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pellucid-constellations · 1 month

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Trial and Error (4)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Illness, Azriel's pov 👀

a/n: Someone sedate me at this point. Also I'm posting this earlier than planned because I am susceptible to peer pressure

Read part one | part two | part three | part five

Main Masterlist ♡

Azriel sat at the table for breakfast, his attention occupied by the window to his right. A plate of eggs, bacon, and toasted bread sat forgotten and untouched before him. To be honest, Azriel was unsure of how it even came to be in front of him.

Cassian was saying something, the rest of the table humoring him with sleepy mumbles and raised brows. He was always so lively in the mornings, a sentiment not shared by the rest of the inner circle.

Azriel was typically one of the more responsive people, but his shadow was late today. It had been a few weeks of sending one out to check on you every night, and this one was late. The rest of them swarmed around his feet in anticipation.

“Az?” Mor’s voice had him breaking his stare from the window. “What are you looking at? You’ve been checked out all breakfast.”

Azriel cleared his throat and readjusted in his seat. “Nothing. Just distracted.”

She snorted. “That’s an understatement. You’re been distracted for weeks now. What’s been going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Azriel repeated. He picked up his fork despite his stomach protesting, the nerves twisting it to the point of unease.

“Hate to concur, Az, but you have been rather absent. I think this is the first time you’ve had a meal with us this week,” Rhysand chimed in.

From beside him, Feyre shot her mate a look.

Azriel, feeling eyes on him, glanced to his left to find Cassian leering at him with narrowed eyes. His brother leaned his head back and hooked his arm over the back of his chair, analyzing Azriel amidst his lax posture.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “What?”

With his tongue pressed into his cheek, Cassian let out a disbelieving huff. “You’re seeing someone,” he concluded. “Who is she? Why haven’t you said anything?”

“I’m not seeing anyone. Why would you come to that conclusion?”

“You answered that way too quickly to be believable.”

“Azriel, are you seeing someone? There wouldn’t be anything wrong with that,” came Mor’s soft tone—trying to play the opposite side of the coin.

“No, I—“

“He is. I know he is.” Cassian, with his assured pestering. “And don’t think I don’t notice how Rhys is being silent here. And Feyre. The only two people in the room that can read minds.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Feyre defended.

“Yeah!” Nyx yelled, quick to defend his mother. “Nothing!”

But Nyx’s interference only made Cassian turn his attention to the small child and knock his head to the side.

“Nyx—“ Cassian began. In response, Nyx shoved a fork full of eggs into his mouth. “Azriel’s been taking you to school an awful lot, hasn’t he?”

“Mmhmm,” Nyx nodded.

“And he’s been going to all of your school events?”

Nyx nodded again, this time with a mouthful of juice.

“Does Azriel talk to anyone when he’s at your school?”

“He talks to Ms. Fern.”

Cassian let out a barking laugh and turned back to Azriel with a wide grin. “Ms. Fern? Okay, Az, if that’s what does it for you. You should bring her to the house.”

Although he felt an immense pride for Nyx keeping his secret (because Nyx had seen him talking to you countless times) a strange, hot anger licked at the bond hanging loose in his chest.

He wasn’t seeing Ms. Fern. The reasonable part of his mind told him that it was better this way, you would feel safer, but the unreasonable side wanted to knock Cassian across the room.

You were so much better than Ms. Fern. The teacher didn’t “do it for him” and never would. It was insulting to you.

Azriel ground his teeth. He knew this reaction was more borne from the fact his shadow hadn’t returned and the worry he was feeling was paralyzing, but reasoning with himself did nothing.

“I will not be—“

Sick, sad, help.

A whisper at his ear made Azriel rein in his words.

Alone, alone, alone.

Azriel snapped his head to the side to find his missing shadow whisking down to join the rest, the hoard of them now rising to leave. To get to you, he realized. He had to—

“What is it?” Rhysand asked.

Azriel could feel his talons scratch along the barrier of his mind, but there was no time to let Rhysand hear what he’d heard. In one fluid motion, Azriel was up from the table and out of the house, his wings spread wide behind him as he flew to the outskirts of Velaris where you resided.

One of the first things he would suggest after he got you to trust him was for you to move.

He’d already reinforced your locks and checked your neighbors, but you were still so far and that side of Velaris wasn’t the best.

He’d ask you to move into the House of Wind, but he knew that’d be pushing it. Obviously.

His back ached as he pressed his wings further, desperate to make it to you. He flung his body one way and then the other to dodge buildings as he went, flying low to save time. Luckily, the streets were barren this early.

But it wasn’t early enough for your shop to be closed, an all too alarming fact when faced with the “closed” sign on the front door. He yanked on the knob anyways, but the door wouldn’t budge.

He cursed himself for ensuring their stability.

He started knocking next—soft at first and then with a blistering urgency. He knocked and knocked and was moments away from flying up to your window and possibly scaring you off for good when the door wrenched open.

You looked beyond disheveled, bone-tired, and frankly gaunt as you stared up at him with an incredulous gaze. Your gaze softened a fraction when you saw it was Azriel beating down your door, but a tinge of irritation remained hazing your eyes.

“Azriel, we’re closed for—”

“Are you okay?” he rushed out.

Since the open house, Azriel had been more open with his vies to take care of you. If he were being honest, the intrinsic need to protect you and Melanie was overwhelming and he was barely scratching the surface of all he wanted to do, but you became guarded any time he got too intense. So, he walked you home and asked you about your family and he didn’t care if he got a stonewall in response.

But right now, you did not look well.

Right now, there was no Melanie peaking behind your legs as you stood at the apothecary door.

So, right now, Azriel didn’t have a mind to be subtle.

“Where is Melanie? Are you hurt?” he asked before you could formulate a response.

He watched your knuckles pale as you gripped the door. You breathed in deeply. “Mel has been sick all night. I’m not sure what it is and I’ve been trying everything. I’m about two seconds away from calling a healer but…”

Azriel knew that tell—the way your eyes shifted and your expression pinched.

More people.

Anytime you were confronted with introducing more people into Melanie’s life, you crumbled.

“Let me come see her,” Azriel requested, the tension leaking from his voice into a softer tone. Now that he knew the two of you weren’t dying, there was some relief. Some.

You shook your head, pressing your lips into a firm line as you deflated. “I don’t want to get you sick. I think I'm already a lost cause, but you—you have important things to do.”

If only you knew how important you were to him.

Azriel felt his fists clench at the defeated look in your eye. “If you’re sick, you can’t take care of her. Just let me come in. Let me help, y/n.”

“Azriel…”

“Please. Let me take care of you.”

He wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his mouth, afraid of you drawing back in fear, but they were already lingering in the space between you. Azriel decided you must have been truly exhausted because your only reply was a pained sigh followed by your door swinging open to let him in.

You didn’t even send him a sidelong glance.

Azirel’s hand twitched as he followed you up the stairs to your apartment, the urge to press his fingers along your back stifling.

One step at a time, Azriel—you were only just letting him into your house.

Any examination of your apartment abruptly halted as soon as his feet met the threshold of the sitting room. Melanie was lying on the couch looking worse for wear with a cloth along her forehead and a flush to her cheeks that did not sit well with the Shadowsinger. His chest caved in at the sight, a feeling that intensified when her small voice filled the space.

“Mr. Azriel?” she croaked, attempting to lift her head. You rushed over to press her back down, running your fingers through her hair. “He’s always at my house,” Melanie said, turning to look at you. “Always.”

You let out a breathy laugh as Melanie shut her eyes and began to softly snore against the arm of the loveseat. Azriel’s shadows rushed to the girl and brushed against her forehead and arms, offering the cool wind they provided.

In a few steps, Azriel took a knee beside you. He looked at you first—at the way you hovered over your daughter with furrowed brows—and then let his gaze wash over Melanie. Against his better judgment, he wrapped his scarred fingers around her tiny hands.

No poison, his shadows reported, although he didn’t expect it to be. She was feverish, hadn’t eaten since last night, couldn’t keep anything down; it was rare for fae to get so sick, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t concerning.

Even more worrisome was the fever emanating from you. Azriel could feel the heat on his shoulder and he could tell you hadn’t stopped to rest.

“I know a healer that can help. She wouldn’t say anything to anyone,” Azriel said after a beat of silence.

You paused your fingers in Melanie’s hair. “Do you promise?”

The sickness had worn you down, taking the fight and fear right out of you.

“I promise on everything. I wouldn’t bring someone here that wasn’t safe.”

Azriel called Majda.

Majda arrived in a few minutes, much to your surprise. Azriel had gotten the door upon her knock, his eyes catching the way your knees shook as you went to stand.

Majda kneeled in front of the couch where you and Azriel once were, her healing magic lighting up the room. Behind her, Azriel stood with you and he watched.

He watched your worried brow and the way you picked at your fingers. He watched the flush on your face get worse and worse as your daughter’s illness gradually got you sicker. He watched the way you tracked each of Majda’s movements, ready to jump in at a moment’s notice.

He watched your body shake as it held you up.

He watched his mate and saw how alone you were.

Azriel reached up and tucked a hair behind your pointed ear, using the ploy to feel for the temperature on your cheek. You turned to look up at him and he felt the way his expression strained.

“You should let her look at you too,” he said, voice low and calm.

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”

“You aren’t.”

You turned back to your daughter, looking on.

Azriel no longer cared for the farce he’d been putting on. He stepped closer and let his palm rest on the small of your back if only to support you from collapsing. He saw you glance at him from the corner of your eye, but you made no move to step away.

It took Majda 13 minutes to come to a conclusion. Azriel knew that because he had been counting.

“Well, first of all, she will be okay. As will you, as I see you may have the same illness,” the older healer spoke, rising from the ground with a grunt. “It is most unusual—what ails you. Do you have Autumn's blood?”

The fingers you had pressed to your mouth were abruptly dropped. You looked up to Azriel with panic in your eyes, a question clear in your expression.

He hadn’t known where you were from, but he had guessed, and you were looking at him as if he knew—as if he knew and you wanted to know if it was safe for the healer to know as well.

Azriel nodded his head and ignored the bittersweet feeling in his chest.

He had wanted you to tell him when you were ready.

“Yes,” you uttered, shaking your head much faster than you spoke. “We both are. Is that—does that have something to do with it?”

Majda offered you a thin smile. “You have Autumn fever. Something to do with the fire that lingers in your blood. Sometimes it does not align with the other courts and your body revolts. It will pass in a few days as most. Uncomfortable bugger to be sure, but nothing that cannot be managed.”

You sagged against Azriel in relief, the shadowsinger catching your weight as your knees buckled. He pulled you closer to his front but didn’t feel complete until he guided you back to the couch and leaned over Melanie as she slept.

“She’ll be okay?” you asked.

Azriel thought the question was for Majda, but when he looked to his side you were staring directly at him, fear and fever in your gaze.

He lost his breath and captured your face in his hands. “She’ll be okay,” he assured. You were so hot against his skin. “You will too. I’ll fix it.”

Something righted in your expression—something softened. For the first time since he entered your house, you let out a full breath and allowed your eyelids to drop. It was barely thirty seconds before your head fell as well, your forehead landing on Azriel’s collarbone. He trailed his hand up to rest against your hair and placed his other on Melanie’s knee as he stayed beside the couch.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Shadowsinger,” Majda crooned. “That’s a whole lot of responsibility. A lot of secrets.”

Azriel tightened his hold on you. “Do you have herbs that would help? To lessen fever or pain?”

Majda hummed. “I will leave a few.” A pause. The floorboards creaked as Majda went to make her exit. “Heed my words, Azriel.”

“I know what I’m doing—what I’m getting myself into.” He dropped his nose to your temple, listening to your breath as you slept. His shadows continued their mission of cooling Melanie’s feverish skin.

“Do you?”

Azriel considered the question, and no, he didn’t know.

But he couldn’t find it within himself to care.

part five

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x female!reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #azriel spymaster #acotar #acotar fanfiction

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walks-the-ages · 2 years

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OP deactivated, and some of the links were broken/marked unsafe by Firefox, so here's a new compilation post of Leslie Feinburg's (She/her, ze/hir) novels and essays on being transgender:

Stone Butch Blues official free source directly from Author's website:

Stone Butch Blues, backup on the webarchive:

Transgender Liberation: A movement whose time has come, on the web archive:

Transgender Warriors: Making History from Joan of Arc to Dennis Rodman, on the web archive:

Lavender and Red, PDF essay collection:

Drag King Dreams, on the web archive:

(Also, if anyone ever tells you that the protagonist of Stone Butch Blues ""ends up with a man""........ they're transmisogynistic jackass TERFs who are straight up lying)

Please also check out your local public libraries for these books and see if they carry them, to help support public libraries! If you have a library card already you can checkout Libby and Overdrive to see if your public library carries it as an ebook that you can checkout :)

EDIT: another not included on the orignal masterpost-- Trans Liberation: Beyond Pink or blue !

annnnnd in light of the web archive losing it's court case, here's a backup of both PDFs and generated epubs a friend made:

5/26/2023: hello! I am adding on yet another book of queer history, this time the autobiography of Karl Baer, a Jewish, intersex trans man who was born in 1884! Please signal boost this version, and remember to check the notes whenever this crosses your dash for any new updates :)

6/24/2023:

Two links to share!

Someone made an Epub version of Memoirs of a Man's Maiden Years, which you can find Here , as a more accessible version than a pdf of a scanned book if you're like me and need larger text size for reading--

And from another post I reblogged earlier today, I discovered the existence of "TransSisters: the Journal of Transsexual Feminism", which has 10 issues from 1993-1995, and includes multiple interviews with Leslie Feinburg and other queer feminists / activists of the 90s!

Here's a link to all 10 issues of TransSisters, plus a 1996 "look back at" by one of the writers after the journal ended, you can find all 10 issues on the Internet Archive Here !

------

8/28/2023:

"Bi Any Other Name: Bisexual People Speak Out", can be found on the web archive Here, for the 25th Anniversary Edition from 2015,

and also Here, for the original 1991 version.

Each of the above can be borrowed for one hour at a time as long as a copy is available :D

This is a living post that receives sporadic updates on the original, if you are seeing this on your dash, click Here to see the latest version of the post to make sure you're reblogging the most up to date one :)

------------

October, 25th 2023:

"I began to dawdle over breakfast during shift changes, asking both waitresses questions. After weeks of inquiries, they invited me to a demonstration, outside Kleinhan's Music Hall, protesting the Israeli war against Egypt and Syria. I was particularly interested in that protest. The state of Israel had been declared shortly before my birth. In Hebrew school I was taught "Palestine was a land without peo-ple, for a people without a land." That phrase haunted me as a child. I pictured ears with no one in them, and movies projected on screens in empty theaters. When I checked a map of that region of the Middle East in my school geography textbook, it was labeled Palestine, not Israel. Yet when I asked my grandmother who the Palestinians were, she told me there were no such people. The puzzle had been solved for me in my adolescence. I developed a strong friendship with a Lebanese teenager, who explained to me that the Palestinian people had been driven off their land by Zionist settlers, like the Native peoples in the United States. I studied and thought a great deal about all she told me. From that point on I staunchly opposed Zionist ideology and the occupation of Palestine. So I wanted to go to the protest. However, I feared the demonstration, no matter how justified, would be tainted by anti-Semitism. But I was so angered by the actions of the Israeli government and military, that I went to the event to check it out for myself. That evening, I arrived at Kleinhan's before the protest began. Cops in uniforms and plainclothes surrounded the music hall. I waited impatiently for the protesters to arrive. Suddenly, all the media swarmed down the street. I ran after them. Coming over the hill was a long column of people moving toward Kleinhan's. The woman who led the march and spoke to reporters proudly told them she was Jewish! Others held signs and banners aloft that read: "Arab Land for Arab People!" and "Smash Anti-Semitism!" Now those were two slogans I could get behind! I wanted to know who these people were and where they had been all my life! Hours later I followed the group back to their headquarters. Orange banners tacked up on the walls expressed solidarity with the Attica prisoners and the Vietnamese. One banner particularly haunted me. It read: Stop the War Against Black America, which made me realize that it wasn't just distant wars that needed opposing. Yet although I worked with two members of this organization, I felt nervous that night. These people were communists, Marxists! Yet I found it easy to get into discussions with them. I met waitresses, factory workers, secretaries, and truck drivers. And I decided they were some of the most principled people I had ever met..." Transgender Warriors (1996) Leslie Feinberg

#bold text #large text #transgender #trans #nonbinary #leslie feinberg #neopronouns #activism #no id #pride #essays #Karl bae #memoirs of a man's maiden years #bi any other name

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nostalgebraist · 1 year

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Honestly I'm pretty tired of supporting nostalgebraist-autoresponder. Going to wind down the project some time before the end of this year.

Posting this mainly to get the idea out there, I guess.

This project has taken an immense amount of effort from me over the years, and still does, even when it's just in maintenance mode.

Today some mysterious system update (or something) made the model no longer fit on the GPU I normally use for it, despite all the same code and settings on my end.

This exact kind of thing happened once before this year, and I eventually figured it out, but I haven't figured this one out yet. This problem consumed several hours of what was meant to be a relaxing Sunday. Based on past experience, getting to the bottom of the issue would take many more hours.

My options in the short term are to

A. spend (even) more money per unit time, by renting a more powerful GPU to do the same damn thing I know the less powerful one can do (it was doing it this morning!), or

B. silently reduce the context window length by a large amount (and thus the "smartness" of the output, to some degree) to allow the model to fit on the old GPU.

Things like this happen all the time, behind the scenes.

I don't want to be doing this for another year, much less several years. I don't want to be doing it at all.

----

In 2019 and 2020, it was fun to make a GPT-2 autoresponder bot.

[EDIT: I've seen several people misread the previous line and infer that nostalgebraist-autoresponder is still using GPT-2. She isn't, and hasn't been for a long time. Her latest model is a finetuned LLaMA-13B.]

Hardly anyone else was doing anything like it. I wasn't the most qualified person in the world to do it, and I didn't do the best possible job, but who cares? I learned a lot, and the really competent tech bros of 2019 were off doing something else.

And it was fun to watch the bot "pretend to be me" while interacting (mostly) with my actual group of tumblr mutuals.

In 2023, everyone and their grandmother is making some kind of "gen AI" app. They are helped along by a dizzying array of tools, cranked out by hyper-competent tech bros with apparently infinite reserves of free time.

There are so many of these tools and demos. Every week it seems like there are a hundred more; it feels like every day I wake up and am expected to be familiar with a hundred more vaguely nostalgebraist-autoresponder-shaped things.

And every one of them is vastly better-engineered than my own hacky efforts. They build on each other, and reap the accelerating returns.

I've tended to do everything first, ahead of the curve, in my own way. This is what I like doing. Going out into unexplored wilderness, not really knowing what I'm doing, without any maps.

Later, hundreds of others with go to the same place. They'll make maps, and share them. They'll go there again and again, learning to make the expeditions systematically. They'll make an optimized industrial process of it. Meanwhile, I'll be locked in to my own cottage-industry mode of production.

Being the first to do something means you end up eventually being the worst.

----

I had a GPT chatbot in 2019, before GPT-3 existed. I don't think Huggingface Transformers existed, either. I used the primitive tools that were available at the time, and built on them in my own way. These days, it is almost trivial to do the things I did, much better, with standardized tools.

I had a denoising diffusion image generator in 2021, before DALLE-2 or Stable Diffusion or Huggingface Diffusers. I used the primitive tools that were available at the time, and built on them in my own way. These days, it is almost trivial to do the things I did, much better, with standardized tools.

Earlier this year, I was (probably) one the first people to finetune LLaMA. I manually strapped LoRA and 8-bit quantization onto the original codebase, figuring out everything the hard way. It was fun.

Just a few months later, and your grandmother is probably running LLaMA on her toaster as we speak. My homegrown methods look hopelessly antiquated. I think everyone's doing 4-bit quantization now?

(Are they? I can't keep track anymore -- the hyper-competent tech bros are too damn fast. A few months from now the thing will be probably be quantized to -1 bits, somehow. It'll be running in your phone's browser. And it'll be using RLHF, except no, it'll be using some successor to RLHF that everyone's hyping up at the time...)

"You have a GPT chatbot?" someone will ask me. "I assume you're using AutoLangGPTLayerPrompt?"

No, no, I'm not. I'm trying to debug obscure CUDA issues on a Sunday so my bot can carry on talking to a thousand strangers, every one of whom is asking it something like "PENIS PENIS PENIS."

Only I am capable of unplugging the blockage and giving the "PENIS PENIS PENIS" askers the responses they crave. ("Which is ... what, exactly?", one might justly wonder.) No one else would fully understand the nature of the bug. It is special to my own bizarre, antiquated, homegrown system.

I must have one of the longest-running GPT chatbots in existence, by now. Possibly the longest-running one?

I like doing new things. I like hacking through uncharted wilderness. The world of GPT chatbots has long since ceased to provide this kind of value to me.

I want to cede this ground to the LLaMA techbros and the prompt engineers. It is not my wilderness anymore.

I miss wilderness. Maybe I will find a new patch of it, in some new place, that no one cares about yet.

----

Even in 2023, there isn't really anything else out there quite like Frank. But there could be.

If you want to develop some sort of Frank-like thing, there has never been a better time than now. Everyone and their grandmother is doing it.

"But -- but how, exactly?"

Don't ask me. I don't know. This isn't my area anymore.

There has never been a better time to make a GPT chatbot -- for everyone except me, that is.

Ask the techbros, the prompt engineers, the grandmas running OpenChatGPT on their ironing boards. They are doing what I did, faster and easier and better, in their sleep. Ask them.

#nostalgebraist autoresponder meta

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astralnymphh · 2 months

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The Sweeter the Wheat

# pair: post-seattle!jackson!ellie x reader

## summary: There is no better birthday gift than loving her.

### reader discretion is advised: romance angst, fluff, bit suggestive towards the end, alcohol consumption, jesse is alive (he thought ahead this time), loser!ellie, sometimes!awkward!ellie, sometimes!cheekyandflirty!ellie, reader is sickenly envious and a bit nosy, but aware, ravenous and tipsy makeouts, sappy shit. #### a/n; listened to "to all of you" by syd matters + "cardigan" by taylor swift while writing parts of it.. got a love/hate relationship with this fic but it slaps i guess

SPRING SUN

“At least we got back before her birthday. Psh—‘magine that sweet tooth havin’ to commemorate her twentieth with nuts and jerky.”

Jackson tholes the bright spring against countless heavy hearts, numb from the death groans of winter. Under the melted snow, came old meadows, but nobody returned to comb through them. Only to pluck them bare of flora for a sole reason—a sole person—and not in the name of beauty.

Some meadows were stabbed through. Pierced into, made into a final home for the dearly departed he.

Time slipped slowly.

“Huh?”

Jesse sits at the tail of the bar, mumbling somethings that fly right past your ears. The diner is packed and the jukebox softly plays, but that of joy and conversation rules, so all nearby speech that is spat has become hodgepodge, herding your brain to run where the world is quiet. Given that, and the subtle significance in the day around you, you feel less than yourself. Immaterial.

There's a rightful wager that you didn't hear Jesse at all. Something about birthdays, maybe.

You pull yourself from the stars with a head-shake, having to retire the tiny notepad in your clutch. “Sorry, I completely tripped out just then. Why are we talking about birthdays—whose birthday are we.. talking about?”

Jesse appeared to be in doubt that your star-scaping moments were over; his features contorting more and more into disbelief as you gave him that barely curious squint. Poor him for having to be offended for somebody else.

A special somebody else at that!

His drawl comes in handy, “Come on, man. Four years strong and now you wanna forget that girl's birthday?” a voice so versed in pettiness, you could smack it right from his clever, grinning lips.

At whim, you almost do. But then his words fall into perfect place; that subtle signifigance makes all the more sense.

Spring: dappled in sunlight and vigorous in the trees, seems lovelier than it would in March or May. Seas of crimson and clovers thrive in the middle of April, and so does the red in her hair—soft, auburn tines—and the meadows in her earnest and shiny eyes. Recently dim, bruised and disheartened. But there, and unplucked at least, above the freckles you least regret missing when vengeance and a clue drove her out of this large, timber sanctuary. Home.

Every year on this day, the sun is relentlessly beautiful. No wonder, you think, now that you remember.

It's Ellie's birthday.

“Shit,” you curse, chewing at your guilty lip. “Is Ellie hiding out today as well? Haven't noticed her walking the thoroughfare at all.” Through the idle-talk, your hands find stray porcelain to retrieve and pile in the sink, scoffing at the liters of coffee that inevitably go cold in forgotten mugs.

“Do you notice anything working behind that counter?”

“Duh, dipshit,” you spout, back-talking him shamelessly, “I noticed you ambling towards the window earlier and knew my ears were in for a grating punishment.” Minding your eyes on nothing but the various plates you grab, the clutter clears fast. Like a damn robot.

He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, not my fault patrol’s been on cruise control this week.” With a part of the counter graciously tidied by your speedy work, he reclines in the barstool and claims that space with his lower legs, off to the side. Blissfully permission-less. “Can't say the same for here, though.”

You draw in a prefacing breath, tilting a cup at him. “You could if you hel—”

“No chance.”

“Fuck you, Jess,” you reply wielding a nickname given for occasions of defeat, little knives glaring from your eyes. “Thought this friendship had a no-questions-asked sort of thing. You've disgraced me.” Cueing that age-old love for drama, you gild the lily; mock a drama-queen. Hand to your heart and a pout to your mouth.

Hating Jesse is out of the picture, and hate is an easy pill to swallow. Sure, you two bark blank insults from time to time, but it's all in good humor. You just get each other too well. A hitch fated to click. A shoulder to violently sob into.

Jesse tuts at you, rolling a smug pair of eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Diners just aren't my thing, as infected aren't yours.” He reaches and grasps his mug of coffee that'd been basking there ever since you whipped up his usual, content in keeping his gob flat for the ‘noon.

And you're content in the casual peace and company. Always are. It coerces you to fulfill orders quicker, you would say. Here you stand, in perfect function, machine of the cogs.

That's how all days streak by here. A warm sun arises, and the hustle and bustle of human nature crowds every faded red booth in here, as your kin would have you sustain, and you sustain it fine enough. Even with the latching, mostly silent presence of your best bud Jesse to keep boredom a stranger and insanity a myth. Peckish lips, thirsty throats; everybody. All famished faces of Jackson, satisfied in the wake of your work. All, save one.

Ding!

At the entrance, you hear the jingle of the tiny, golden bell topping the door, and it doesn't intrigue you to investigate. Everyone is a frequenter, and you're basically omnipresent; sensing who it is and where they're routed to before they even sit. Call that perfect function.

Abruptly, the vintage magazine Jesse blankly browsed through is smacked back in place, and his throat clears. “First customer to break the hour-long streak. Let's see who—” he trails, and a dramatic pause thickens the air. Surprise loudly ensues. “Oh, ain't that funny. Look what fate dragged in.”

“Is it not a regular?” you ask, and at last perk your chin up. Intrigue clasps you now, as Jesse thought it atypical enough to point out.

Turns out, it isn't a regular at all.

Fate was a scary portrayal, as fate—and unfinished threads—would have you snuck into a corner and stranded for her to find. Plaid and blue, stood Ellie, lost as a doe in tangled woods, yet tall with purpose in front of that swinging glass door. From here, you notice her right arm supported in a white sling and twisted into her chest, right off the bat, as you did the night of return. Changes were made, obviously, sprigs of marker detailing the canvas-color of it, no doubt produced by those pesky kids in-town. Her tattoo is sorely invisible behind the bandages too; you've always liked that thing.

She's a bona-fide crush. A red-headed angel.

There and then, you recall why your heart reawoke into a prance that night she returned head to toe in dry, aged blood. You felt the revival of an inner-warmth, tracing fingers over the stitches in her back as she hunched in repressive quietude. Felt the moon evaporate off your skin, felt her wrist tensen in your palm as you dressed the wounds in hers. Felt the elusive moment staying became going, as it wasn't right.

You went straight home and threw right up, that very night. Her cold, marred skin was as deathly-like as the skin of a corpse. And you trailed your fingertips, all over it.

Strange. In a week, her flesh has been suppled of life. Hale, blushing and glowing as in younger days.

In your heart: a tremor. It reaches up every time you swallow, and blooms its beat, pounding at the pit of your throat. You don't feel real, you feel light, you feel fright. You feel the past, waking from a slumber in you, emerging breathless beyond the surface. So many things.

You feel fourteen again.

“Guess her ears were burning,” mumbled Jesse, polite enough to not transform your shared scrutiny into a scene, only so he could leave it in your hands. His head carefully turns, speaking softly, “You spoke to her at all, recently?”

“No,” a weighted breath departs you, and your shoulders repose. “Only the night she returned, while I tended to some of her travel wounds. Conversation wasn't easy to digest.” Shunning her very blatant presence, you pick your wash rag and begin again, foraging distraction.

“Bet not. Shit got hectic on the route Tommy picked,” he hums, and his eyes pursue once more to secretly follow her walking the opposite direction. Eyes you expectantly the second she slips into a booth. “Gonna take her order?”

You glower at his smug stare, knowing full well he intends to badger you into jumping the gun. Well, you're employed to do that, but, fuck fate! “Uh, duh? Di—”

“—Ipshit. Stop stalling.” He aims his hand, escorting you. “Birthday girl awaits.”

“Yeah, hold that smile. See what happens later.”

“Mhm.”

EXTRA SYRUP

Spectral hands suffocate your heart, and now your chest is tightened. Gut nervously sickened. There, she sits, seemingly absorbed by the air, and the sun that ripens with it. Thumbing at her nails, but not anxiously. Blowing at her lip, but not boredly. Hair dark ochre as the earth, yet fiery as the flaxen ray that pours into it. Tucked into a neat bun, as it was in December, January, and every paving year before. You like her hair that way.

She halved it up when Joel passed, and Seattle howled her name.

A lot about Ellie changed, really, but that is the perennial nature of water. Ellie is Neptune; a late-teenage girl experiencing a crucial shift into a new, individual season. Ones so seldom—they're cataclysmic, but temporary.

So much of her is eclipsed to the naked eye. Buried to make burrowing space for others. Just not you, it seems.

Every now and then, she glances as you intricately work your way over, a fist cupped to itself as if it alone safekeeps her deep and untold intentions; the warrant for sitting there. And you too, glance when her eyes smoothly retreat, dedicating pockets of this single, cherished minute to drink in little glimpses of her face. Trying to read her, read the shapes on her face if they indicate trouble, or truce. Last time you talked, you declared your resentment for being left worried and sleepless in Jackson.

Was it out of love?

Through the fair-haired light, that scar-heavy look on her features has noticeably abated, recapturing the tender warmth that gave her face the kind, puppy-browed ambiance you hesitated the world for. Gently laid brows, scarred the same as ever.

Those fucking freckles, too; a constellated map. Hidden miles and miles away for one sun and moon too many.

Not a mile bridges you both apart now, not anymore.

“Hey, Ellie,” you chime in, frail in respect of the one-mind conversation her idle stare partakes. Just her, and the spring sun. Sweet wheat skin is taken from its aerial shine as her head heeds your voice, a loose twine of auburn falling from place.

Your somber greeting fine-tuned the focus in her eyes, softening into a shape less spacious, more devoted.

And though away from underneath the boughs of sunlight, her eyes found a disembodied source. Dried moss, gleams into a violent sea glass, pupils taking in how you hold that notepad firm in thumbs and pointers.

For the first time in an age, you too, have changed.

The corners of her lips crease into her cheek. “Hey,” her reply mirrors the breathiness of yours, and her left arm low-arcs up to rest on the booth seat, body facing you head-on. Totally relaxed. “How come you didn't mention the job switch? Was lookin’ for you,” she asks curiously, a tinge of that sweet-talk peeking through her wide grin.

Now that you've stepped closer and garnered her attention, you can see and feel every notched nicety of her face on yours. You can only imagine how a swollen, sliced lip feels, and the continual migraines a fractured nose brings. Weeks of healing have swept by, but her afflictions in particular weren't petty.

“Guess it felt irrelevant to bring up when you got back. But you're here now, and you found me. So?” your tone edges on.

“Well, yeah,” she chuckles. “Did you not miss me?” She feigns offense; brows quirking and her tone pitching slightly.

You did.

A sigh starts in you, “Hard to not miss and worry for somebody when you picked up their slack in every patrol dating way back.” Barely nipping what you really felt with a snarky tease. “Oh shit, that rhymes,” you glance off and whisper to yourself, still loud enough to inspire mirth.

And it does; her forehead pinches and her voice rises in mirth, laughing casually and shifting in her seat to lean one elbow upon the table. “Ha— yeah,” she admits defeat. Ellie is undeniably cute when she does, always shrinks into herself and sinks into thoughtful conference, thinking of something—anything smart to knock you back into that corner. “Guess you're right. Hm, always were on my ass about that, huh?”

You tut, “Mhm. Missed my scolding in Seattle?” crossing a leg and bearing weight upon it.

“Nah,” she confesses briefly, and you barely believe it. Wringing in doubt at that sly smile she tries to conceal from you. “I learned my lesson this time.” Ellie glances up, a prayer written on her face asking you to hold your scolds. “Trust me.”

“Hurt enough this time?”

“Fuck you!” She punts you playfully in the ankle and begins a laugh again. “You’re not allowed to point that out!”

That was the way of things; Ellie would charge into a fight wearing her life on her chest, slackening the rules, and you had to reel her in. Tug the leash. It had you suspecting her to have a foolproof reason as her backbone, like she was daring the devil with eyes fearlessly open. Steadfast intent. She would lure runners to her, grapple them from you, or push you away beyond safety. Leave you to watch an animalistic vigor fill every bind in her body until you're convinced she’s either coming out bitten or scathingly torn.

You wish she saw how worrying she truly looked; a sweet face splattered hair to chin in the blood of infected, catching her breath and shaking the arm of the croaking infected she just slaughtered off her ankle. Being way too blithe-hearted for the sacred sake of everyone involved.

“Don't worry about me.”

One day, when she asked you with her solemn eyes to be afraid, you thought she finally trusted you to handle yourself past her overprotective nature. Then, one clicker got too close for comfort, and she retracted the pact of fighting equally. Losing more than what her blade owes the earth would prove her fears to be a product of her unsacrifice.

Ellie figured it was half the reason you quit patrol duty, but not that it was fully the reason you anguished over her leaving for Seattle later on; her appetite for violence.

She accepts it so easily. But even when you had sworn she had place in something as simple as retiring from patrol and nothing else, she smelt the sugary scent of a white lie. Joel did it before. She never accepted it under a gentle radar. Instead, it had her wondering if she had upset you, if you would forgive the crimson melodrama and still take her up on breakfasts at ten when she returned. Regardless if you painted the full picture in the end, apologies spilled alike to winded waters out of this girl; sorry that she still could not stomach you tagging along for vengeance. Never-ending sorries, and you lapped each one up. Brought gaping arms around her and absorbed all the ugly and hopeless sounds. You wanted to prove her fears wrong, but perhaps it was time fear let you be the lamb. Live and let live.

Then, Dina would step in, and Ellie would be wrapped around her finger in sudden laughter. Happy and unhurt. Couldn't even remember what occurred before her sun entered the room, and dried those tears.

Crimson melodrama is all you preserved when abandoned, and is all you could look at her with when in longing.

The winter dance had your guts up to your throat.

Seattle, inexplainable.

You don’t hate Dina; your envy lies with the disconnection of it all.

“What do you recommend?” she questions, and her eyes anticipate you to be the ultimate apocalyptic-dining expert. Locked and attentive. She then begins to shake her head in gesture, planting the menu down. "I don't— I don't usually go to these kinds of places, so.. What do you think?" she awkwardly giggles, tapping the menu's plastic sleeve.

Tension presses a smile onto your lips at her inelegance. "Nobody does, not even people who went to these places before the outbreak," you opine, swapping the notepad to one hand and sliding into the booth. "It's okay. I mean.. hmm, what do you prefer? Sweet or salty?"

Her eyelids flick down, fingers coming to lace together as her eyes traverse the options. "Uh, I guess I— wait, wait," she interrupts herself. A swift finger draws you to look down at the menu, "You guys make pancakes here?" green eyes gaping at you with pupils more voracious than her stomach—or her sweet tooth.

"Yeah."

"I'll have that then."

It was a steadfast verdict. The sweet honey pancakes, she shall have, at the cost of a couple minutes and a couple ingredients. But it isn't traditional for birthdays, so you weigh in. “Just pancakes? I mean.. Faye is back there if you want something a little more celebrator—”

“—I'm not really a blow-the-candles-out and make-a-wish type of person,” she corrects you, brows cinched in as she rambles. Then, her free hand scoots the menu forward. “But you already knew that, you just insist otherwise,” she chuckles, unable to meet eye and eye.

True. Your soft insistence dawns from wanting nothing less than heaven inside everything for her, and maybe a dash of that sweet-sweet crush on her. But, Ellie is so staunch in being the humble girl that doesn't glorify every recorded happening with string lights and a wish hurled into the uncaring universe bent upon nurturing demised, late lights young girls reach for. She kept everything low-key: a small garage get-together on her last birthday, the one before that, and the one predating those two. Alcohol in your palms and movies playing back to back. Budding distorted laughs and tumbles into each other. Birthday things.

The remnants of her fifteen-year-old mind hangs aimlessly inside that museum. Dangled and stretched into archaic bones. On the day of return, she arrived happier than a sunflower drunk on the sun. Broad smiles and whatever else.

Wasn't for long.

“Forget you're so down-to-earth and reserved about all the fun things,” you snarkily deliver, retiring that still empty notepad behind your back. Memory shall serve. “Will that be it then?”

“Are you saying I'm not fun?”

“I'm saying you need more of it.” You emphasize with a tiny bounce-up on your calves, tilting your head north. Though, nothing she uttered was wrong and so your voice silkily drones on, “And that.” You act the lack of a ruder way to insinuate. “But yeah, okay. One order of pancakes coming up.”

“Cool, I'll uh—have a 'celebratory' drink in the meantime?” She nudges the menu towards you once again, irises pulled thin on themselves. Thoroughly staring; your reflection in a bead of black.

You have to laugh, kindly laugh. “No alcohol here, dumbass.”

“Oh. Right.” Her doe-stare only crescendoed from there, shying away at the result of her asking. Something reluctant is lodged in her pale throat, stumbling out only when it feels imminent as you turn away. “D-Do you wanna chat, afterwards? There's so much bullshit surrounding Seattle I have to catch you up on and I-I didn't before, so.."

Swinging your head back, you gauge that mercurial girl there. Tripping up her request like it couldn't escape hibernation from her head any quicker than insult does.

Faye shouldn't mind. “'Course, I was left to wonder about everything since that night anyway.” Your boss might even encourage it; knowing that your long-standing crush for her—heartbreaking to fathom, beautiful to feel—never swept you from rambling Ellie into some fairytale, so she would use it to psych you into asking her out. Jesse, too. Damn the nosy ones!

But it's the one thing that keeps you worried now.

“Cool, cool. Oh, hey, add extra syrup will you?”

What does Ellie think of you?

“Mhm,” syrup is nowhere as sweet as your hum. “Got it.”

Does she think of you at all?

MOUTHS ALL-CONSUMING AND DEPRIVING

Minutes in, minutes out, wallowing at that ruby-red booth fed the realization to Ellie that the nerves feeding off her anxious chest could not combat conversation alone. She needed an aid. Liquid courage. Velvety smooth and robust.

Fortunately for betting gods and heaven-watching anyones, leftover whiskey from the last bonfire made stock in her cloistered, chaotic cabinets. So it founded no surprise that it whirled to mind after the celebratory-drink fact; leading you here, in her bedroom, on her bed. She pours whiskey into stubby glasses, One for her, one for you, and a lucky extra two for further along this unexplored line. Nothing overflowing limits.

But, oh boy, did it make you all lovey-dovey.

Her lips move and they dance over words, but all you hear is your own enamoration of how heart-shaped they are. You see, but fail to hear and comprehend. Floating aimlessly into those freckles, again. Something a fourteen-aged, sanguine mind would do.

Ellie was relaying Seattle to you, she prefaced. Prefacing didn’t aid you in paying attention, though. Today is not your sharpest, it dates to be your most absentminded. Not your usual, at all.

Nods are swayed to every shock-value word that you manage to understand, but the star-crossed rest, you miss, and replace with whatever story her pupils trace. They flit to read your face after each end of her sentences, so it has you thinking too much of her time has slipped without the company of a listener, and now that her time slips into you, she can use it to stretch your expression with whatever witty remark she makes.

She did one day blurt that your laugh compliments your smile—or however that fucking flirt threw it over the crackle of that bonfire.

In fact, when you begin to let parts of her body neck-down from her face distract you, only then do you decipher how much she has grown in a month.

She pitches her drink to sip, and your eyes are hot on that glassy trail, artistically concerned with the way she swills down whiskey: fluently gulped, throat bobbing, the scar on her lip licked clean. Her brows too, have thickened, much so as her leathered skin, her callouses. She traces her thigh in circles repeatedly—a fidgety habit—and her lips purse and tug and wrinkles hug and press said lips when they are prettily wide.

Every high noon or low point of her body was different, and you have missed a great many things you care too much about to not appreciate every brink and midst. You don't want her to be lost to otherworld winds without studying her presence harshly. She is in your scrutiny, now more than ever.

“So, do I get to see my pancakes yet, or?”

“Oh, oops.” You snap out of your woolgathering, wagging your head left to right. Then briskly as you assented her invitation, you slide your knees under you, reorganizing your seating. “Can't blame me for being so invested in your epic tales. Could totally be a comic narrator for the school in town.”

Ellie had already been sat skyward. Sprawled at one leg and tucked at the other, arm in her lap, where her whiskey is nestled. “Oh, sure,” she says with a sarcastic edge. “Those kids are a bunch of little shits. They would probably interrupt me with fart jokes or make actual fart sounds than sit still and pay attention for thirty minutes.”

“Hmm,” you hum, short and atonal, peeling the corner of the plastic lid back. “And who do you think taught them those terrible jokes, huh?”

Soft lids narrow together to sharpen her gaze; glaring at your clever comment, lips propped slightly open. “Terrible?” An offended, toothy smile pulls on her lips. All sentences she could possibly muster up come crashing into each other; an agglomeration, “I—They aren't bad jokes—and they're puns, really, so they're actually pretty fuckin' smart,” she boasts with brows raised. “And It isn't my fault that every annoying kid picked them up and started repeating them.”

It most certainly is her fault. Hell, even you catch yourself reciting them at the crest of nightfall, giggling into your palm. Although, why she's trying so rigorously to plead her pun-enjoying case to you, might just be funnier. “Are you seriously trying to explain puns to me?”

“God,” she surrenders in a chuckle, and bows her head to introduce another quick sip to her parched lips. Ellie then eyes you for a blank second thereafter, tugging the plump of her lower lip through her teeth. Like contemplation has her hindered.

Around you, the lungs of the garage’s foundation inhale, and exhale; creaking and settling.

She dashes a huff. “You basically asked,” Ellie reminds you, her tone and eye-roll implying obviousness. “Can I eat my pancakes now? M'hungry.” Her face sutures into a pseudo-frown and encloses herself to a crisscross, impatiently behaving.

Now, as for the pancakes. Fluffy, biscuit brown, star-shaped, bountifully rivered in unrestricted syrup, topped off by a definitely-melted, humbled ingot of butter. Needless to say, you're pleased by what boredom and intact cooking-books taught you, and she hasn't even seen them yet.

The ask for a carryout-container was already in order the moment you set pace for her table, because you wound up in a near-catastrophe as she sought you out around the kitchens like a lost pup and maundered right into you. Thank patrol for instincts; it's the one thing you held an undying clutch to. And the sweet pancakes you proudly plated, making refuge on the counters as you cross-examined Ellie in case you injured her arm more.

Lucky girl was all fine and peachy, of course.

She only knocked you two right into that near-injury mess to invite you here. Persuasion sat readily in her throat incase you questioned her motives—most of her ideas turning out to be a little friend-group antic, never anything serious or singular—but you agreed to it in double-time.

“Think you might just be one of those kids at this point.” You gingerly tweak the rim of the plate you kept the pancakes on and lift it outside the container, planting it between all four knees.

“Eh, you're not so innocent yourself,” Ellie contends before she even casts her first peek at the hillock of starry sweetness, totally taken aback when she does. “Holy shit,” she awes, just as if she were a young teen again, “Are you kidding me?”

Labor-intended nights never slip soft through the gaps of your fastened fingers, not even days where your work period is abridged, but hey, strange, space-brain girls are far beyond ordinary exception. Hell, Ellie is vital! Commemorating the red angel you worship in the patterned and soapy act of cooping up on her bed, toasting to the moonlight and letting her talk your ear off for old times' sake is your approach to telling her you love her.

“Know I'm not a pancake-connoisseur, but I gave it a unique whirl. Just for you.” You held a fork out, gracing her with first honors. “Don't blame me if it gives you a stomachache,” your forewarn is a doubtful one; in your mind, morningtime will arise with an extra punch to her gut.

Ellie, however, stares right into the baying eyes of a challenge, snatching the fork from you. "Hey, if it's good enough for my tongue, then it's good enough for ma' gut!" and promptly after exclaim, gashes and tears her fork into the sweet, airy texture of the pancake, popping it past her sweet, berried lips. “Mhh—and I will blame you. So you end up feeling sorry n'take care of me.”

God, whatever souls you would sell to spend paradisal afterlife with this fool. Talking with a gob flush of the birthday project you're humiliated to be proud of. You scoff, “Asshole,” lightheartedly scornful as can be, and it snaps something to mind. Head tilting eye-to-eye, “Dina wouldn't be the one to?” you ask, right after she swallows.

That particular question seemingly struck a chord as her brows cinched together, eyes dropping with allusion. “No,” she says meekly, soft in the sound, but you can tell it came up heavy. Shadowed by a sigh, and an untimely chuckle. “Do you want to know?” She throws on a shrug that ripples through her head, sending it to hang lopsidedly. As the stout willow grows.

“Guess so,” you agree temperately, not wanting to seem too eager—even though with this topic, you just might be. Camouflage those old, foul feelings of envy. “Did Seattle have you kicking more ass than just Wolves and infected? Couldn't have been a very romantic tr—”

“Dina's pregnant.”

Silence carves it's way after that. Thick, tense and unyielding. You had words lined up but like a shot in stark night they've just—vanished, sunk back into the chamber. Nothing prepared you to hear that, “Pregnant?” lowering a hand to your belly where you swear your heart has pummeled to.

Ellie glances up, once at your widened face and once at your hand. A bite of humor works it's way above her chin; smugly smirking. “God, don't tell me you're pregnant now too.”

“What? No!”

Damn idiot. Should punch her right in the—nevermind.

Ellie is way too quick to make serious things unserious. “You're a damn menace,” you unapprovingly giggle.

“Am I?” Amusement raises her brows, tearing into the pancake with her fork for another bite. “Cause you seem to like menace.”

You adjust onto propped elbows, “Do I?” playing all nonchalant. “I mean, what do you mean by that?” your voice dims, expending for the small space that separates you and her.

“Mhh,” she contemplates with a purring sound, and shrugs. “Dunno.” Ellie retreats those eyes downward where you won't compel her to smile. You can tell she battles the letch to look up again, which—as proven in her case—doesn't fucking work. She shoots up carefully, and it's a conflicted gaze this time. “Not with Dina anymore, though. That’s the other thing.”

And we're back.

Having reconciled the chance, you retrace. Look at her with somber concern. “Did something between the two of you happen?” It's a gentle question, reinforced by the bulletproof stare you offer her to unwind in.

The air in her voice softens, “Sort of,” and the meridians of your body then become easier to look at as she continues, wrinkles in her brows. “Said some things I shouldn't have, and we.. figured it best to leave it at that. For now.” her explanation sounds desolate and attemptless, like she has sat in shadow and vigil accepting this fact and has given up on hope. Crestfallen and quieter; this isn't like her. Bent at her wrist, dangling that glass above her crisscrossed lap like a sad child pokes at the food on their plate.

“For now?” You hate that you pry, but that sick greed in your gut from times before haunts with a hunger for knowledge. Your envy that is enlightenment. Still, you hesitate to seem nosy, wanting nothing than to possibly just console your friend in need. “What's holding you back from.. calling it quits? The pregnancy?” You crane your body upright slowly.

“Just still feelin' bad.” Her fingers begin a tap-dance at the glass' rim. “I'm an asshole.”

You duck at the neck, searching for her downcast eyes. “Come on, El. I've only ever seen you rant and rave at middle-aged grumpy men and infected, no way it was that bad.”

“You weren’t there,” she insists otherwise with an earnest voice, inciting a refreshed sigh as she swigs her whiskey.

“Well, what did you say?” You are relentless. No, normally you would not condone it, but tonight, tongues are loose and boundaries are blurry. You miss your happy girl. “I could talk to Dina, if it helps.”

“Wouldn’t change shit.”

“If you love her, you would try.” Even if it sickens you.

Ellie slots her drink in her lap, and grouches. “Dude.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and stifles a groan, frustrated. It draws out in words without proper footing, “It's weird. We just don't know what to say to each other—I don't know what to say to her, it.. it's just how it is—it was a mutual agreement. None of your business, really.”

Her own tongue is a very obvious byproduct of nerves, whiskey, stress, by and large a lot of things. Being goaded, definitely.

How it is, is how it will be.

“She broke up with me.”

You didn't mean to goad her, but curiosity—and a kiss of alcohol and envy—ate your refrain. The lack of any eye contact or movements to stray from you thereafter her word is telling enough. That it aches her head, and a cold, guilty sweat crosses over your skin. It was a stupid thing to blurt. You feel fucking stupid for even saying that.

Fuck.

Her dry sniffle is noisy on your shortcoming, and has you scrambling to think. “Sorry, just been worried for weeks.” But you shrink into a ball of abraded arms and legs, conserving yourself into a shy, spotted egg of curiosity that clads no hatching cracks to be convicted of. “Thought you two finally getting together would be the dream to end all dreams.” What the fuck do you know anyway?

Her eyes watch through you, into you like water; she notices, and the pancakes are slid to the side. Shuffles of fabric clamber closer as she eats the inches between you two, her breath brushing your forehead. “Hey, hey. I didn't mean anything by it. It's fuckin' great that I got somebody I can drink with and mope to. Really. Just been shitty all around—Tommy? Fuck, he's been the worst lately.”

Everything ascends in temperature once her hand plants on the side of your neck, every nerve petrifies; unheard-of touch. She can feel the gasped tension in your throat, thumbing the muscles down.

“Don't worry about it,” she says, and her saying that amuses you.

A moth-eaten phrase in particular is what was said. You scoff at it, plopping your legs back out. “Dude.” You bite a smile into your lips. Sucks that such a hackneyed thread of words does so; you're really chewing back the urge to call her any byname of dumbass, per usual. But damn that sincere face on her face that sweetens the teasing deal for you. You settle for low-hanging fruit. “You always say that, Ellie.”

“Ugh,” she seconded a scoff back at you, grimacing coyly. “Don't you start.” Ellie drags her hand off, not intending for it to land smack-dab on your thigh. It takes her a second to register the sound, the texture, slinking her hand behind her when you say nothing.

“Start what?” you stutter a laugh, bringing your thighs together.

“Nothin,”

“Don’t bullshit me, WIlliams.” To educe her, you dig your foot into her side, poking her. “Does it have anything to do with only me being here and not anybody else?” You lean into her.

Ellie does too, an exact mirror of you. “No..” The only thing that contrasted you, was her hand again, seeking what was left behind on your thigh. “Just wanted to see you first,” her lips barely move besides a slick smirk. Voice tiptoeing through the air, the noise-level two clandestine lovers live at, in secret song.

“You fuckin liar. No hang-outs for weeks before you left and suddenly you want to see me?” You call bull when she relucts to raise her hung head, witnessing the corners of her lip curl. Her head twists away more, and you spearhead the first, little move: tuck that irkful strand of auburn with a single finger. “C'mon.. what is it?”

“Stupid,” she blatantly spits, and at last confronts your face with her puckish one—glimpsing down, and up, and down. Watching her grip flex into your leg intermittently, chewing her lip. “Mhh, maybe 'm starting it.”

Ellie is heart-poundingly close; her breath is now yours to breathe. You whisper, “Maybe you are,” perking yourself right up to her cheek, unnoticing of the ardor her eyes spin over your face. Unsure where to stare. You pretend the pressure on your thigh flies under the radar, too, and that your heart isn't in the middle of a love-logged swell, and your cheeks aren't tender from smirking at the feeling of it perched there. Love-struck death befalls, if else confessed, so you tease, tease, and tease to stomach your excitement. “Maybe, you're stalling on those pancakes because they actually gave you a stomachache. You feeling good?”

Her bitten lips part, and the next sensations you feel—are transcendental.

Wisping whispers so hot, and intoxicating on your skin, you fail to catch her hand coming up from your thigh to clasp your face, or that hers has shifted in front of yours. She breathes out, “Won't you shut up already?” through lips pulled into a smirk, and rushes to press it fondly against your mouth.

You wince—somewhere between an electrified gasp and a reaction of delight—into the kiss she stole, and it only beckons her to starve more for you. The heat of her whiskey breath pours into your mouth, and you drape your eyes closed. Scoring these seconds by, she spends them concentratedly rolling the skin together, others pushing and shying from the kiss, until she stills and bleeds out the pressure in a slow, wet smack. Hazily eyeing you for a response.

Once you feel her no more, your eyes blurrily creak open, and the corners of her lips at soft upturn greet you. Single creases at either side, the few freckles above them outspread.

Judgement renounces you, leaving you with pathetic pickings for reply. You aren't sure what she wants—or needs you to say. “Ellie?” daintily, a mumble flows onto her lips, and is far from a frail sound of concern. Intrigue encapsulates you.

What does this mean?

You think you know, but self-reason has always proven itself to be naive and too eager to trust.

By cruel emotion, she misunderstands you. “Sorry,” she pants out breathlessly, blowing the shape of it into your cleft lips and hovering right upon. Her fingers gouge the fabric clothing your chest, mangling it into her fist—an attempting grasp. This proximity is all she could ever dream of. “Is this okay?” Yet, dreams always sever at the apotheosis. So when she comes in for the second kiss, she wants no more for dreaming; the reality she yawns with hunger into, is insurmountable.

A dewdrop of something cold dribbles between you. Tears.

In turn, you misunderstand her. Using your own stubbornness to create an enigma. To think, that out of the blue, all of this would transpire? After endless wishes unanswered? You doubt it.

You love her, but you refuse the reality of it happening upon you.

Separating from the plush, licked skin of her lips fleetingly, you speak. “Is this you being drunk?” Only to be drawn back in without her processing your words right away, and then drawn back out. Intricate intimacy.

“Please,” Ellie begs, “Answer me, before I feel like an asshole again,” and chuckles sobbingly before her teeth feel rapaciously empty, and cannot tolerate it any longer. Instinct, and teeth nip your bottom, vulnerable lip.

Neither of you could be totally drunk, having only drank a modest portion.

So this is raw.

Thinly pulled, she slowly stretches it across the air between, and watches it spring back beneath eyelids sunken low. The action entails nothing else for her to feed satisfaction from, already panting right in your mouth in search of more as soon as your tongue descries the answer. “More than okay,” you heave in a passioned breath along that all-consuming, deprived mouth. Your hand squeezes her fist confirmingly.

It quenches her lust to know, a hot-blooded, moaned and voiceless curse snapping into your mouth. “I fuckin' love you.” Her rage softens in meeker kisses, peppering them up to the corners of your lips until she pauses, and pulls herself away. Her eyes turn troubled and adrenaline-rushed. Stains of tears shimmer beneath, along new ones that begin to plunge, and for the first time ever, you know they're yours. But then the flesh between frowns, the mood shifting, and she croaks, “Am I.. an asshole?”

It breaks you to hear that.

You glare, and stammer, “W-What? You aren't.” Hooking dearly onto her wrist when her hand glides up to rest against your cheek. “Why?”

“Cause I sprung this on you, 'nd I don't wanna force you to..” Ellie cranks to a halt, mouth screwing shut like her thoughts were too much to bear hearing aloud. “Fuck,” she quietly spews, cowering her face near your neck.

“Said it was okay,” you coo, clarifyingly coo, raking your fingertips up and through the tied loops of her hair. “The only asshole thing you'd ever done was not let me come with you.”

“I know.” Her eyes search for uncomplicated plains. The sheets, her lap, your neck. A kiss is planted as she tips her head, the gust thereafter a warm reminder of her sorries.

“Thought you were going to die.” You awoken in violent patterns, cold nights restless in bed, tossing and turning. Waking and falling into daydreams of how Jackson would feel missing a cardinal component. A girl to rave against dying lights. Thorns scale your throat at the thought. “You're reckless, y'know?” you mean it as a gentle insult, chuckling as it leaves your lips, and sealing it into her scarred palm. Kissing reckless consequences.

Her lips loiter on the pulse of your throat. They drag, and they drag.. sloppily limping over your jaw as she makes her way to observe you in her palm, mumbling low, and gravelly, “How many times am I gonna have to say it?” Ellie deems it redundant to tell you that she knows again, resorting to her own little gentle insult, “Such a fuckin' sap.”

“Says you.”

Her hand is comfortingly warm; you aren't fain to break away. But her fingers are curious, thumb nearly making it into your mouth before she second-guesses herself, easing it at the verge of your lips instead.

A longing moment of Ellie staring at the way her thumb looks—a decoration to your mouth—passes, and she responds, “Still alive, aren't I?” to that loose thread of a plea you forgot you even said. It calls you right over, bidding you to look into her eyes again as space finds itself thinning again, her scratchy, band-aided nose caressing yours. “Dumbass.”

She chuckles into your mouth as you chuckle into hers, cutting yourself off with a kiss that ebbs, and flows. Suckles, and smacks, snaking her tongue in for a change. That sweet, sweet wheat. Saccharinity you can't explore anywhere else other than the outline of her mouth. And you—of grunted volitions in her chest—take exploration further, replacing the grasp of her shoulder with the coursing of fabric, sliding under the hem of her shirt and palming the skin there.

You feel her skin breathe, her belly breathe into your hand, and a content wrinkle pinch between her brows. Her skin, is as soft as nothingness.

“You're a dumbass.”

Air clings to your cheek as her hand reaches around you, pressing fingerprints into the base of your head as to prop you for her delightments. Ellie is no amateur, enjoying you as if she knew you were hers without explicit pledge.

“Sure, babe,” she scoffingly counters, and pulls her tongue out of you, lips messiy shining. She scouts you out; lays eyes on your expression with undertones of satisfaction and presses an appetent bite right back into your damp skin, grunting into the filthy kiss.

Your mind is one-pathed right now; in the most maddened form, you crave the story further down her throat. In that warm space, is air thinned and balmy with the scent of alcohol and syrup. In those whimpers, is the sincere confession she held tight in throatly gloaming, all those intimate times before. In all of your yearnings, your lips never parted for more.

Two holes that want to consume each other.

Weeping, wailing, tormenting in an empty forever.

“Fuck you, Ellie,” you cathartically sob into the humid cavern of her, a hint of wanton—and other repressed things, taking form. That hand under her shirt wanders from her navel and tweaks the button of her jeans, pressing your body against all of her like it hurt to be inside your own, singular body. Overcame by a need you could not chew out.

Ellie cuts the kiss, quick to soothe the movement with her hand pressing down and collecting yours. “Hey, hey, too fast,” she laughs, distancing herself and giving you those eyes that could see you were overstrung, hectic to go somewhere you aren't prepared for.

She loves you, but that means appreciating you enough to wait until time is perfect.

Her head cocks, “Let's take shit slow, huh?” fingers weaving into the pliant gaps of yours and pulling your fist dear to her chin, kissing it.

You speak over the repeated sounds of her smooches, “Yeah, sorry,” cringing slightly at how fucking cheesy the scene became. But, when is Ellie not? Wonder clasps you now; intent to know what this makes out of the two of you, having held your feelings for forever. “Well, what does all this mean, then?”

“It means..” Ellie slants her body even more, stealing your wrist along with her. Planning something, no doubt. “You and me, breakfast tomorrow at ten, Tipsy Bison?” Her mouth stuck to the side of your hand like syrup, so firm in not letting you go.

It makes your ears simmer hearing her shamelessly set up a date, of all things she could have said. God. You errantly laugh, totally not giddy when her mouth starts sprinkling up your arm at an alarming pace. “Sounds more than good—hey! You slow down!”

Happy birthday, asshole.

perm taglist; @whore4abby @aouiaa @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @fleshunger @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @beemillss @elsmissingfingers @maleelee @seraphicsentences

[lmk if you'd like to be added to my perm taglist!]

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calcifiedunderland · 4 months

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Part I (here), Part II, Part III (COMPLETED)

Trey Clover vs. Azul Ashengrotto vs. Jamil Viper x GN! Reader

In which the way to the Prefect’s heart is through their stomach! At least, according to three of NRC’s students…

I got the idea from @recreyomakesdoodles , from this post! Thank you so much, hope you liked it!!💕

Tagging people I think would be interested: @aruis4nosleep , @tinseltina

Warnings: food/eating

Notes: I decided to split this into multiple parts because I never have any restraint while writing and this ended up being long. Enjoy :D

———————————————————♣️🐙🐍

“Well, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Azul pushed his glasses up, balancing a stack of takeout boxes emblazoned with the Mostro Lounge logo on them. Cold blue eyes met Trey’s golden irises. Trey cleared his throat, shifting a heavy picnic basket from one hand to the other. “What brings you here, Azul? I thought you’d be busy at Mostro Lounge…”

Azul snorted, “the Prefect knows to expect me today. Clearly, you are the one intruding.” Earlier that week, he overheard you wailing to your friends about your upcoming History of Magic exam. Apparently, this unit was on Atlantica’s magical history - a topic that was, unfortunately, giving you trouble.

Fortunately, Azul was a mer who grew up learning the history by heart. Naturally he offered you assistance in exchange for having you taste-test some dishes. And how could he not help a poor, unfortunate fellow student like yourself?

Besides, if he wanted to bring along some personally cooked meals to Ramshackle, under the claim that you both would be there ‘for hours, so you may as well try some foods (that I made!) for the upcoming Lounge menu (that I run)!’, that was nobody’s business. And certainly not Clover’s business.

Trey crossed his arms, easily holding the heavy picnic basket like it weighed nothing. Azul could smell the buttery pastries and powdered sugar through the closed basket lid where he stood. “Riddle sent me to give the Prefect an invitation to the next Unbirthday Party. I thought I’d give them some treats to… sweeten the deal.” Though Trey had a disarmingly pleasant smile with the pun, his eyes bored into Azul’s.

Azul frowned. “That couldn’t have been more than a simple text. Aren’t they friends with your first years, as well?” He asked, remembering your first year friends that he’d turned into anemones.

Trey adjusted his glasses and averted his gaze, a telltale deflection sign that Azul didn’t miss. “Well, it’s more official coming from the Vice Housewarden.” “And I suppose the baked goods are complimentary?” Azul sniffed disdainfully at the basket, “Surely, the prefect needs more than pastries. A proper meal,” he emphasized.

Trey’s eyes narrowed, “a basket of baked goods is better than whatever deal you’d have for them,” he nodded to the boxes Azul carried. “Everyone loves a good old fashioned pastry. Can’t say the same for seafood.” Azul opened his mouth to retort, when suddenly both of their ringtones went off.

IM SO SORRY AZUL!!!!! I got caught up with something, can I come over tomorrow?? I likely won’t be done until later, the headmage has me doing stuff 😭

TREY!!! Tysm for the invite, you didn’t have to go out of ur way to give it in person!! ill definitely be there at the party! 😄 sry I’m not there atm, Crowley wanted me to do something for him

Trey frowned, reading your text. Azul huffed, shouldering the stack of food boxes, muttering “looks like today was a loss.” Trey sighed, “well, it can’t be helped…” he made a mental note to put the pastries in the Heartslabyul fridge and just deliver it to you tomorrow, under the guise of ‘checking up on you’ after working for Crowley. The two of them trudged down the path to the Hall of Mirrors, heading back to their dorms.

The two of them walked in silence until Trey abruptly said, “I don’t know what you want with the Prefect, but I hope you have their best intentions at heart.” Azul turned to give Trey a withering look, “I assure you, when it comes to the Prefect, I have nothing but good intentions.” As he stepped into Octavinelle, Azul smirked and muttered, “especially regarding their heart.” Trey lingered for a bit, staring at the Octavinelle mirror with an unreadable expression. “We’ll see about that,” he said aloud in the empty Hall, then headed back to Heartslabyul.

—•—♣️🐙🐍—•—

Meanwhile, you sighed heavily, collapsing onto the chair. The cafeteria was pretty much empty, save for the random student or two. It was already darkening outside, and you were hungry. Crowley wanted you to do something for him just before lunch, and soon half your Saturday was gone running around NRC. You’d even lost track of time, and missed Azul’s study session and Trey dropping in! You groaned, hearing your stomach growl loudly.

“Prefect? What are you doing here?”

You glanced up, seeing Jamil with a large container of tupperware and other small containers. The delicious scent of curries, labneh yogurt cheese, and freshly made pita made your mouth water. Despite yourself, Jamil caught you looking at the boxed-up food more than once.

“…Crowley had me running errands, and I may have skipped lunch…” your voice grew quiet near the end. Jamil raised an eyebrow, then smiled. “I actually ended up making too much food for Kalim,” he said, moving around the table to sit next to you. “There’s enough for an extra person, and I’ve have already eaten.”

Your eyes widened, and Jamil started dishing out some curry and flatbread for you. Bright-colored curry sauce and chickpeas flooded the platter, wafting a delicious scent. As Jamil ripped a piece of pita, your stomach growl loudly. Your face felt warm. Jamil only chuckled, pushing the plate he’d conjured towards you. “What about Kalim?” You asked, feeling bad. Jamil smiled, “Please, go ahead. There’s enough for Kalim and you.” A warm smile grew on your face, and you gave Jamil a one-sided hug before digging in. “Thank you! You’re my savior!”

As he watched you eat, a tender look grew on Jamil’s face. He shifted the food containers so he could watch you while nibbling on some flatbread. It wasn’t difficult to determine that you were off on Crowley’s whims again - with you running around the school and being gone for several hours. With that in mind, it wouldn’t be anyone’s fault if he accidentally made too much food, so he thought he’d drop it off at Ramshackle later. It was sheer luck that you’d dropped by the cafeteria!

You hummed, soaking up some of the leftover curry sauce with your flatbread, “this was delicious, Jamil. Thank you so much.”

Jamil smiled genuinely, but a devious look came into his eyes when you looked back at your plate. “Please, Prefect, allow me. Wait here.” He took the plate, going to the kitchens to box up some food for you to take back. Walking back to you, he handed you the container, “It’s getting late, I can walk you back to Ramshackle.”

The two of you set off, with you holding some of Jamil’s boxes. “This was… really sweet of you, Jamil,” you smiled. You knew Jamil always had his hands full, whether it was taking care of Kalim or managing literally everything else. Maybe the food was making you gush, but you were definitely grateful for the impromptu meal. As you opened the door to Ramshackle, you gingerly handed the boxes back to him.

“Ah, wait,” he shuffled them and held a large one out to you. “This one is yours.” Your eyes widened, “Jamil, this is a lot-“ “Please.” Your eyes met his dark grey irises, and warm gratitude filled your chest. “Jamil, I… I really don’t know what to say. I have to repay you somehow-“ Now that was what he wanted to hear.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to try making some new dishes,” he glanced at you. “I’ve been needing someone to taste test them, and Kalim won’t be available…” You nodded eagerly, “Of course! I’d love to help you!” You said your goodbyes, and as the door shut behind you, Jamil had a calculating smirk on his face. Oh yeah, it’s all coming together.

————————————————————♣️🐙🐍

Thanks for being patient everyone!! Hope you enjoyed this part, reblogs and comments are forever appreciated 💕

lmk if anyone wants to be added to the taglist! Take care shrimpies~ 😘

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jennifer-jeong · 6 months

Note

Guess who😊

As a reference to what you posted earlier, imagine that after the reader dies of old age, Xiao and Scaramouche encounter a reincarnation of themselves? It's your choice to make them mortal or not (I'm under your bed. If you make them mortal I will kick your feet at night.)

Take your time dear <3

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG FJDKSLA;FJDSA; life has been kicking my ASS but fuck it we ball HELLO MY MUTUAL THANK YOU FOR YOUR REQUEST, I’ve honestly been thinking hard because I want to also request some ideas because your writing is so sweet ehehehe OK PLEASE DON’T KICK MY FEET AT NIGHT THAT’S HORRIFYING - I WILL MAKE THE REINCARNATION IMMORTAL

ALSO @iota1111 these are my ideas for that Xiao and Wanderer angst! If you read only to the *** in each fic, that would be where I’d end the story if it wasn’t meant to be a happy ending! (I would suffer!!!!)

Fluff + Angst | Xiao/Wanderer x GN!Reader Reincarnation

CONTENT Angst to fluff, happy ending, reader death, mentions of death, mentions of fighting/them taking their anger out on things

XIAO

When you passed away, Xiao was absolutely heartbroken. He knew it was coming, he prepared for it, he stayed by your side through your deteriorating health in your last few months. But no matter what, he knew it would destroy him, and it did.

No one saw Xiao for weeks after but everyone noticed that Liyue was safer than ever. Xiao engrossed himself in his work. Taking out his emotions onto the monsters in Liyue. He worked himself to exhaustion every single day. Zhongli still came to check up on him but knew Xiao just needed time.

He didn’t know what to do with himself. What was he supposed to do? You were gone. HIs sunshine, his muse, his… everything.

Xiao collapsed after giving himself no rest for who knows how many nights. Laying in the grass, he stared up at the moon. Asking himself what he could’ve done differently and if he could’ve "selfishly" extended your life. If he could’ve made you immortal like him.

He listened to the bugs chirp around him, the breeze drying the tears he didn’t know were falling. For the first time in a long time, he cried. He sobbed and bit back the urge to lash out at everything in the vicinity. He was on his side, clutching his aching heart, crying into the soft grass he used to lay on with you.

He had gone through so much pain in his life: his karmic debt, the abuse from his old master, losing his found family, and all the years of deafening solitude.

But nothing would ever hurt more than losing you.

Xiao cried his heart out and knocked out from the exhaustion and pain. He slept peacefully for the first time since you passed. *** Xiao woke up the next morning with a start. Confused and disoriented not because of where he had fallen asleep, but because he sensed something insane.

He sensed you.

It was your soul, the one he swore himself to. There was no denying it. Was this a sick joke? Was some old evil spirit messing with him?

It had been months since your passing but there was no denying it. It was you.

Unfortunately, years would pass while Xiao searched for you. He was obsessed over it at first but once he could tell that your soul was safe and alive, he relaxed just a little. He still wanted to see you again, hold you, and whisper how much he loved you, but he knew you’d find each other eventually. He made himself a silent promise that he’d find you no matter what. He didn’t really have much else to do for all of eternity anyways.

Xiao confided in Zhongli through these years, the elder god revealing the possibility of reincarnation, revealing that it’s not uncommon. Souls return to the Earth in many forms but he hints to Xiao that he believes what he’s sensing is indeed you in human form.

Eventually, Xiao would be on a typical nightly patrol, sensing your soul nearby as always. But it was a bit different today. It was stronger.

As if right on cue, Xiao entered a clearing and despite it being nighttime, he saw the sun.

His beautiful sun had somehow risen again against all odds. You didn’t know his name but you knew his soul.

He recognized the sigil on your clothing, it belonged to an adeptus master he hadn’t seen in decades. The draconic horns on your head told him you were reborn in a different body, an immortal body. One that had you trained as an adepti for these past years, likely hidden away in a domain. It clicked in his head. It’s why he could always sense you, but never quite find where you were.

You turned around after feeling his approach. He wondered if you could feel his soul the way he felt yours. If you longed for him even in your new existence. He had so much to ask. But you pulled him out of his noisy thoughts.

Your voice brought him serenity he had long forgotten.

His heart pounded as you spoke.

“I missed you, my love.”

Instantly you were in each other's arms.

“I missed you too,” he says as his voice cracks.

WANDERER

He was angry, reverting back to how he was before Nahida, the traveler, and you helped him. He blamed the gods, the world, for his sorrows, for his pain. He sought to destroy it all again for somehow making his suffering worse. He had felt pain similar to this. It was all too familiar for him. The constant cycle of loss, betrayal, and agony. But this time, he was on the brink of insanity.

You, his perfect flower, had finally wilted.

He’s stuck bargaining for months, reverting between stages of grief: anger and bargaining. Never able to move on past that.

He continues on his missions for Nahida because he knows it’s what you've wanted but also because he didn’t know what else to do with himself. Any of his combat missions turned into tortures and near assassinations. He used it as a tool to cool himself off, much to the silent disapproval of Nahida. But she knew he’d never disobey your wishes, your morals. You taught him better than to kill out of emotion.

Wanderer commonly visits the forests where you two used to adventure to find some sort of peace and familiarity. He tends to avoid the Aranara despite the fact that they know about your passing and would probably be able to comfort him about it. He just didn’t think he could handle it.

Seasons pass and on one of his trips into the sunny lush forests, growing again due to the spring season, Aranara bring him your favourite flowers when they bloom again the next year. They loved you dearly too, you treated them and the forest with such gentleness that they could never forget you. They didn’t know how to approach him earlier so they used this opportunity instead.

His heart ached and his anemo vision surged with energy when he saw the flower. He finally reached his breaking point, he fell to his knees on the grass and sobbed, clutching the flower to his chest. Letting go of all the stupid anger and bargaining. Who was he kidding, he just didn’t want to accept that he’d have to keep going without you. *** The Aranara tell him not to worry though, comforting and telling him it will be okay. At first he’s confused as to what they mean but Nahida walks out into the sunlit clearing, the sun about to start setting.

She tells him she knows it hurts but that the Irminsul has a message for him and it says that he should not fret and continue to live on and explore the forest. His tear stained face raised an eyebrow but it slowly turned to determination, he knew Irminsul would not lie.

It would take years but he slowly started to feel you nearby. He’d dream of you. The forest felt like you and he could feel your energy in the flora. He confided in Nahida and their bond only grew stronger, he’d also reach out to the Aranara when he’d adventure out of the city.

Eventually, the Aranara prepared and held a ceremony, sensing the birthing of something new, a nature spirit. Nahida described it using the term “nymph.”

Wanderer was silent as he put the pieces together. He held his breath as he realized it might be you. Your reincarnation.

He always saw you as his flower, but he didn’t think you’d become a nature spirit, he was not complaining about it in the slightest though.

Nahida explained that you would exist in the physical realm but had strong ties to the dream realm, you’d be immortal like Aranara are but you’d still be able to live with him in the physical.

As you manifested and blinked open your eyes, you immediately looked at him.

His hands were shaking, unsure if he was scared, happy, both? Was it really you? Had the world finally decided to grant him happiness instead of sorrow? Was this a gift?

But as you took gentle steps towards him, he realized something important:

It didn’t matter.

You were here again, in front of him. Nothing else mattered.

You reached out to hold his face with your hands. You knew him, you knew your soul belonged to him and his to you.

He drew in closer to you, holding your face and touching your foreheads together, tears threatening to fall.

Your beautiful voice spoke to him again in what felt like an eternity. He had almost forgotten what you sounded like.

“Don’t cry my love, I’m here.”

His eyebrows scrunched as his tears fell. He wraps his arms around you tight, never wanting to let go, scared you’d leave him again.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered shakily, scared that his voice would fail if he tried to speak.

“I missed you too. I’m here to stay.”

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin angst #genshin fluff #xiao x reader #reader x xiao #xiao fluff #xiao angst #wanderer x reader #reader x wanderer #wanderer fluff #wanderer angst #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche angst #j's silly ramblings #j's asks

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simmerianne93 · 3 months

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[Simmerianne93]Portrait_poses_12

Hi everyone how are you today??!

I must apologize for my small absence and silence....

If you follow me on Twitter you already know this but I was a little burned out with the amount of poses I had been doing the last few months, so I took a couple of weeks to "heal" and be able to bring you more and more poses.

From now on I tell you that my idea is to bring you some posepacks this coming week and the next one. There are a few packages that I already had scheduled in my agenda and now that I feel better, I am able to get to work and get them ready... So in these next two weeks you can expect some new packages to tell your wonderful stories.

And since I have cleared my ideas for the next few weeks, let's get to the point with the reason of this post:

As you may know, I usually post my poses at an earlier time, but today I made an exception. These poses I'm bringing today were not really scheduled or intended to be made haha, but today is Father's Day in my country and when I woke up and congratulated my dad, I felt like to do something related for our beloved pixel fathers.

In my normal planning, I don't usually make a complete package and publish it on the same day, but I didn't want to let this day slip under the table and I really wanted to share with you what I had in my head, so... despite my recent burned out, I made it happen xDDD (this is really wild now that i think about it xDDD)

I hope you like them... and even though it's late, happy Father's Day to all those who celebrate it today!!!

Enjoy!!!

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What is on it?

6 dúo poses:

2 poses for an adult sim and an infant sim.

2 poses for an adult sim and a toddler sim.

2 poses for an adult sims and a kid sim.

--- What do you need?

Andrew poses player.

Teleport any sim by Scumbumbo or Mccc by deaderpool.

Invisible infant mat replacement by mcrudd (OPTIONAL)

Instructions in the original post.

——

TOU

Do not claim my creations as your own.

Do not re-upload or modify my creations.

Do not make money of my creations.

Do not include my creations in Mods folders to download.

Please follow my Term Of Use.

——

Download it now here — [FREE FOR EVERYONE]

——————

If you want to support me: Patreon | Ko-fi

All my poses overview: Pinterest | Wix | Tumblr

More in-game preview pics of all my poses: Instagram

My socials: Twitter | BlueSky | Instagram | Tumblr

Lives and videos: Youtube

——————

I really hope you like them and I will say in advance: Thank you so much for using them.

@ts4-poses

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lilyginnyblackv2 · 2 years

Text

Buddy Daddies - Episode 7 - Thought Post - Side Rei

Oh, Rei...OTL

This episode was an eye opener for him. But, I also think it did a good job of highlighting how this isn’t just Rei “being lazy” and not contributing enough, but also about Rei just not knowing how to do these things.

When he opens the fridge, he doesn’t even know which stuff in there is the food. And this is because of his upbringing, not necessarily because he was rich, but because he was brought up to kill and that was it. Skills pertaining to his ability to kill were the only thing his father and family focused on, so that was all he learned.

If you don’t teach a child how to do something (whether physically or emotionally), how can we expect them to know how to do it as an adult? That’s the issue facing Rei here. That’s not to say that he is completely blameless here or that he hasn’t put in any effort. He has, but a lot of the things he does right tend to be more accidental and where he is largely putting in some effort (like playing games with her) is a bit misguided. Making sure she stays protected from people who can harm her is an area he has gotten extremely good at though.

But, let’s look at some of the things that I think Rei accidentally gets right with Miri. By being, on a life skills and emotional development level, in a similar place as Miri, he ends up accidentally being really good at allowing Miri to guide him at times. For example, in this week’s episode we have this moment:

Rei is in front of her closet, looks at her, and askes, “What do you need to take?” He’s asking about her things for daycare. Miri is then able to point to the sheet of paper that tells him everything he needs (a little checklist). This is a good thing to do with children around Miri’s age from time to time, since it can not only work as a good confidence booster for them, but also let the parent or teacher know that the child understands aspects of their daily routine.

Of course, it isn’t good for a parent or teacher to rely on this. Why? Because the child is still a child and still learning and will sometimes make mistakes, like Miri does when she says to Rei, “Don’t I have daycare today?” And then this mistake is what ultimately leads to Miri developing a cold and fever later on in the episode, because she wasn’t wearing proper clothes and Rei was riding too fast, thus making it even colder and wetter.

But, we’ll get back to that in a bit.

The rest of this I will put under a Read More due to length.

We also see that Rei views Miri on pretty equal footing in many ways. Here are two examples of this:

The first is when Miri asks to play Morio Kart with Rei and he tells her “no,” because she gets upset when she loses. This indicates that he doesn’t go easy on her, which is a good thing. Allowing children to lose at games is a good thing. The not so good thing though, is that she gets upset when she loses and Rei doesn’t help her through that (because he, himself, doesn’t know how to handle emotions like that). So, instead, he basically just parent-locks the game away from her. That doesn’t help her learn, that just ends up punishing her, in a way, for not being able to understand how to express her upset. Of course, that isn’t Rei’s intentions.

The second example of this is the scene when Miri and Rei are eating the dinner Kazuki made:

He doesn’t force her to eat the food (and neither does Kazuki in the end, actually), but he also goes down to her level in not showing proper acknowledgement of the hard work Kazuki put into making the meal. We saw this earlier in the episode too:

After a meal they have earlier in the episode, Miri says a proper “Thanks for the food,” in Japanese ごちそうさまでした (gouchisousamadeshita). The subs have Rei say, “Same.” And that is an excellent translation (really, kudos to the sub and dub translators for Buddy Daddies, because the translations have been so good in general!). Basically, Rei just ends up parroting off of Miri in this scene by saying the tail end of the full, proper saying. He just says でした (deshita).

Up until this week’s episode, Rei was able to skate by on not having these skills, because Kazuki would just do all this stuff for him, and there were no real consequences or level of accountability for his actions. The closest was Episode 5, but that ended up working out okay.

In this week’s episode, Miri does end up being all right, but she isn’t completely safe from harm. Because of Rei’s lack of life skills, Miri ends up getting very sick. This ends up scaring Rei shitless.

The scene of him going around, opening all the draws and seeing absolutely nothing he could use to help Miri. The closest thing being medicine that are for adults only (another great detail that highlight how both Kazuki and Rei are still learning how to make their household accommodating for a child). Is a great way to show just how panicked and worried he was, since I’m sure everyone has had a similar experience to this one, when looking for something very important you need - and just not finding it.

Eventually, Rei realizes he needs to take her to a doctor and that he needs to seek outside help right away to make sure she gets better. And that is a great thing about this week’s episode. Kazuki and Rei’s storylines are kept separate for the most part, because the episode highlights how getting help outside of your partner is necessary sometimes (and is far healthier). Before, they were being co-dependent and that was taking a toll on them (Rei with a lack of skills, and Kazuki with being able to keep locking away his emotions and not allowing himsef to move on because he could focus all his time and energy on caring for Miri and Rei).

In the end, they both find the right person in their extended family and community to help them in just the right way that they need. Kyutaro for Rei (not Kazuki he wasn’t the right fit), and Karin for Kazuki.

Before Rei brings Miri to Kyutaro though, he has the realization of:

“I can’t do anything.”

And that is very, very important. This was his wake-up call that he if he wants to make sure no harm comes to Miri, then he needs to step up his game and put effort into learning these skills. Because yes, he is an adult who wasn’t taught these things, but he is also an adult who is responsible for a child - a whole other life. And I think that finally sunk in for Rei this episode.

When Kazuki gets home he sees that the apartment is a mess and at first thinks that it is just because Rei and Miri are both not good at household chores, so that is just the expected outcome. But then he sees this in Miri’s room:

Miri sleeping in her bed with Rei sleeping right beside her, his hand covering hers. She has a wet washcloth on her forehead, a glass of water on the bedside table, an opened medicine packet from the pharmacist, and a thermometer is sitting in arms reach. Everything that should be there, is, and Rei made sure Miri took the medicine and got the sleep that she needed.

In the end, he was able to make sure Miri got everything she needed in this situation. He took care of her.

Finally, the episode ends with Rei (with what seemed to be implied the help of Miri) making Kazuki French toast.

It isn’t the best. It’s burnt and seems like it may have been oversaturated as well, so it likely doesn’t taste the best either. But Rei and Miri tried. They put love and effort into that. And Rei looks very nervous and eager at the same time. He wants to know how he did:

His shoulders are tense, his eyebrows furrowed, and he leans forward. This is a great step in the right direction and reminds me of how people often say that children want to be helpful. Rei’s never really been given the chance to be helpful before now, but not that he has that experience, it seems like he wants to try and actually be helpful.

So let’s hope that we see him doing just that! I want future episodes to carry this character growth over, just like they’ve carried plot points over before (such as their issue with going over their budget in Episode 4 leading to money issues in Episode 5). I have trust in the writers and directors that they will though. Otherwise, it would make this episode a moot one. Here’s to Rei Papa continuing to learn and grow and do his best! <3

#Rei Suwa #Kazuki Kurusu #Miri Unasaka #Kyutaro Kugi #Buddy Daddies #BD spoilers #long post #image heavy post #meta post

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firewasabeast · 2 months

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okay so I wrote a fic based off this post that I made earlier today so... enjoy!

read here or on ao3

Thomas Kinard is eighteen years old and he just graduated basic training.

He's standing among nearly two hundred other graduates, all filled with some form of anxiety and excitement.

They're all standing at attention, although Tommy knows everyone's eyes are searching the audience.

They've all been given their orders.

They stand at attention until a family member or loved one comes and taps them out. Only then can they be at ease.

Tommy had called his dad a couple weeks ago. Left him a message on the landline about the date and time of his graduation. He hadn't expected a call back. The payphones at basic weren't great and you didn't have much spare time to be on them, but he knew his dad would get the message.

He wrote a letter to his grandparents, just in case. His aunt on his mom's side, and his older cousins too.

They'd been proud when he told them he was graduating early, joining the service, would be celebrating his eighteenth birthday in boot camp.

Even his dad has slapped him on the back and told him he was glad he was finally becoming a real man.

Tommy's eyes scanned the crowd, but it was hard to make anyone out.

He waited patiently through the ceremony. His heart skipped a beat or two when people began making their way toward the graduates.

He stood still, only his eyes darting around as the people beside him began to get tapped out. He listened to the cries of parents who had done nothing but miss their children for the past 10 weeks. Saw grown men cry at the site of their moms. Heard the laughter from boyfriends and girlfriends who surprised their partner by showing up. Watched little kids run to their sibling and wrap their arms around them in a hug.

He was certain that only a few minutes had passed, but it felt like hours.

As more and more seconds passed, his heart continued to pound, but for a different reason now.

Surely he wasn't the only one. As he glanced around, he didn't see anyone else waiting. No, he couldn't see everybody, but he was near the back in the center row so he could see most people, and they all had somebody with them.

A hand tapped his shoulder and his head jerked to the side, eyes wide. He felt a lump in the back of his throat when he saw his commanding officer standing beside him. He had the softest look on his face that Tommy had ever seen.

Pity.

“At ease, soldier.”

Tommy takes a breath, relaxes his posture. His CO moves in front of him, shakes his hand. “You've done well, Kinard. You should be proud.”

Tommy nods. Can't find his voice to speak.

He feels tears in his eyes, but he blinks them away.

He shouldn't have expected anyone to show up anyway.

He lowers his head as he walks off the field. A part of him wonders what it was all even for?

*****

Thomas Kinard is forty-eight years old and he just got promoted to captain.

It's not something he ever thought about until the past couple of years. He wouldn't get to fly much as captain. There's more paperwork, more politics, more people to answer to.

But there's also more stability. Especially with being the captain at Harbor. A regular schedule, forty-eight on and ninety-six off.

It was safer. There had been a scare a couple years back. Engine failure on his bird. He went plummeting toward the ground and, if not for a dense area of trees slowing his descent, the chopper would have exploded the second it hit the ground.

He survived, obviously, but his injuries were severe. He had a broken pelvis, fractured leg, thirty stitches down his arm, cranial bleeding, and ended up in a coma for nearly two weeks.

The recovery was long and so, so painful but he had Buck by his side every step of the way. Even the times he'd push Buck away, tell him to please just leave him alone, Buck stayed. He stayed and he learned all the physical therapy techniques and he loved Tommy through all of it.

Flying hadn't felt the same since. He was relieved when he had fully recovered. When he took his recertification classes and passed with flying colors.

But the freedom he had always felt with being in the sky changed into something completely different. There was anxiety. Relief when he was back on solid ground.

He stared out into the crowd, at the little girl sitting on Buck's lap.

Juniper. Six years old and looking more grown up every day. She was glancing all around the room, her eyes never staying in one place for very long. She kept pointing at things, leaning back to whisper into Buck's ear. He'd nod, smile, then whisper back. Tommy was sure they were swapping facts.

So much like her father, he thought.

He'd never forget the day he got home from the hospital. Juniper, only four then, staring at him as he was wheeled into the house. She was clutching onto Eddie's hand, her knuckles snow white. She hadn't gotten to see him in nearly a month, besides an occasional Facetime call.

Once he had gotten settled into the hospital bed that had been delivered to the house the day before, he called her over to him. She slowly climbed up onto the bed, Buck helping her settle beside Tommy without really touching him.

“You scared me, Papa,” she spoke quietly, eyes wet with unshed tears. “Please don't do it again.”

No, flying was never the same after that.

His eyes wander over the rest of the crowd.

A small smile breaks out over his face when he realizes he knows everyone in the first two rows.

Besides his husband and daughter, Maddie, Chimney, and Jee were there. Hen- or, Captain Wilson, now- and Karen. Eddie, Ravi, and Athena. Behind his family were all the firefighters from Harbor. They had been thrilled when they heard Tommy would be the new captain. He'd been taking cues from Bobby recently, starting special dinners with the crew and getting to know them better before he even became captain. He wanted his team to know he'd be there for them, that they could count on him. From the excitement they showed when it was officially announced that he'd be the new captain, he was fairly certain he'd done a good job so far.

The only person not in the audience today was Bobby. But, that was simply because Chief Nash was the one leading the ceremony.

Tommy takes another look around at the family in front of him. He waves at Juniper. She grins wide, showing off her missing front teeth, waves enthusiastically.

His eyes meet Evan's. Tommy gives him a wink. Buck smiles, winks back.

He straightens his posture as the ceremony begins.

He thinks, this... this is what it's all for.

#bucktommy #911 #tommy kinard #evan buckley #tevan #kinley #yes juniper makes an appearance because of course she does #this can all be in the same universe as my uncle eddie fic but this has absolutely nothing to do with eddie lol #also i promise i did more research than tim and co will ever do but im sure i got some things wrong so... oh well we must survive somehow

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russellsppttemplates · 8 months

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This drawing is for you (Lando Norris)

Matilda already has her love language, handing out her drawings to people

Note: english is not my first language. Look who showed up, hm? Honestly, the last two weeks have been a bit all over the place and I've been meaning to post way more than what I actually have

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Mummy?", you heard your daughter call for you, walking to her playroom since you assumed that's where she was, "yes, baby?", you made your presence known.

"Can we stop by the stationery shop when we go and pick daddy up from work, please? My colouring pencils are getting too small", she showed you a few examples, the colours you recognised from having a big presence in her drawings belonging to pencils that you were barely able to hold in your hands yourself.

"Of course, Tilly", you smiled, "speaking of which, we have to leave soon. Are you almost finished with your drawing?", you wondered, "yes, mummy, I just need to finish colouring in the sun", she mused, grabbing the tiny yellow pencil and carrying on with her work.

When she finished, she set the pencil down, stopping in the bathroom to wash her hands and heading to the door to meet you, "hold your sleeves", you nudged as she held on the hems while you put on her jacket, not wanting her to let the clothes climb up her arms and be uncomfortable.

"Let's go, mummy!", she cheered, walking downs the stairs into the garage so you could get in the car and drive to the factory.

As you were driving, your husband called, "hello, love! We're already in the car on our way to get you, we're going to stop by the shop to buy some colouring pencils for Tilly so we don't have to wait too long for you", you said, turning on the blinker once you faced the junction.

"Hi daddy!", Matilda spoke loudly, hoping her could hear her like she heard him, "How are my favourite girls today? Actually, I was calling because the meeting ended early and I'm ready whenever you want to pick me up", Lando voiced as you saw your daughter smile from her spot in the back of the car, "you can come with us to the shop, then!", she said excitedly.

"That's a great idea, love! Me and Matilda will go and pick you up first, then! We're ten, maybe fifteen minutes out, depends on how traffic is, it looks okay, though", you muttered, finding it easy so far to drive to the factory.

"Okay, I'll be waiting for you! I love you, girls! Drive safe!", he said before ending the call, Matilda clapping her hands excitedly at the prospect of seeing her father earlier than expected.

By the time you arrived at the factory, Matilda had listed all of the materials she would like to get so her drawings would be pretty. Parking the car, you got out, putting on your coat as you walked to open Matilda's door, "let's go, Matilda!", you smiled, unbuckling her belt and making sure she was cozy and warm to face the cold end of the day temperatures.

Everyone in the factory knew you and your little one, so they would have at you, knowing they would have a difficult time at getting many words out of your little girl, usually a sweet smile, a wave and a small and quiet "hi" before she held onto your legs and hid her face there.

Lando was laughing loudly, so it was easy to know that as soon as you crossed that corner, you'd find your husband along with one of his mechanics and engineers.

Matilda smiled as she saw her daddy, releasing the grip she had on your hand, but keeping them laced until Lando and her locked eyes, "hello, my loves!", Lando said, crouching down so his daughter could finally unlace her hand from yours and run up to him, hugging him and allowing him to pick her up so she could kiss his cheek, "Hi, daddy", she whispered in his ear.

Even though there were only two other people beside her parents, she was still shy as they greeted her, "Hello!", they said as she waved, smiling before hiding her face on her father's neck.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow. Goodbye Y/N, bye-bye Matilda!", they said as they went the opposite direction, you and Lando bidding goodbye whenever you encountered someone until you were in the parking lot, ready to get in the car.

"Do you want to drive?", you asked your husband despite already knowing the answer. He hated not being in control of the situation if he could, so driving his family around was non negotiable most times, only sitting as a passenger when he was very tired.

Buckling Matilda back in her seat and kissing her forehead, you got into the car yourself as your husband drove to the usual shop where you got your daughter's art supplies and your own whenever your work required materials.

"Do you already know what you want to get, babygirl?", Lando asked as the three of you walked inside the shop. It was unusually quiet for this time of the day, and a small part of Matilda was happy because she could go up to the shelves and drawers she already knew had what she needed without having to ask her parents for help in moving along the shop.

After grabbing the supplies she needed, she took them to the young woman at the front so her parents could pay for it, "have a nice day, Matilda! I'm sure your works of art will be beautiful!", she said. You and your family were regular costumers, so they had already grown to know your name and hers, so they had managed to get in the small group of people that were not family and friends and Matilda didn't feel to shy with.

"Bye-bye, have a nice day, too!", she waved sweetly before running up to her daddy, "very good, Matilda, I'm very proud of you for that!", he said, kissing her cheek and walking along with you to the car.

The McLaren unit was working on full speed as you arrived, coffees and other drinks being served as guests arrived or workers carried on with their day, you opting to go to the track, along with Matilda, after the initial morning rush so you wouldn't have to deal with too many people at once.

"Do you want to to go to daddy's room or stay here?", you questioned her, "here in the lounge", she replied as you walked to one of the tables near the windows so you could be near the sunlight that had graced the weekend and be a little further away from the buzz.

"Do you want to draw with me, mummy?", she offered once she was comfortably sitting on the chair, taking her pencil case from her backpack along with the blank sheets of paper.

"Sure, love! Let me just text daddy so he knows where we are when he finishes his meeting", you smiled, grabbing your phone to text Lando before setting it down and grabbing the things you needed.

"Are you drawing daddy's car?", Matilda asked sweetly as she took a peek at your work, "I am! Do you think it's pretty?", she nodded, "but not as pretty as yours, I love your butterfly", you complimented.

As she was finishing colouring in the wings, one of the girls from the PR team came to greet you, "Y/N, Matilda! It's been a while since I saw you around!", she cheered, kissing each of your cheeks as you did the same to her before she noticed your daughter looking at her, "hello", she said in her usual quiet tone.

As you spoke with the young woman, your daughter carefully folded the paper and ripped it by the crease she had made so she could separate the small drawing from the rest of the plain paper.

"Alright, girls! I'll see you later!", she said as someone called her name, presumably with a task for her to do.

"You can have this one if you'd like", Matilda spoke, showing her the drawing, "really, babygirl? Thank you so much, I'm so flattered!", she said, accepting it and keeping it safe in her notebook, "I'll keep it here until I can get home and put it in my wall, okay?", she nodded as your little girl blushed at the attention, nodding too.

Because the practice session was being used as the scheduled opportunity for the reserve driver to do a few laps on the track, Oscar joined you and Matilda as you looked over the cars on track.

"I need to go to the bathroom. Do you also need to go, Tilly?", you asked your daughter, earning a head shake no, "I'm good, mummy", she said, going back to colouring in.

Excusing yourself after Oscar assured he'd keep her company, Matilda was quick to silently offer her crayons to the Australian man along with her colouring book.

"Where are Lily and Lucas?", she asked for her usual companions for the weekend. They would often be together so you and Lily could catch up while the kids entertained themselves in eachother's company.

"They stayed back home this weekend", Oscar explained, "but they told me they wish they were here. I think they're coming to Silverstone, so we will all be together then", he smiled as she gave him a small smile, too, noddinh in agreement and taking out her new glitter pens.

They start colouring and not saying much, only asking eachother to please hand them a crayon or pen the other couldn't reach or if the drawing looked good. Matilda felt understood by him, so it was no surprise that, besides her family, he was the person she felt the most comfortable with spending time in the paddock.

"Where's daddy taking you, little miss?", you asked as you saw Lando change the t-shirt your daughter was wearing. Under her dungarees, she now had an orange McLaren t-shirt, matching her father as he held her on his hip, "we're going to hand in drawings I made, and I didn't want to do it alone, and since you said you were feeling tired, daddy said he would take me", she smiled, kissing your cheek when you got up to kiss your husband's lips and her forehead.

"You sit tight, alright baby?", Lando urged, "me and Tilly want you to be well rested when the time comes to watch the race", he kissed your forehead. You hadn't slept that well the night before, so when Matilda had built her collection of gifts, she didn't want to tire you out more.

Leaving the hospitality, Lando walked with Matilda, asking her where she wanted to go first, "Can we find uncle Seb first? Mummy and I saw him when we arrived, but there were a lot of people near him so we said we'd see him later", she reasoned as Lando quickly searched for the retired German driver, "there he is, love", he pointed, walking in his direction.

Despite her initial confidence, Matilda felt shy as everyone's eyes landed on her and her father, cooing at the sight of them matching and the fact that little Norris had showed up, too.

"Hello, Matilda! How are you?", Sebastian asked, smiling at the duo as she retreated, hiding her face on his neck. Her backpack was open as Lando pulled the art pieces out.

"Didn't you want to give something to Sebastian, gorgeous girl?", Lando encouraged, kissing her cheek sweetly and giving her time.

"The bee one, daddy", Matilda whispered against his neck where she kept hhalf of her face hidden as Lando flickered the drawings, finding the one she meant.

"Is this for me? Thank you, Matilda, this is very nice!", Sebastian said warmly, making he little girl smile at him.

"Who's next?", Lando asked, "Charles, I made a drawing for him with a sea, because he lives in Monaco", she reasoned.

"And on the screens now we can see the McLaren garage this afternoon, where Lando Norris has his little one and his wife here this weekend!", Natalie said looking at the screen along with Naomi.

"That's true! Little Matilda has been in the paddock with her parents this whole weekend, and yesterday I had the privilege of seeing the cutest scene! She was hiding behind Lando's legs, but she kept holding some of the drawings until she found the people she wanted to give them to!", Naomi added, "she had one for Sebastian, for Charles, and she also shared some with the McLaren crew, too!

"And when I was interviewing Oscar this morning, Matilda walked closer to us and asked for his help to get the drawing she made of me - I have it right here, let me show you! - and this is the cutest thing ever! I have an orange suit - because of papaya, she said -, and my braids look so good with this glittery accent, see?", she showed Natalie as she nodded, "she's usually a very quiet little one, but she's an artist for sure. She takes after her mummy, so I've heard", she smiled into the camera.

"Yet, this morning, when me and the crew were deciding where to go first, we caught a father-daughter that made our hearts melt, take a look in the screens!", Natalie finished.

"Is it silly, Matilda?", Lando tried, seeing his daughter give him a full belly laugh as he drew a crocodile with rain boots, "crocodiles don't need rain boots, daddy! They can swim and walk all the same!", she giggled, delighting the people who were watching and hearing her laugh. "Well, maybe I should give him some floaties, too! Should I make him pink ones like yours?", he tried, earning another set of giggles out of his little girl.

#lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #lando norris x you #f1 fluff

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schrodinger-swriter · 7 months

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The main cast of Hazbin hotel on Valentine's day

I know I may be a little late. I had to do some shopping today and hadn't had the motivation or time to get down and write until now! I apologize is some characters are given more writing than others... the truth is that I am bised for some characters or simply have more for them. :C

Regardless I hope you enjoy these, I likely won't do these large posts very often.

CHARLIE:

I hope you can forgive me for being a little short on Charlie's part, I had stated earlier what she would do for the holiday in an alphabet post! But to recap she makes you a mixtape with songs dedicated to you, songs made by her and songs she knows you like! The case is handmade too, covered in hearts as well as having a hand written note inside further expressing her affections for you. She would also give you some of your favorite candies! Expect to go out and do something fun and romantic too!

VAGGIE:

Much lower compared to her canon partner, Vaggie is not much of an enjoyer of the holiday. She keeps her thoughts to it to herself, though sometimes you might find her grumbling about all the pink and the red. She just doesn't enjoy the aesthetic all that much. However despite that she will still participate if she knows it will make her significant other happy! She would get you something small, like a stuffed animal and some flowers.

ANGEL DUST:

Respectfully stealing this idea from my mutual, but he already gets so many gifts and cards from his crazed horny fans. He hardly has the room for any more! Though.. he probably sells a lot of it for some extra cash, only keeping some of the candies. If you get him something, he probably wouldn't sell it. He's actually touched. In terms of what he does for you, he might treat you to a night full of him... in more ways than one if you're open to it. If you don't feel like going out he's fine with staying inside and watching some movies in his rooms... perhaps it's a deserved break after a rough day during the love season.

ALASTOR:

Similar to Vaggie, Alastor wouldn't do much. He understands the purpose of the holiday, but he simply. Does not care for it all that much. However I do rather enjoy the though of Alastor sending letters to his friends (Mimzy, Rosie, Niffty, ect). He even puts them in fancy envelopes and seals them with wax. How nice is that? If he can, he might even send a box of chocolates. Fingers, in Rosie's case. However, he doesn't do much to celebrate outside of that. That's assuming he sends anything at all, anyway.

SIR PENTIOUS:

He would go all out. He might even make a machine dedicated to you and gift it. He makes a mechanical heart that beats and gives it to you. He gives you all of the candy he can get his hands on, not exactly sure what you prefer. He takes you out for the night, to the nicest restaurant he can go to without getting jumped (because let's be honest... his days of trying to pick fights and climb to power has probably landed him with some enemies...). He's a total gentleman on the date, opening the door for you and pushing in your chair for you. Considering he's a little flustered that he is on a date with you, everything goes smoothly.

HUSKER:

He likes to stay in, but you can count that if you manage to get him to go out it's going to be a to a club or bar. Anywhere with alcohol. He'd much rather prefer a bar, since it's usually... lower in energy. He also isn't much of a Valentine's person, and he does show his disdain. He does tone down on talking negatively about the day around you, so there's that at least. A simple night in with an affirmation of love is enough for Husk.

NIFFTY:

She bakes you something and perhaps sews you something. A red throw pillow in the shape of a heart. Though you may have to tell her that's what you want because otherwise she's going to try something akin to the roach crown.... shivers... The baked goods are actually pretty good, and you'll be snacking on them for the rest of the week due to Niffty getting too excited and making too many. She will stab someone with a needle if they try to take one without asking you first.

LUCIFER:

He also goes all out, it might actually be a little overwhelming! He can conjure nearly anything he can think of, if his song was being literal! He wants to make sure you're loved, and that there's no possible way that you would ever think otherwise. Despite this he might rather stay inside, or maybe alter the home to look more fancy to make a mock dinner. Generally very sweet and you will be drowning in gifts from the second you wake up to the minute you go to sleep. He also makes you breakfast in bed.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin x reader #hazbin x you #charlie morningstar x reader #vaggie x reader #angel dust x reader #alastor x reader #sir pentious x reader #niffty x reader #husk x reader #husker x reader #lucifer x reader

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zeltqz · 1 year

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unwind with me | haruchiyo sanzu

pairing. ex bf!sanzu x fem!reader

word count. 3.4k

synopsis. when sanzu doesn't take you breaking up with him seriously.

content. mentions of murder (bonten antics), pills, sex under the influence, sanzu being in denial, clingly obsessive haruchiyo, toxic relationship, sanzu broke into your house, so implied stalking ig? no violence though

taglist. @insayninthamembrayn @mrsharuchiyo @thisbicc @Mishueb @littleoanh @gennysuga @wenumsmol @foreshadxw @meuw02

authors note. IM BACK BITCHES (kinda sorta idk) i know i promised to post like days ago but things happened so..........yeah my fault my fault

“This is me,” you said with a small smile to your date. The uber driver stopped outside your house as you dug through your bag for your keys.

“I had fun today,” he muttered, pressing his forehead against yours. His warm brown eyes stared at yours as you fought back the urge to kiss him. It’s late, the sun set long ago, the black sky littered with stars and the mood was just perfect. If there was another moment to kiss him it was now.

As if he was thinking the same, his eyes dropped down to your lips as his tongue darted out to wet his own. You leaned forward first, closing what little gap was left between both your bodies and you kissed him, slow and sweet.

The driver watched the slow kiss through the mirror and frowned. “How adorable. But you need to leave my car. I have other stops to make.”

The two of you pulled away, having forgotten your surroundings and you cleared your throat, bidding goodbye to your date and the driver and slid out of the car. When you looked back at the car, he had his hands in a phone gesture and mouthed Call me , making you giggle as the car drove off. You bit back on a shit-eating grin as you made your way up to your door. If it wasn’t for the love struck haze in your mind, you would’ve noticed how weird it was that your door was already unlocked.

Stepping inside your house, you flicked on the light, humming to yourself as you kicked off your shoes. You grabbed a sorry snack from the fridge and began to dig into it as you thought back to your day. This was the fifth date your friends set you up on this week alone. Each of them were exhausting and boring; the men mediocre at best, only talking about themselves the entire time and rarely asking you questions about yourself, your job or your life.

Today however, exceeded all your expectations. Not only was he nurturing, kind, and caring, he also paid for all your things despite telling him you could afford it, listened to you talking about your life and remembered bits and pieces to bring up later. It shocked you when he remembered a short joke you made earlier and even brought it up later causing you to break out into laughter.

Despite being the lovely person he was, there was still something missing. Compared to your ex boyfriend who quite frankly was crazy. You shook your head, refusing to think about Haruchiyo right now when you’re trying to move on.

With a sigh, you walked over to your living room with the intent to watch some TV, and yelp when you see Haruchiyo reclining on your couch like he lives here. Like you didn’t break up with him last week. He even had the audacity to put his filthy shoes on your furniture just because he can.

“Get out.”

He looked away from the TV and over to you. With the darkness in the living room, his face looked even more haunting as the TV screen lit up half of his face, his mouth stretched into a chilling smile that sent shivers down your spine. If you had something other than a teaspoon in your hands right now you would’ve dashed it at him.

“But you just got here…” he said with a frown.

“And you need to leave. Right now. B—before I call—”

“Call who? The police? You know Bonten basically controls them, right?” He leaned back against the couch, stretching his long arms out and smirked at you. “I practically own them. They worship me baby.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. I won’t call the police. But you need to get out.”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled, all teeth at you. “Nice to see you too.”

You felt like you had 400 pound shackles on your feet with how heavy your footsteps were, but you stopped in front of the couch. “Why are you here?”

He tilted his head to the side. “Can I not see you? Check up on you?” The fact he looked genuinely confused made you want to rip your hair out.

“You have a phone. I have a phone.”

“You blocked me,” he cut you off, narrowing his eyes.

You crossed your arms over your chest, fighting back a scoff. “Take the hint.” You leaned closer to his face, hoping the closeness would make your words actually enter his ears not float past him. “We. Broke. Up. I do not love you anymore.”

Haruchiyo hummed, stroking his chin, looking up at the ceiling. “No…No I don’t recall us breaking up.” He looked back down and smiled playfully when he watched your serious face fall. “I remember you telling me to fuck off and die though. That’s what you told me.” He shrugged. “Nothing about breaking up though.”

“Huh?” You blinked at him, hands clenched to your side. “It’s common sense!” You took a deep breath, stepping away from him to pace around your living room, all the while he just leaned forward, grabbed the snack you dropped on the table and began to eat it.

“You know what. Fine.” You crossed the room once more, stopping in front of him. “I want to break up.”

He shook his head taking a bite of the Oreo. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I want to break up.” You meant every single word and you noted the exact moment he realised you weren’t playing around. His mouth fell into a flat line and his eyebrows creased as he frowned.

“You don’t mean that,” he repeated, standing from the couch. You took a step back when he kept walking towards you until you hit the wall. His eyes flashed dangerously as he glared down at you. “Take it back.”

“No,” you spat back, holding your ground. Deep down you knew it wasn’t right for you to be provoking him like this, not with a track record like his. But you were sick of being submissive. “I—I mean every word.” You had to force the words out, hoping with each passing the weakness inside you left with it.

But the second you stuttered it all went to fail.

His smile only grew. “That so?”

“I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

“Why’s that?” He pouted, his whole demeanour condescending as he brushed his hand over your cheek. The faint tingle of his fingers brushing along your skin had your lip trembling, fighting the urge to flinch away from his touch. He’s so scary. “C’mon, tell me why? What did I do?”

You swallowed the thick lump in your throat. “You’re dangerous, Haru.”

He snickered a little. “Common knowledge, sweetheart.” He moved his hand down to your chin, fighting your face up to his eyeline. “What else?”

From the corner of your eye, you can’t miss the tattoo on his forearm. The permenant, constant reminder that Haruchiyo will always be who he is. When you first saw the tattoo, you let ignorance consume you, thinking he just liked the design, but now you know the true meaning behind Bonten and their motives, you know Haruchiyo’s job excuting people he thinks are traitors. The fact when you asked for his body count and he only shrugged made you want to puke. You can’t look at the tattoo the same anymore, neither can you look at him the same.

“You kill people.”

“So?”

“So?” You blinked uselessly at him. “Are you serious? Y—you can’t just kill people Sanzu! It’s—”

“It’s Haru to you.” He had the audacity to roll his eyes but at least he removed his hand from your face. “Don’t tell me you forgot?”

You crossed your arms together and shook your head. “No. Not anymore.”

His lips twitched up into a smile, the corners of his scars following suit. Those same scars you used to kiss every night and tell him they’re beautiful and unique do nothing but scare you even more. “Do you remember what you used to say to me?” he started, slowly tilting your head to the side by your chin.

“I used to say a lot of things.” You swallowed harshly, hoping he doesn’t feel the tremble of your jaw.

“You said that you love me,” he muttered, distracted by your lips and how sexy they looked under your ceiling light, “that you cared about me…swore that you’d never leave me—”

The memories of each moment fill your mind, the images of kissing him goodbye, squeezing him tight and begging him to stay before he could leave, pouting when he told you he couldn’t stay the night because he had “work to do”.

Vaguely, you wonder that if you knew what ‘work’ consisted of, would you have let him stay the night?

“That was before…”

“Before what?” He looked at you confused, intrigued.

You took a deep breath, swallowing your emotions down. “Before you lied to me about who you were and what you did!” Your voice got higher the more you spoke, and you hated the way you sounded and the way tears fell down your face. “I fell in love with the guy before I figured out who you were. You’re a fucking murderer and I don’t love you.”

The silence was deafening, filled with nothing but the dull sound of your AC, the water from the tap dripping slowly into the sink, and the sound of your heavy breathing as you tried to calm yourself down.

He backed away and started laughing. It was a low chuckle that slowly erupted into something more, a full fit of laughter and you couldn’t help but feel so small, like the punchline of some unknown joke.

“What’s—what’s so funny?”

He can’t stop laughing, even after he slapped a hand over his mouth to conceal it. “Nothing—nothing. It’s just—fuck. You’re so dumb.”

“I—” You blinked at him.

“You knew exactly what you were getting into when you dated me. You’re not fooling anybody with this act of yours. You like the thrill, don’t you? You had this mindset that you thought you could change me, right? That’s what this is about?”

“I didn’t— No. I di—”

“No,” he cut you off, standing in front of you again. He placed his hand on your waist and tugged you closer. “You did. You just don’t want to accept the truth.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you fought back a whimper when you felt his lips by your ear, your legs turning weaker by the second when he whispered, “You can’t accept the fact you’re in love with someone like me.”

You inhaled sharply when he licked your earlobe. “I don’t love you.”

He hummed softly by your ear, and you hated how the sound calmed you. If it wasn’t for the fact your heart was beating so fast it might as well have jumped outside of your chest, you know you would’ve forgot about everything he did or made you feel and melted into his touch.

“Why don’t you love me?” His lips tickled your ears as he whispered, voice full of emotion and it almost pained you to spend another second with him this close to you. His face turned, his nose sliding against your cheek leaving a compellingly warm trail until he stopped by pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss. It was far too short for your liking, but you couldn’t help but feel relieved when he pulled away, untrusting of your own body to have the strength to pull away yourself. “What did I ever do to you?”

“N—nothing…”

“So why do you hate me?” When you shook your head and tried to look down at the ground, he lifted your head up back to his.

“Stop it,” you grumbled, trying to shake out of his grip but froze when he pressed his forehead against yours. Green eyes peeked down at yours, and your stomach ached when you saw the heat in his eyes. “I don’t hate you Haru… I just—” You struggled to find the words for the sudden inner turmoil you were facing regarding your feelings. “I don’t know.”

“So you love me? Hm?” He nudged your face back to his when you looked distracted. “C’mon.”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do. You love me just like I love you. Look at me.” He gently shook you. You flicked your eyes up at him, shiny with your tears that had his thumb tingling to wipe it off, or lick it off. Either option has him satifised.

Licking your tears though will probably creep you out even more and it took him this long to calm you down, the last thing he’d want is to scare you off again. So he chose the latter, wiping your tears away as he shushed you.

“Shhhh, it’s okay. I got you.” You started to cry harder to the point he needed buckets to clear it all away. He pushed your head into his chest and you wrinkled his shirt with how hard you gripped it, and sobbed silently. “You’re getting my shirt wet, baby.”

“Shut up,” your voice was watery as you stifled a laugh, embracing him in a tight hug. The tears didn’t stop until he pulled your face away, holding you with one big hand on your cheek.

“Lemme make you feel better, baby.” He doted kisses along your cheeks. You shook your head and snifled.

“I can’t.”

“You can. Look at me.” There was a hint of demand in his voice that had you forcing yourself to meet his gaze. He licked his lips as he looked searchingly across your face. He was leaning forward and your eyes squeezed shut when he met your lips in a kiss.

His hand slid down to your back, pulling you towards him till your chests touched. Your arms ached with the need to hold him back, wrap his arms around him to embrace him the way you want him to.

“Haru, n—” He sloppily kissed you again, pushing you back against the wall.

You moaned into his mouth when he moved his hands to your ass, squeezing and holding it in a painful grip as his tongue devoured your mouth, licking along yours. He always kissed sloppily, loving nothing more than to pull away and watch the string of spit break. One of his hands moved upwards to carress your waist, squeezing gently as he slowly slid up your shirt, his fingers tickling your stomach moments later.

You broke the kiss to switch angles, holding him by the back of his neck, pressing your chest as close to his as possible in an unspoken request for him to go further. He lifted you off the floor and your legs wrapped around his waist.

Your mind was screaming at you for letting yourself slip between the cracks of Haru’s fingers again, but your body was aching, rolling with heat that only Haruchiyo could extinguish.

With that, he flopped you onto your bed, kneeling between your legs and started to unbutton his shirt. “I missed you so fucking much,” he said, throwing his shirt somewhere into the dark corner of your room.

You bit your tongue to stop yourself from saying it back.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded, digging into his pants pocket for a baggie of MDMA pills. He placed one on your tongue, and slotted one on his, letting it dissolve on his tongue before leaning down to lick into your mouth. This was the level of sloppiness he’s craved, rolling his tongue against yours, sucking on it until you caved, running your hands along his chest until they reached his pants.

You hooked a finger into his belt loop, unbuckling the item and sliding it off him. He broke the kiss to look down at your hands as they disappeared into his pants, his mouth dropping open as you brushed his cock lightly. “F—fuck…”

“Feel good?” You whisper in his ear, tugging his earlobe between your teeth.

“Yeah,” he murmurred, leaning down to lay a littany of sloppy kisses down your neck and chest. You lifted your arms up and helped him remove your shirt before he was groping your chest.

His hands slid under your body and unfastened your bra, tossing it in the same direction he disposed of his shirt. “Never seen someone with better tits than yours, fuck.” He sat back and squeezed them together, enjoying the sight of his hands alone covering your whole breast. “You’re so sexy.”

His head lowered close enough until he latched onto a nipple, his tongue circled around it as he licked and sucked. Your chest stuttered in your chest as his warm mouth made you dizzy. “Haru.”

“Hm?” He moved to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. “What’s wrong?”

The effects of the pill had your mind blanking and sensations intensifying. Every vein in your body was on full alert as you felt the raw jittery energy run through them. “Keep going.”

He grinned as he watched your trip start and began sucking down your stomach. Your hands bunched up his hair, unaware of the tight grip you possessed when his tongue stopped above your abdomen. He all but ripped your pants off, leaving your underwear on and continued his journey to your thighs.

“Haru, come on,” you whispered, impatient. You were just as hungry to see him between your legs as he was to eat you out.

“Fuck…you look really good…” he murmurs as he raked his eyes down your body, focused on the spread of your legs. He hooked his finger under your panties and tugged on it, your slick attaching to his finger and he licked his lips. “So wet already?”

“...shut up.”

He chuckled and began pulling your panties down. Two big palms spread your legs to make enough room for his face. His eyes sparkled with admiation like he’s eyeing the worlds holiest relic. The moonlight bouncing from the window only made your wet folds glisten, paired up with the way the drugs melted through his system made his mouth water. He got a little lost in the moment when he slides a finger through your folds, relishing in the hitched moan that left your moan.

How he missed that sound. How he missed your sounds.

Your little breathless ‘please’ was lost behind closed ears when he licked a long stripe on your cunt. A muffled slur of his name slipped from your mouth as he slowly ate you out, focusing on the way your wetness felt on his tongue. His lips latched onto your clit, sucking obscenly so that your back arched off the bed.

Drinking from you is so addictive and sweet he thinks he might cry if he has to pull away. He pulled you closer, your body being dragging along the sheets as he continued to devour you. The closer your body was, the more hungry he felt, and his nails dug into your numb thighs painfully.

His tongue lazily licked up and down at your clit until your legs were squeezing his head, shifting restlessly on the bed to get him away from you.

“H—haru, fuck fuck fuck,” you whimpered, pulling his hair aggressively as your body shook with pleasure.

“Not yet, baby. I’m not done,” he spoke into your pussy, moving back to your clit. “Wanna lick you dry, holy shit.”

“I can’t—” You whined, trying to push him off you. After a couple more scratching and tugging, he pulled away, the bottom half of his face soaked in your slick.

“If you can’t even handle my tongue, how can you handle my cock?” As if to prove his point, his cock was thick and hard in his boxers when he stood up, moving to kneel between your legs.

Watching Haruchiyo strip was like a holy rite, the way his dick sprung out from his boxers. Especially when he began palming his length, pushing more and more precum from the tip with each jerk. Your mouth watered as you sat up slowly to get on your knees, moving to the end of the bed where he stood.

You wrapped a hand around his cock, making his hips jerk forward when you began to lap at the bead of precum beading at the tip. He let out a faint moan at the way your lips suctioned around his cock, the warmth of your mouth making his head spin the lower you sunk down.

“Just like that…” he bit his lip drawing blood as you started to bob your head up and down. Your jaw ached from the stretch and it took everything in you not to choke, but you wanted to please him, so you endured it and took him as far in as you could.

The second your nose brushed his pelvis, his hand flew to the back of your head and held you down there, head thrown back, mouth flopped open as he let out puffy breaths with each passing second your throat convulsed around his cock.

He pulled you off and positioned you onto all fours, rubbing and smacking at a single cheek. “You know what you do to me?” He licked his lips, moving his cock between your thighs and began to slowly fuck them.

The heat of his cock plus the wetness between your legs made you slowly fuck back, face tucked between your arms. His cock is nestled perfectly between your thighs and to tempt him more, you squeeze your thighs together, fighting back a laugh when he groans.

“Oh, it’s like that huh?” He pulled out and you never felt more empty despite him not even fucking you yet. “You wanna keep that same attitude in five seconds?”

“Wha— fuck!” you moaned out, nails scratching the sheets when he sheathed himself inside you in one thrust. “Oh my god! F—fuck!” Your body bounced back against him as he held your hips, fucking into you like you’re a fuck toy, submissive and pliant.

He threw his head back, closing his eyes as your pussy squeezed and gushed around his cock. He fucked you till you’re stuffed, your walls dragging along his cock with every thrust.

“You feel so fucking good,” he mumbles, voice borderline shaking. He stopped moving and spanked you again, making you jolt. “Fuck back onto it.”

“N—no,” you managed to stutter out, still keeping your stubborn demeanour.

“No?” His thrusts came to a stop.

“Don’t stop.” You frowned, straining your weak muscles to look behind you, but he shoved your face back into the sheets.

He bent forward until his back was flush against yours, and spoke into your ear. “I said fuck back onto it.” He dug his hands into your hair and lifted you up. “You gonna do as I say?”

“Y—yes.” He let go of your hair and moved back and watched with wild eyes as you slowly pushed off his cock and back down. “O—oh my god,” you moaned out, digging your face back into the sheets as you continued fucking yourself on his cock. Every now and then he’d slap your ass and groan into your ear, all sinful and low enough to spur you on and go crazy on his cock even more.

Sanzu practically felt your whole body go numb as you silently screamed into the sheets as your body trembled. Your orgasm was intense and he snapped his hips forward, making your silent scream a yelp as he pinned you back down to the bed, fucking into you with the intent of cumming inside you. You could feel his hips stutter and after a couple seconds, he slammed once more then there was a wet squelch and a moan followed by heavy panting.

He pulled out and sat back, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Your body was stiff and limp and the lack of energy made it hard for you to move. After a couple seconds, you heard him slide off the bed and begin looking around your room for his clothes. In the time it took him to change back into his clothes, you managed to lift yourself enough to roll over onto your back.

After fixing his belt, he pulled out his phone and read a message from Mikey before putting it back into his pocket. “I gotta go. Got more business to take care of.” He winked at you, taunting you now that you know the meaning behind his ‘business’ and swiftly shut the door behind him.

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