared into his eyes and whispered, "I know you still want me, please come clean." This caused him to scoff before pushing you up against the door and whispering, "you first, baby girl."

holy shit, 100 notes and I will write a one shot for this one

ღ Wonwoo: But Daddy I Love Him "Now I'm dancin' in my dress in the sun and Even my daddy just loves him I'm his lady And, oh my God, you should see your faces."

A video of one of you and Wonwoo's first dates ended up getting leaked and soon dating rumors started spreading like wildfire. There was both positive and negative thoughts from both of your fans as expected but to be honest it was just "white noise" for both of you because honestly who gave a fuck what anyone thought. When both of your CEO's sat with both of your managers and you, they informed you that dispatch was working on an article "exposing" the truth and that's when you both realized that you both wanted to be the ones to tell the fans. You decided to post on instagram a mini reel of moments between Wonwoo and you saying, "the rumors are true. wanted to let you know before dispatch told you all." Once you confirmed, there was still some negative press but mostly it was positive which Wonwoo and you were both thankful for.

omg i wanna write a one shot for this too bc what!?

ღ Woozi: The Alchemy "'Cause the sign on your heart Said it's still reserved for me Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?"

Honestly, you were shocked to see Lee Jihoon brace an event like this. Especially, after all this time. It was not his crowd or in his comfort zone. You could see how nervous he was as he fiddled with his arm cuffs and nervous laughing to whatever his friend was saying. Based on rough memories you believed his friends name was "Kwon Soonyoung" but that seemed like many life times ago. It felt like a car crash when you looked at him because you couldn't turn away or look away. Memories of you both kept replaying through your memory. You just stared at the man who you once loved exist on the other side of the room. After awhile, he realized a pair of once familiar eyes were staring at him. He looked back and his face softened. It felt like a movie as you stared at each other. Neither of you remember who walked to who first but soon you both were sitting side by side at the bar laughing and recalling old memories. The hole that was in both of your hearts seemed to be patched up as the conversation progressed. When the night was over, he asked if you would be comfortable seeing him again and you couldn't say 'yes' quick enough.

ღ DK: Peter "And sometimes it gets me When crossing your jet stream We both did the best we could do Underneath the same moon In different galaxies."

"It will always be you, maybe one day we can come back together when it's not so crazy." That was the last thing you ever heard Seokmin say after you both agreed it was time to call it quits. Who's fault was it? Honestly neither of your fault. Neither you or Seokmin could say that you did not try. Of course you both tried. You both tried to make everything work but things were just too different and well 'crazy.' With his career, he was everywhere and vise versa. You both were just never in the same time zone at the same time. It was like this for months when finally it just fizzled. Time moved on, as did both of you, but when you looked out the airplane window and noticed you were flying over Seoul your heart couldn't help but mourn. You wondered what could've been. You wondered if he still laughed while clapping like a seal and if he was still sunshine for everyone he met. It broke you a bit to remember. "It will always be you, Seokmin," you whispered before closing the curtain of the window.

ღ Mingyu: Down Bad "How dare you think it's romantic Leaving me safe and stranded 'Cause fuck it, I was in love So fuck you if I can't have us."

"Kim Mingyu, you are a fucking coward," you whispered as you tried to hide your angry heartbroken tears from him. "(Y/N), trust me this is the last thing I want to do," he whispered with tears threatening to fall. Dispatch had found out about both of your relationship three days ago and the hate toward you was heavy. Delusional fans thought their beloved idol was cheating on them and you deserved to die because it was obviously your fault the 'affair." You were down to fight and continue forward but he couldn't handle the hate you were receiving and knowing there was only so much he could do. Fuck, maybe he was a 'fucking coward' but he was doing it because it would be safe for you. Who knows what saesangs could do to you. If anything happened to you, he would never forgive himself. He rather have you hate his guts then have you killed.

ღ Minghao: I Can Do It With A Broken Heart "I can hold my breath I've been doin' it since he left I keep finding his things in drawers Crucial evidence I didn't imagine the whole thing."

It has been about two months since Minghao and you broke up and it honestly has felt like a fever dream since it happened. Some days were better than others. You honestly thought today was one of the 'better' days but that was before you found one of his cardigans in one of your drawers and you just couldn't help but put it on and lay on the floor. You couldn't help but remember all the memories of him and you with this cardigan. Whether he was wearing it or you were. It was warm just like the memories and it killed you. You wrapped the cardigan around you tighter around you and just sobbed. You knew one day it would stop hurting, but until then, you were just going to run with the punches and try your best to do it with a broken heart.

ღ Seungkwan: My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys "'Cause I knew too much, there was danger in the heat of my touch He saw forever, so he smashed it up.

Seungkwan knew he fucked up the moment he stepped foot into his house after breaking things off with you. Truth be told he was terrified of you. You knew him like the back of your hand and he knew you like the back of his hand. He saw a future with you. He saw you owning a dog, living in a house in Jeju, owning a dog, having one to two kids, everything. However, he wasn't mentally ready for that. At least at the time he thought he wasn't. Now that he was alone and realizing what he had done, guilt was eating him up. He lost everything because his own damn anxiety lied and said there was danger. There was nothing he could do to fix it now.

ღ Vernon: The Black Dog "I move through the world with the heartbroken My longings stay unspoken And I may never open up thе way I did for you."

Nobody understood you the way Hansol did. He had the manuscript on what made you tick. Like how you liked your coffee over exactly five ice cubes, how you would always whisper 'thank you' before eating any kind of meats because they once had a soul, and how you would blink twice before laughing at one of his jokes. So when he made the call to end things you wondered how on earth you would ever find someone who could handle your quirks and wouldn't find you strange. It made you feel abandoned and made you hate him so much for hurting you this way. When you expressed your feelings to your friends, they would tell you it would get better eventually. Eventually, whenever "Hansol" escaped your lips to them they would tell you to stop talking. That's why you just were silently heartbroken as you replayed everything over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.

ღ Dino: So Long, London "You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? I died on the altar waitin' for the proof."

Your phone light blinded you as you stared at Lee Chan's pointless apologies. You both had been struggling in your relationship for the last five months. You thought things were looking up until one of your best friends delivered the heartbreaking news that they saw him kissing a new stylist that started working for them ironically when things started to go shit. You felt many things. You felt betrayed, you felt hurt, you felt sick, you felt embarrassed. He swore he loved you, he pinkie swore he loved you not even three days ago. However, you trusted your best friend and you saw visual proof which was more proof or clues on how much he "loved" you. Even though it killed you, you texted back, "So Long, Iksan." before blocking his number and preparing yourself on officially getting over him.

#wonuwrites #seventeen #svt x reader #seventeen reactions #s coups x reader #jeonghan x reader #joshua x reader #jun x reader #hoshi x reader #wonwoo x reader #woozi x reader #dk x reader #dokyeom x reader #mingyu x reader #minghao x reader #the8 x reader #seungkwan x reader #vernon x reader #dino x reader #dino svt #taylor swift #ttpd #the tortured poets department

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Could you do one where the whole band is in the studio and reader is so desperate that she rides axl in front of everyone. Preferably the original line up in the current era please I love you❤🌷

A/n: I may have gone a little crazy with this but that's ok because who doesn't love the whole pretty boy band <3

Warnings: Smut, gang bang, riding, fingering(f receiving), hand jobs, breeding kink, if you think I missed anything please let me know otherwise enjoy :3

Guns N’ Roses was finally back from tour and you couldn’t have been happier to get to be with Axl again. You called everyday while he was away, with the calls often ending in phone sex, but it wasn’t enough.

You knew from the get go with him that you wouldn’t be able to be with him as much as you might have liked to be, it was just part of being with someone in a band. Didn’t mean you didn’t miss him, in more ways than one.

You’d spent the first few days together, as per usual, but one morning you woke up to find him getting ready to leave.

“Hey, babe, where’re you going?” You asked as you walked into the bathroom where he was.

“Going to the studio today.” He answered through a mouthful of toothpaste. You glanced at his reflection in the mirror then back to him.

“Why? You guys just got back from tour.” He spat into the sink and rinsed his mouth.

“Yeah, where I had a lot of time to think of new songs.” He explained. He planted a kiss on your forehead before heading out of the bathroom and to the walk-in closet. “We’re going to a studio to work on the instrumentals of some of them for our next album.” You watched as he sorted through clothes.

“What about me?” You asked, looking up at him with a small pout.

“What about you?” He asked with a chuckle.

“You expect me to just sit here all day?”

“Don’t you do that a lot anyway?” You glared at him, arms crossed over your chest and he gave you a kiss instead of apologising. “It’s only a few hours and then I’ll be home again.” You scoffed. He started changing in front of you, you watched him shamelessly.

“I’m coming with you.” You stated and started picking out your own outfit.

“No you’re not.” He looked at you with a confused expression. “What would you even do?” You shrugged.

“Nothing.” You said as you found an outfit for yourself. “But I want to be with you, so I’m coming.” He stared at you for a moment before deciding that he’s not going to be able to change your mind.

“Fine, be ready in ten minutes or I’m leaving without you.

You finished getting ready, it took longer than ten minutes but you knew he wouldn’t leave without you, and of course he didn’t. He was still waiting in the kitchen on his phone, completely having lost sense of time.

Upon entering the studio you were met with familiar faces all around. Slash was looking down at his Les Paul, Izzy was watching him and strumming along a rhythm to it. Steven and Duff were talking about dogs. At least you assumed so since they were showing each other pictures of dogs.

They all greeted you and Axl when you came in. Axl guided you to the couch and sat next to you, throwing an arm around you and holding you close to his side.

They were all talking about one thing or another, the tour, home life, stuff like that before actually diving into what they came there for which was the next album.

You were bored out of your mind. No one cared when you went on your phone, you didn’t really have much reason to be there anyway other than them asking your opinion on some things, which lyric fit better, whether or not they should add more solos. You enjoyed helping when you could but you were so fucking bored you were losing your mind.

You started reading about Axl, finding smutty fics about him to pass the time. It did help, to a point. After a few minutes of reading all you wanted was to act it out.

You knew he had his phone in his pocket so you texted him, saying how needy you were. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and looked at it, glancing back at you before responding. He told you to go deal with it in the bathroom. You huffed and stayed seated on the couch.

As they kept talking you decided ‘fuck it’ and started pushing the joint in your thumb against your clit through your thin, summer shorts. It wasn’t much but it was some form of friction, friction you were craving.

You kept your eyes on your phone for the most part but when you heard Slash’s low chuckle you had to look up. His glasses covered his eyes so you couldn’t see exactly where he was looking but you could tell he was looking at you, watching you touch yourself. His hand covered his mouth but he was smiling, you could see it in his cheeks. That much was a motivator to keep going.

You spread your legs and reached your hand into your shorts, continuing to touch yourself but this time with a viewer. Slash kept watching, smiling, chuckling to himself.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Slash?” Axl finally asked. His tone wasn’t angry, even though you couldn’t see his face you could hear the way the corners of his mouth were pulled into a smile.

The guitarist shook his head and gestured to you. You quickly closed your legs and hid what you had been doing so when Axl turned to look at you there was nothing to see. Sure enough he asked Slash what you’d been doing.

“Go deal with your girlfriend.” He mumbled, aiming his gaze to the ground. Axl turned around again and took a closer look at you. Your cheeks were flushed, sweat was starting to collect at your hairline and your breathing was heavy.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He came over to you, getting your pants and panties off. You started squirming and reaching for your clothes, not expecting him to undress you in front of his band. “I told you to stay home but no you just had come along, now look at you.” He gestured to your now half-naked body. You still tried to cover yourself but he wouldn’t let you, holding your legs apart as his bandmates gathered around behind him to gawk at your glistening folds.

Axl slapped your thigh. “Get up.” You did as he asked, though still wanting to cover yourself. Axl got his half-hard dick out of his pants and sat down behind you before pulling you down on him, slipping into you with ease given how hot you made yourself prior.

He got your legs onto the couch so you were straddling him, backwards cowgirl style. He wanted you to do all the work, since this was what you wanted in the first place. He also wanted this position so that his friends could see everything, from your pretty little cunt to the faces you made when you came.

“Go on, give us a show.” Duff said, already palming himself through his jeans. Axl patted the space beside him for Duff to come sit. He did and pulled out his hard member for you to jerk. You let out a soft whine and reached for him, starting to bounce yourself on Axl’s cock while stroking Duff’s.

Steven came over as well, standing to the side of you so as to not abstract Slash and Izzy’s view of you. He dropped his own pants and waited expectantly for you to let him in on the fun. You glanced back to Axl. “Can’t keep him waiting.” He said with a grin. You looked back to Steven and started pumping his shaft as well.

You thought this was a lot but you knew it wasn’t the end of it either. Izzy and Slash were both standing farther back working themselves. It seemed that you watching them acted as confirmation and they came over.

They didn’t make you take them into your mouth like you thought they would, much to your delight. Instead, they started jerking themselves off in your face and all you could do was wait for them to cum on you.

Your body was getting tired, arms wanted to fall to your sides and your legs began to shake under you as you kept bouncing on Axl. Seeing this the ginger started fucking up into you, making it a little easier.

Of course he knew your body better than anyone and knew exactly which spots to hit to make your eyes roll back. You had five men around you, all with their dicks out for you. It made everything feel better, especially when Duff reached over to rub your clit.

He has long, talented fingers that quickened everything you were feeling. “Fuck! ‘M-’m gonna cum, gonna cum!” You whined, hands clenching and unclenching around Duff and Steven’s cocks which seemed to get Steven over the edge, white liquid spurting onto your lap.

You looked down at it with stars in your eyes. It was then that you realised how badly you wanted all of them to cum on you. You kept jerking Steven off, his voice getting higher now. You could feel Axl twitching inside of you so you looked back at him.

“Please cum inside, want it so bad, please.” You whined. Axl had always wanted kids so you learned early on in your relationship that he had a breeding kink and asking him to cum inside your tight cunt was a sure fire way to make him cum.

Sure enough he grabbed your hips and held you down on him while his cum filled you up. That feeling alone almost made you cum but what really did it was Slash toying with your nipple.

You hadn’t been looking at him so his warm hand was already a surprise but the way he fondled you made your eyes roll back into your head. Your body shook and the couch under you, along with Axl’s lap, was now drenched.

You heard Duff groaning beside you and looked over just in time to catch his dick leaking, thick liquid coating your hand. His hand didn’t stop working on your clit, rubbing it, pinching and flicking. Seeing what made you moan the loudest and sweetest.

Izzy turned your head and thick ropes spurted onto your face. You stared up at him, lips parted as his seed slipped into your mouth. You were in such a trance for a moment you almost missed the feeling of Slash cumming on your chest.

More than once you’d caught him staring at your chest, really anyone’s chest. You smiled up at him and moved up and down Axl a few more times so he could watch your tits bounce while he came.

You were all breathing heavy, panting on one another as you came down from your highs.

“Get up.” Axl said with a heavy breath, patting your thigh. You got up and then started questioning what he wanted, your mind still in a haze. Sweat and jizz mixed together on your body and dripped down.

“Why..?” You asked out of breath and legs shaking beneath you.

“You wanted to get fucked so bad,” the ginger started, “why not give everyone a turn?” You stared up at him with wide eyes as you felt Slash’s big, warm hands wrap around your waist.

#guns n roses #guns n roses fanfic #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses smut #gnr fanfiction #gnr #izzy gnr #duff gnr #slash gnr #axl gnr #axl rose x reader #axl rose smut #axl rose fanfiction #axl rose #axl rose gnr #axl rose imagine

[xbomboi]

misc. bribelle thoughts

prefacing this by saying bribelle is my favorite ship. actually might be one of my favorite all time ships considering whenever i catch 11:11 i make a tweet on my priv twitter saying “11:11 bribelle and rarijack” because i’m insane.

anywho…

i think it’s a lot easier to justify saying faybelle potentially has feelings for briar in a canon context because even aside from her diary, her behavior in epic winter can most definitely be read with flirtatious undertones, especially after witnessing the dream sequence

but i’m always trying to justify things to myself in accordance to canon without feeling ooc, because i’m the type of creative who would rather write my own original thing than make alterations to a pre-existing work. that’s just me.

and briar is trickier to do so with. in the show alone, she only actually verbally responds to faybelle once and it’s a line that also adds exposition. “but it’s forbidden!” girl come on throw faybelle a bone at least…

by epic winter, i’d say briar could potentially have had surface level attraction to faybelle, but it isn’t until having that dream and probably especially post-epic winter when she’d get time to actually reflect on it that she’d start to develop palpable feelings for her.

i’ve kinda noticed something about briar: she likes attention. i guess she’s kinda like faybelle in that respect.

briar grew up with neglectful parents. fill in the blanks. why wouldn’t she want attention when she lacks it properly from the two most important people in her life?

along this line of thinking, briar especially values explicit displays of affection, particularly from a potential romantic partner.

so, regrettably, let’s look at her relationship with hopper.

i.e. briar’s behavior in the webisode “Here Comes Cupid.”

when she first confronts hopper about his unconventional advances, she’s disinterested and borderline repulsed.

but after hearing him profess his love via the recording, she’s taken aback and actually grows endeared.

until this BAFOON fumbles the bag and does some really creepy shit by leaning into her personal space and calling her hot. understandably, this miffs briar and she once again loses interest.

(side note, too many people ignore how blatantly creepy hopper is to women, ESPECIALLY briar. he needs to be held accountable, not rewarded by getting the girl.)

even then, despite not necessarily returning his affections, she’s somewhat comfortable in the status quo that he devotes his attention to her. which is exactly why i think in bunny’s diary (bunny is wrong btw she doesn’t know a damn thing so idk why the one wiki that’s not the official wiki list hopper as briars crush when the source is bunny’s word like fuck all) bunny mentions observing briar appearing disappointed when ginger asks hopper to the dance and he accepts.

to briar, it’s like she’s losing one of the few things she’s familiar with, the few constants in her life. in this case, her only plausible option who she’d have reason to believe would accept. and we all know how briar is about losing things.

briar sorta settles into this state of fondness towards hopper’s affections, despite them being unrequited. because at least he gives a damn about her.

faybelle—at least, outside of her diary and up until epic winter—might as well be any villain; faybelle just wants to cause chaos for the sake of ruining somebody’s day. and i don’t think briar likes it that way.

i’d assume around the time of faybelle’s introduction to the series, briar’s stance would be one of upset towards faybelle, believing she doesn’t take their story as seriously as she(briar) does. that her role in sleeping beauty isn’t as important to her as being evil in general.

i have half the mind to say that this could potentially be read from briar’s behavior in faybelle’s diary.

first off, that underlining wasn’t added; the underlines are in the official print. meaning briar is putting emphasis on those words specifically. sure it’s a lesson to faybelle about not being an asshole, but also it reflects on briar in a way. like it could be her saying, “you’re supposed to be my villain, but you act like i’m no different to you than anyone else.”

now, this next part is obviously a surface-level gag about faybelle making a malicious act seem so thrilling, but if we close our eyes and pretend that we’re in a different world called I.D.G.A.F. dimension, we can now analyze this in a different light.

briar’s confused by faybelle’s verbal expression of almost-affection. it doesn’t help that she’s most definitely barely awake. but i’m willing to say her confusion is partially born out of actually having heard faybelle say such a thing. it’s gotta be surprising and hard to believe in that moment, because briar has every reason to think otherwise.

in the show, like i said, faybelle just does whatever the fuck. open a sweat shop? sure why not. assist her peer’s mom in attempting to turn the entire world into her own dictatorship? count her in. make a deal with the mafia? just a regular tuesday. but god forbid she focus on being the one to make the sleeping happen in sleeping beauty.

i think that irks briar. or at least make her generally act indifferent when faybelle comes waltzing around to do god knows what; if she won’t care, why should briar, right?

then there’s epic winter. or, as i like to call it in bribelle terms, “they finally fucking interacted”

when briar explains faybelle’s inclusion of herself to crystal, she simply says it’s her thing and cites the sleeping beauty story. like “hey crystal this is my villain btw, trust.”

later when briar’s yapping about the story, some may say it’s counterproductive in relation to briar’s arc that ashlynn brings up the miserable part of it only for briar to talk fondly of it, but i know briar personally, and have been filled in as to what the truth is.

briar dropped that attitude because faybelle was there. she started talking up the story, almost as a cue to faybelle, like “hey remember how you’re like a big part of my life’s purpose???”

faybelle butts in about it. and briar doesn’t get the chance to respond, but i think she was almost expecting faybelle NOT to gaf, so her doing so threw her off just a little. maybe she expected to hear something like “who cares?” instead.

then of course when they get to the castle briar’s little act is dropped and her deep fear of the sleeping beauty destiny is once again present. and of fucking COURSE that’s when faybelle decides to CARE ABOUT THEIR STORY.

listen to me, LISTEN. briar looks at faybelle BEFORE faybelle actually says “no, there’s another room far more important to our story. isn’t there, briar?” she looks at her BEFORE she actually talks. she was looking to see if she’d react, then when faybelle does speak she looks away, then she bumps her to get her attention so briar has to fight the adhd and lock in.

and faybelle just keeps instigating which honestly kinda takes briar out of her typical sulking over her destiny mood and more of like ‘what is your game here exactly’ mindset.

there’s so much to that look briar gives her. so many emotions in there.

after this they go up and faybelle taunts some more only for briar to almost actually prick her finger yada yada. and like i said, it’s a lot easier to understand faybelle’s pov. it’s very clear she doesn’t actually wanna go through with cursing briar, teasing and all. she makes as much obvious by her reaction alone when briar gets too close.

but once briar’s fine she’s like ‘yeah, okay, back to normal,’ meanwhile briar is kinda just done because faybelle is acting a fool. but she never shoves faybelle off of her unlike she did when hopper intruded on her boundaries huh briar why is that what’s that about briar still, briar has yet to have any indication from faybelle about how she actually feels in regards to their story and her role in it. or how it pertains to their relationship with each other. rather, faybelle doesn’t take it seriously much to briar’s chagrin.

then the dream sequence happens.

to me, this is the turning point.

it’s a stupid music video for an insert song, but goddamnit it confirmed darabella and even hunter got to be there with ashlynn so i’ll die standing on business.

this is what briar’s been waiting for from faybelle. that frenemy status is something i think briar wants to figure out which one to see faybelle as, depending on how she really wants to proceed with the story. and i’d say faybelle surprises her; hell, she even shows her a side of her rarely seen.

like with hopper, an outward display of affection such as this is something briar is drawn to. faybelle’s display towards briar in the dream sequence is something briar would be endeared by, as she goes out of her way to prevent her from experiencing the very thing she’s been dreading for so long. that’s gotta fit briar’s love language.

side note, i think it’s very very interesting to note that faybelle is the one to swoop in and save briar in this case, without any other characters present to show a significance in the ending of the story. i say this because hunter gets to be in ashlynn’s sequence and the bears are in blondie’s, despite none of them being in the tower asleep. all this is to say, if briar really did have feelings for hopper or really was gonna end up with him or some guy, they’d be there, right? but nope, just faybelle. I Understand.

after that we don’t really see them interact at all again, but there’s the general disdain for faybelle’s actions as a shared sentiment amongst the others. either way, by the end she shows remorse and seemingly ends on good terms with everyone, meaning i don’t see why briar wouldn’t be left thinking about the dream, seeing her in a whole new light. honestly briar would probably be kinda intrigued by the idea of the bad girl having a soft side for her. briar and i actually spoke about this the other day.

either way, this is briar learning that despite the general ignorance faybelle portrayed, she actually does care about her.

faybelle demonstrating, proving to briar that she is capable of showing affection and actually does care for her is what i think is enough for briar to begin to start falling. (which is kinda reflected in how i approached their relationship in fable fest.)

because briar knows there might actually be something there.

or maybe it’s a kid’s cartoon and one girl mean other one nice, idk.

#guess how many mental illnesses i have #2 digit number #that’s an exaggeration #point still stands #i cry when i think about bribelle #eah #ever after high #briar beauty #faybelle thorn #bribelle #briar x faybelle #briar and faybelle #ramble #duncontent #i’m half asleep so i pray i hope i don’t wake up going “who let me post this!”

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

"Time & the Trickster"

a Loki/Doctor Who crossover

Epilogue: Goddess of Stories

Time goes by...

CHAPTER WARNING (18+): none, other than I cried again

Previous Chapter

MASTERLIST

The Doctor sniffed the air as he stepped out of the smoking TARDIS. He reached into his pocket and felt the Sonic Screwdriver inside. Taking it out, he pressed a button, grinning when it lit up and proved that it was fully-functional again.

The environment smelled deliciously familiar. London. His native timeline. Approximately…2007 AD? 

Looking down at the rubbish-covered sidewalk in front of the alley where the TARDIS landed, The Doctor smiled and picked up a dirty, wet flier that simply read ‘Vote Saxon.’

“I’m back!” he said with a grin. He opened his mouth and breathed in to taste the air around him. “And…hmm…what’s that?” 

Beyond the alley, a bit further on, a large skyscraper seemingly brand-new to the London horizon stood, a large sign in the front reading ‘Adipose Industries.” 

“Adipose, eh? Now, that’s a bit curious, isn’t it? What are they doing here?” he said aloud to himself, the name triggering The Doctor’s immediate interest. He walked across the street for a closer look. Something strange was brewing here, he could feel it, perhaps something dangerous or even deadly. 

And he wouldn’t miss it for anything. 

“You heading out, Sis?” Joey called out from the sofa, his head leaning back against the cushions. 

You were dressed in a lovely black cocktail dress, hair tossed expertly into a messy bun. The high heels you’d gotten proved to be a bit too much, but  you knew you had to make the right impression at this dinner meeting. 

“Yeah, don’t wait up,” you replied. “If it goes well, they’ll sign me, and we’ll get a round of congratulatory drinks.” 

You sucked in your breath, observing yourself one last time in the long mirror mounted in the doorway of your small-but-cozy house in the northern suburb, purchased with the sale of your first book last year. The novel you’d written about a lonely woman saving the world by returning a god to the stars was an underground hit when you’d first independently published it, and after six months and two reprints to meet demand, Random House was on the verge of signing a three-book deal with you, estimated to be worth at least a million once you chose and signed with the agent you were meeting tonight.

It was your birthday, three years to the night that you’d rescued Loki from a holding cell downtown. The date for this life-changing moment seemed almost preordained. 

“You got this,” called Joey half-heartedly. You knew he meant it, but he was already four beers into his night off, and he could only muster so much emotion without exhausting himself. His new bartending job was on a college campus, and he was still adjusting to the busy weekends of ungrateful 20-year-olds demanding to be served. 

Neither of you seemed to want to rush into relationships. Joey had never been the type for long-term entanglements of any sort, and the fallout of your whirlwind romance with the God of Stories had left most other prospects lacking. You’d dated in the years since that adventurous summer, but no one stuck in your heart the way Loki had. 

You hoped he hadn’t ruined you. Only time would tell. 

Your taxi was late, but seeing as it was a beautiful, rain-free spring evening, it was a pleasure to wait under the setting sun for it. It didn’t hurt that you didn’t live in the city anymore. The air smelled better, the ambience was less-frantic, and best of all: you could see the sky at night, which was what you’d told Joey was the most important factor when you decided to continue cohabitation and look for a new place. You could still see the city from your front yard, especially at night when it was all aglow, but the light pollution didn’t extend far enough to obscure the stars.

Almost every night that wasn’t overcast, you spent hours sitting on the low roof over the front door, watching for any sign that what you’d been through, the things you’d seen, and the feelings you’d experienced had all been real. Joey had always been able to assure you that your journey across the sea to restore Loki to his terrible throne had been real. 

To keep those feelings close to your memories, you wrote them down and gave them to your brother to read. 

“Damn,” he had said after reading your first draft, “you should get these in print…maybe change the names a bit so Disney doesn’t bean you with a lawsuit…”

Taking his suggestion to mind, you adjusted a few factors: turning Loki and The Doctor specifically into original characters who just HAPPENED to share a lot in common with their counterparts. After two furious rewrites, you had a worthy tale that caught a lot of attention. Several books about “The Great Greening” (which scientists had explained away as a climate change phenomenon) had preceded yours, but none read as intimately as what you had to offer. Admittedly, you’d played up the romance and added a bit of wishful thinking (having included an alternate ending to the book where Loki came back for you and Sylvie was tied to the throne forever). It was the sincere passion behind your words that attracted fans. 

The final signing was taking place over dinner at the Blue Palm downtown, the only place in Syracuse fancy enough to serve escargot. 

You closed your eyes as you stood in your driveway, waiting for your cab (perhaps a car would be your next extravagant purchase). You gently whispered one word into the night:

Loki. 

Opening your eyes, you were just in time to see a green streak line the sky before disappearing over the tree line. You went warm inside. Someone was thinking of you and loving you tonight. 

“I love you too,” you sighed with a smile. “Forever.” 

You knew you would never see him again, yet every time you felt the anxiety rise in your blood, you told yourself one thing: you were in Loki’s caring hands, even if from ‘somewhere out there.’ As long as you could see that green flash in the night, you knew he was real, and that he was watching. 

Conscious of a large yellow cab pulling up around the corner, you took in one more brave breath, and rode off toward your future. 

Always watching. For eternity. A Time Lord of his own ordination. 

All Loki could do was remain tethered to the golden throne, all of time between his fingers, the most powerful creature to ever exist, and also the most powerless. His only consolation was the ability to see within them, like a spectator watching you move on without him. 

He could see Mobius play with his sons. He could see The Doctor jetting around history with his ginger-haired best friend. He could see Joey finally become manager at his job. He could see you on your book tour, smiling for cameras and earning enough money to guarantee your security. It seemed you were becoming quite a goddess of stories.

All of you were getting on with your lives in various ways, as it should have been. 

Now, he was watching with quiet pride as you accepted the proposal of the good-looking, warm-hearted man you’d met the night you’d signed your first book deal, who'd started off as your agent before you both found your feelings for one another morphing into something more. Loki sent out a green falling star to celebrate your engagement, and to give his blessing to your match.

A tear pricked the corner of his eye. You made all of it worthwhile. It was an honor keeping you alive. 

“For you,” he repeated one final time, “For all of us."

Thank you for going on this journey with me. I hope it was worth the trip! ~. Lena

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