#I say before disappearing into the sunset for another several months

[sunfizzzle]

I float down, handing you art, specially demon slayer art from over the months. (Oh god it’s so easy to tell via the style differences)

Mild demon slayer spoilers ig?? Idk 🥺 oh and ocs, the horror!

My guys my guys (screenshot redraw >:D)

And some butter and flies (idk how to move images in tumblr HELPPPP)

And my sister and I’s oc guys.

Tomorrow? Who knows. But isn’t the unpredictability what makes this fun?

[brookediamonds]

my ex's best friend (part three) | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: The weekend is over and you and Axel come face to face with the outside world. That happens to include your ex-boyfriend, and Axel's best friend.

Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: None, angst, fluff

part one | part two

gif is not mine

Monday morning comes too fast, the weekend with Axel feeling like a dream as you walk through the school's main entrance. 

The hallways buzz with the usual chaos of lockers slamming, friends calling out greetings, the perpetual background noise of several hundred teenagers trying to delay first period as long as possible.

You spot Tory by your locker, her eyebrows shooting up the moment she sees you.

"Well, well, well," she says, folding her arms across her chest. "Look who finally decided to answer their texts."

"Sorry," you say, unable to keep the smile from your face as you spin your combination. "I was... busy."

"Busy," Tory repeats, drawing out the word knowingly. "With a certain tall, moody, Croatian, perhaps?"

Heat rises to your cheeks as you busy yourself with exchanging books from your backpack.

"Maybe." You twist the dial on your locker, not meeting her eyes. "It was a good weekend."

"A good weekend?" Tory presses, her voice rising with excitement. "Bitch, you disappeared for two days after leaving a party with Axel Kovačević. I need details. Lots of them."

You finally look at her, unable to keep the smile from spreading across your face. "We had dinner at that Italian place by the mall on Saturday. And he took me to the beach yesterday. We watched the sunset."

"And?" Tory prompts, leaning closer. "What about the stuff between dinner and sunset?"

You feel your cheeks warm as memories flash through your mind—tangled sheets, his accent thickening as he whispered your name, his hands mapping every inch of your body.

"A lady doesn't kiss and tell," you say primly, shutting your locker closed.

Tory rolls her eyes dramatically. 

"Fine, be mysterious. But that smile tells me everything I need to know." She bumps your shoulder playfully. "I haven't seen you look this happy in months."

Before you can respond, the warning bell rings, signaling seven minutes until first period. 

"I've got to get to Calculus," Tory says, already backing away. "But this conversation isn't over!" She points at you with mock seriousness before disappearing into the crowd.

You shake your head, smiling as you gather your books for English. The hallway is thinning out as students reluctantly head to their classes.

You're about to do the same when a familiar voice calls out to you.

"Hey, beautiful."

Your heart does a little flip as you turn to see Axel leaning against the lockers a few feet away.

He's wearing a simple ashy grey t-shirt over another white shirt, falling over his muscular body beautifully. His dark blue eyes light up when they meet yours, making your stomach flutter with butterflies.

It's only been a few hours since you've seen him (since he reluctantly left your house last night with promises to see you today), but somehow it feels longer.

"Hey yourself," you reply, unable to keep the smile from your face.

He pushes off the lockers and crosses the distance between you in a few long strides. The hallway is nearly empty now, most students already in their classrooms.

Axel reaches for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours with a casual intimacy that still feels new and thrilling. His thumb traces small circles on your skin, sending pleasant shivers up your arm.

"I missed you," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. His accent wraps around the words, making them sound like a secret shared between just the two of you.

"It's been twelve hours," you point out, though you can't keep the smile from tugging at your lips.

"Twelve hours too long," he replies, his eyes never leaving yours. 

His free hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin with a tenderness that makes your heart stutter. 

"I've been thinking about you all morning," he confesses, his voice dropping even lower. "About yesterday. About Friday night."

The mention of Friday night sends heat rushing to your cheeks as memories flood your mind—his hands on your body, his lips against your skin, the way he looked at you like you were the only girl in this world.

"We're going to be late for class," you grin, though you make no move to step away.

Axel glances at the nearly empty hallway, then back at you, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. "I have a better idea."

Before you can ask what he means, his hand tightens around yours, and he's pulling you down the corridor, away from your first-period classroom 

Axel pulls you around a corner, his pace quickening as he checks over his shoulder to make sure no teachers are watching. 

Your heart races with the thrill of breaking rules, of following him blindly through the emptying hallways.

"Where are we going?" you whisper-laugh as he leads you down a corridor you rarely use.

"Patience," he murmurs, that accent making even simple words sound like a caress.

His hand is warm around yours, his grip firm but gentle as he navigates the maze of hallways. Finally, he stops in front of the door to the old music practice room.

With a quick glance in both directions, Axel tries the handle. It gives with a soft click.

"How did you know this would be open?" you ask as he pulls you inside, closing the door behind him. 

"Old habits," Axel says with a wink, pulling you further into the small room. "I used to come here during study hall last year. Nobody ever checks it."

The practice room is small, maybe twelve feet square, with soundproofing panels lining the walls. 

A dusty upright piano sits in one corner, sheet music still perched on the stand as if waiting for a student who never returned. 

The blinds are drawn over the single window, casting the room in a soft, diffused light.

"So," you say, raising an eyebrow as Axel locks the door behind you. "You brought me to a secret room to... practice scales?"

He laughs, the sound rich and warm in the small space. In one fluid motion, he pulls you against him, his hands settling at your waist. 

The heat of his palms seeps through your shirt, making your skin tingle.

"I had something a bit different in mind," Axel murmurs, his voice dropping to that low register that never fails to send shivers down your spine.

His hands slide up your sides, one coming to rest at the small of your back while the other cups your face. 

His thumb traces your bottom lip softly, his dark orbs tracking the movement with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"Like what?" you ask, though you already know the answer, can feel it in the way his body leans into yours, in the heat of his palm against your cheek.

Instead of answering, Axel bends down, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens. 

You melt against him, your books dropping forgotten to the floor as your hands find their way into his light brown hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands.

His hands are restless now, sliding from your waist to your hips, then back up again, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to touch the bare skin of your back.

You gasp into his mouth at the contact, your own hands gripping his shoulders tighter. 

His lips leave yours to trail hot kisses down your neck, finding that sensitive spot just below your ear that he discovered this weekend. 

The gentle scrape of his teeth against your skin has you tilting your head to give him better access, a soft moan escaping your lips.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you all night," Axel murmurs against your skin, his accent thicker with desire. "Couldn't sleep after I left your place."

"Me neither," you admit breathlessly as his hands continue to explore. 

His hands slide up under your shirt, fingertips tracing patterns on your bare skin that make you shiver despite the warmth of the small room. 

Your back presses against the wall as Axel's body covers yours completely, his height making you feel deliciously small beneath him.

"I wanted to see you before class," he whispers against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "Couldn't wait until lunch."

You laugh softly, your hands slipping under his shirt to feel the warm skin of his back. "So you decided to make us both late instead?"

"Exactly," he murmurs, capturing your lips again in a kiss that steals your breath. 

His tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entrance that you gladly grant. The kiss deepens, becoming something hungry and desperate that has heat pooling low in your belly.

You're about to respond when a noise from the hallway catches your attention—footsteps approaching, then pausing outside the door. 

You both freeze, eyes locking in a moment of shared panic. Axel's hands still beneath your shirt, his body going tense against yours.

The doorknob rattles, and you hold your breath, heart hammering in your chest.

"Locked," comes a muffled voice from the other side. A familiar voice that makes your blood run cold.

Miguel.

"I thought you said he'd be in here," another voice says—probably Hawk. 

"He usually hides out in here when he wants to be alone," Miguel insists, his voice clearer now. "I need to talk to him about this whole ‘Y/n’ thing. Robby swore he saw them leaving together."

Your eyes lock with Axel's in the dim light of the practice room, panic coursing through your veins.

His hands slide from beneath your shirt, but he doesn't move away, instead pressing his finger to his lips in a silent plea for quiet.

"Let me try calling him," Miguel says, his voice muffled through the door.

Axel's eyes widen, and he frantically pats his pockets. The color drains from his face as his hand closes around the shape of his phone in his back pocket. 

You both realize the danger at the same moment, if Miguel calls, Axel's phone will give you away.

In the hushed stillness of the practice room, you can hear Miguel's voice clearly. "It's ringing."

Axel fumbles with his phone, desperately trying to silence it before the inevitable happens. 

His fingers fumble with the volume buttons, but it's already too late.

The ringtone is deafening in the small practice room, bouncing off the soundproofing panels that were designed to contain music, not hide teenagers skipping class.

Your heart nearly stops as silence falls in the hallway. You can practically picture Miguel and Hawk freezing, heads turning toward the door like predators catching a scent.

"He's in there," Miguel says, his voice hardening with certainty.

The doorknob rattles again, more forcefully this time. "Axel! I know you're in there, man. Open up!"

Axel's eyes meet yours, panic giving way to resignation. His thumb hovers over the red decline button, hesitating for just a moment. 

Then, with a resigned sigh, he silences the call. You hear Hawk excuse himself, saying he needed to meet his own girlfriend before class.

"What do we do?" you whisper, panic rising in your chest as Miguel pounds on the door again.

Axel runs a hand through his hair, as he makes a decision. "There's nowhere to hide in here. I have to face him."

Your stomach drops at his words. "Both of us?"

He studies your face for a moment, his expression softening. "No. You stay behind the door when I open it. He won't be able to see you right away."

"Axel!" Miguel's voice comes again, louder and more insistent. "Open the damn door!"

"Just a second!" Axel calls back, his accent slightly more pronounced with stress. He turns back to you, cupping your face in both hands. 

His eyes search yours, an apology already forming in them.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "This isn't how I wanted things to go."

You nod, understanding but terrified. Your heart pounds so loudly you're certain Miguel can hear it through the door. 

Axel gives your hand one last reassuring squeeze before gently maneuvering you behind the door.

With a deep breath, Axel unlocks the door and pulls it open just enough to reveal himself in the gap, his tall frame effectively blocking the view into the room. 

You press yourself against the wall behind the door, holding your breath, praying Miguel won't try to push his way inside.

"What the hell, man?" Miguel's voice is sharp with irritation. His eyes narrow as he takes in Axel's disheveled appearance—hair mussed from your fingers, lips slightly swollen from your kisses.

"Dude, I've been looking everywhere for you," he continues, trying to peer past Axel's shoulder into the practice room. "Why aren't you answering your phone?"

"I was busy," Axel replies, his voice cool and collected despite the tension radiating from his body. 

You can see the muscles in his back tighten beneath his t-shirt as he maintains his position in the doorway, effectively blocking Miguel's view.

"Busy?" Miguel repeats, suspicion creeping into his voice. "Busy doing what exactly?"

"Thinking," Axel says simply. "I come here sometimes when I need space."

You hear Miguel scoff. "Right. And that's why you locked the door.”

"Forgive me for wanting a moment to myself," Axel says, his accent thickening with irritation. "What's so urgent anyway?"

Miguel runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration you recognize all too well from your time together. His jaw clenches as he takes a step closer to the door.

"Robby told me something interesting about the party Friday night," Miguel says, his voice dropping lower. "Said he saw you leaving with Y/n."

Your heart stops in your chest, blood turning to ice in your veins. Behind the door, you press yourself harder against the wall, as if you could somehow disappear into it.

"And?" Axel's voice remains impressively steady, though you can see the tension in his shoulders.

"She’s my ex and you’re my best friend. I want to know if it's true," Miguel presses, an edge creeping into his voice. "Did you leave with her?"

Axel hesitates, and in that fleeting moment of uncertainty, his eyes instinctively flick toward where you're hidden. 

It's barely a glance, just the briefest shift of his gaze, but it's enough. Miguel catches it instantly, his years of karate training having honed his ability to read body language. 

His eyes narrow, following Axel's line of sight to the space behind the door.

"Who's in there with you?" Miguel demands, his voice hardening as he takes a step forward.

Axel's hand tightens on the door frame, his knuckles turning white. "Miguel, listen—"

But Miguel is already moving, using his shoulder to push past Axel's tall frame. The door swings wide, and suddenly you're exposed, pressed against the wall with nowhere to hide.

Time seems to freeze as Miguel's eyes find yours. 

Miguel's eyes widen, a flurry of emotions crossing his face in rapid succession—shock, confusion, hurt, and finally, anger.

The silence that follows feels endless, the three of you frozen in a tableau that nobody knows how to break.

"You've got to be kidding me," Miguel finally says, his voice dangerously quiet. 

His gaze flicks between you and Axel, connecting dots you can see forming in his mind. "This is why you've been acting weird all weekend?"

Axel steps forward, positioning himself slightly between you and Miguel. 

"It's not what you think," he says, though the words sound hollow even to your ears.

"Really?" Miguel's laugh is harsh, devoid of any humor. "Because what I think is that my best friend has been hooking up with my ex behind my back."

"Seriously?" The word escapes your lips before you can stop it, sharper than you intended. "Don't be such a hypocrite, Miguel."

His eyes snap to yours, narrowing slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

You take a step forward, feeling something inside you shift. For months, you've avoided confrontation, avoided him, avoided everything that reminded you of how it ended. 

But standing here now, with Axel's steady presence beside you, something crystallizes in your chest—a certainty, a strength you'd forgotten you possessed.

"It means," you say, your voice gaining confidence with each word, "that you started dating my best friend literally the minute we broke up."

Miguel's expression falters, a flash of guilt crossing his features before he masks it with indignation. "That's different."

"Is it?" You cross your arms, standing your ground. "You and Sam were together two weeks after we broke up. Two weeks."

The pain of that betrayal resurfaces, but this time it doesn't cut as deep. "You didn't even have the decency to tell me yourself. I had to find out from Tory."

Miguel at least has the grace to look away, his jaw working as he struggles for a response. "That was... I should have handled that better."

"You think?" Your voice rises slightly, years of bottled emotions finally finding release. "And you know what? You never even apologized. Not once. You just expected everyone to move on, to accept that you and Sam were together, like I was supposed to be fine with it."

"I didn't—"

"You didn't what?" you challenge, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. "You didn't think about how it would feel for me? You didn't consider that maybe, just maybe, your actions would hurt someone who cared about you?"

Miguel shifts uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before meeting yours again. "Look, what happened between us—"

"Is in the past," you finish for him, your voice softer now but no less firm. "And what I do now, who I choose to be with now, is none of your business."

Axel's hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a silent show of support. The gesture isn't lost on Miguel, whose eyes narrow as they fix on your joined hands.

"How long has this been going on?" His voice hardens as anger begins to replace shock. "How long have you been seeing her behind my back?"

You feel Axel tense beside you, his tall frame straightening as Miguel's accusation hangs in the air. The practice room suddenly feels too small for the three of you, the tension thickening with each passing second.

"It's not like that," Axel begins, his accent more pronounced with emotion. "It just happened."

Miguel's eyes darken as they shift to Axel, his former friend now standing tall beside you. "So what, man? You've just been waiting in the wings all this time, watching for your chance?"

You feel Axel tense beside you, his fingers tightening slightly around yours. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking along his cheekbone as he struggles to maintain his composure.

"It wasn't like that," Axel says, his accent thickening with emotion. "I never planned—"

"Save it," Miguel cuts him off, stepping closer, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I trusted you.”

He walks past the both of you, avoiding eye contact, leaving you and Axel alone in the room. 

You begin to feel the guilt eat at you, as you watch Axel run a hand through his hair. 

Miguel and Axel have been friends since they were kids, and now you questioned if you stood in the way of that. 

"You should go talk to him," you murmur, glancing down at your feet. 

Axel turns to you, his blue eyes softening as he takes in your worried expression. 

He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with gentle fingers. The simple touch sends warmth cascading through you despite the tension still hanging in the air.

"He needs time," Axel says, his accent wrapping around the words like a caress. "Going after him now would only make things worse."

You bite your lower lip, guilt gnawing at your insides. "I didn't mean to come between you two. You've been friends forever and I—"

"Hey," Axel interrupts gently, one hand moving to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "This isn't your fault. None of it."

"But—"

"No," he says firmly, his thumb caressing the bottom of your face.. "This is between Miguel and me. We'll figure it out. But I need you to understand something."

His eyes hold yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"I don't regret this," he says, his voice low but firm. "I don't regret us. Not for a second."

Something warm unfurls in your chest at his words, chasing away some of the guilt and uncertainty. His hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb tracing small circles against your skin.

"I've waited too long to be with you," he continues, the emotion evident in his voice. "Miguel will be angry for a while. He has that right. But eventually, he'll understand."

"Are you sure?" you ask, leaning into his touch. 

"One hundred percent," he states. 

The bell for first period rings in the distance, its shrill sound barely penetrating the thick walls of the practice room. 

You glance toward the door, reality intruding on the bubble you and Axel have created.

"We should probably get to class," you say, reluctance evident in your voice. "We're already late."

Axel nods, though he makes no move to step away from you. His hand slides from your cheek to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling gently in your hair.

"Let me walk you to class," he murmurs, reluctantly stepping back from you. "At least we can stretch these last few minutes together."

You gather your books from where they fell to the floor earlier, straightening your clothes as best you can. 

Axel runs his fingers through his hair, attempting to fix the mess your hands made of it.

As you reach for the door handle, Axel's hand covers yours, stopping you. You look up to find his eyes searching yours, something vulnerable flickering in their blue depths.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly. "With everything that just happened with Miguel?"

You take a deep breath, considering the question. The confrontation with Miguel was uncomfortable, painful even, but standing here with Axel, you feel surprisingly... light.

Like something that had been weighing you down has finally lifted.

"I'm okay," you say, and you're surprised to realize it's true. 

"Actually, I'm more than okay." A smile spreads across your face, warmth blooming in your chest. "For months I've been hiding, Axel. Avoiding places, changing my routes to class, all to not run into Miguel and Sam. I've been making myself smaller, like I was the one who did something wrong."

You reach up, your fingers brushing his cheek. "But standing there, finally saying what I've wanted to say for so long... it felt right. Like I could finally breathe again."

Axel's eyes soften, his hand covering yours where it rests against his face. 

"You never cease to amaze me," he says, his voice low and intimate in the small space between you. "I've always known how strong you are, but seeing you stand up to him like that..."

His admiration warms you from the inside out, making you stand a little taller.

"Do you know what the best part is?" you ask, a small smile playing at your lips.

Axel shakes his head, his eyes never leaving yours. "Tell me."

"I don't have to hide anymore," you say, your voice gaining confidence with each word. "And I don't have to hide this. Hide us."

Your hand slides from his cheek to rest against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your palm. 

Axel's eyes darken slightly at your words, something possessive flickering in their blue depths. His hand covers yours where it rests against his heart.

"No," he agrees, his accent thickening with emotion. "No more hiding."

His lips find yours in a kiss that feels like a promise. It's gentle but certain, warm and full of possibility. 

Your body melts against his, the world outside this room momentarily forgotten.

When you finally pull apart, Axel's eyes are darker, his breathing slightly uneven. His thumb traces your bottom lip, which tingles pleasantly from his kiss. 

"You know," Axel murmurs, his eyes roaming your face with undisguised appreciation, "seeing you put him in his place like that..." He pauses, his accent thickening as he searches for the right words.

You tilt your head, curious. "What about it?"

A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming his features from serious to playful in an instant, while his eyes hold a mischievous glint in them.

"It was incredibly hot," he admits, his voice dropping to that low register that sends shivers down your spine. His hands settle at your waist, drawing you closer. "Confidence looks good on you. A total turn-on, actually."

You laugh, shoving his shoulder playfully. "Is that so?"

"Absolutely," he says, not backing down. His fingers trace small circles against your hips as you look back towards the door, where the real world existed. 

"We should go," he says reluctantly, though he makes no move to step away.

You nod, equally reluctant to break the moment. With a sigh, you reach for the door handle again, this time turning it and stepping into the now-empty hallway.

The bell has long since rung, marking you both firmly in the "late" category. Axel follows you out, carefully closing the practice room door behind him. 

The hallway stretches before you, empty and quiet save for the distant sounds of teachers lecturing behind closed doors.

Your footsteps echo against the linoleum as Axel walks beside you, his tall frame casting a long shadow under the fluorescent lights. 

The silence between you isn't uncomfortable, it's charged with everything that just happened, everything that's changed since Friday night.

"So," Axel says finally, his accent wrapping around the word as he shortens his long strides to match yours. "Which class are you missing right now?"

"Biology with Ms. Patel," you reply, clutching your books tighter to your chest. "She's going to kill me for being this late."

Axel's lips curve into that half-smile that still makes your heart skip. "Want me to write you a note? I can be very persuasive."

You laugh, the sound bouncing off the lockers lining the hallway. "Oh yeah? And what would this persuasive note say?"

"That you were helping a fellow student in distress," he suggests, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Or that you were conducting an important sound experiment in the music practice room."

"Very believable," you retort, bumping your shoulder against his arm playfully.

As you round the corner, the hallway widens, and you can see your biology classroom at the end of the corridor. Your steps slow involuntarily, reluctant to end this moment between you.

Axel seems to sense your hesitation, his own pace slowing to match yours. His hand brushes against yours, fingers lightly intertwining with your own in a touch that's both casual and intimate.

"I'll see you at lunch?" he asks, his voice soft in the empty hallway.

You nod, turning to face him fully as you reach the classroom door. "Meet you by the math wing?"

His smile widens, reaching his eyes in a way that makes your heart flutter. "I'll be waiting."

You're about to turn away when Axel's hand catches yours, pulling you back gently. Before you can react, he leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your lips right there in the empty hallway.

"For courage," he murmurs against your mouth.

Heat rises to your cheeks as you pull back, glancing nervously toward the classroom door. "Someone might see."

"Let them," Axel says simply, his blue eyes holding yours with quiet intensity. "No more hiding, remember?"

The confidence in his voice, the certainty in his gaze, makes something shift inside you. Like a weight you didn't even realize you’d been carrying finally lifts.

You squeeze his hand once before slowly letting go.

"Right," you breathe, a small smile tugging at your lips. "No more hiding."

Axel's grin returns, softer this time, proud. He steps back, giving you space to slip into your classroom, but not before your fingers brush once more in parting.

As the door clicks shut behind you, your pulse is still racing.

Because for the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re walking into the day with your head high, and your heart full.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Masterlist

Taglist: @ggrgcribg

(a/n: I know I have a few requests for toxic!axel smut so thank you for your patience, it's on its way!)

[queenlucythevaliant]

I. Many waters

When Eärendil was a child—a hína ?—either, both— his father would take him to the edge of the water at Sirion and ask him, “What do you see?”

“I see waves,” Eärendil would reply. “Tall waves like the towers of Gondolin-that-was.”

“What more?”

Eärendil would scrunch his freckled face and gaze with a critical eye. “The current along the north jetty is strong today,” he might say, or else, “there will be good fishing this week.”

His father would smile back and clasp his son’s shoulders. “Do you know what I see?” he would ask, and though the answer was always the same, little Eärendil would always chorus, “What do you see, father?”

“I see the horizon,” Tuor would say. Even as a boy, Eärendil knew deep in his sinew that what Tuor really meant was, “I see my doom.”

For all his mother Idril’s fairness, Eärendil was a gangly, freckled child. He tanned leather-dark in the sun, his tow-colored hair bleached gold and his feet perpetually covered in sand. As a child, he spared little thought for the stars. It was the ocean, always the ocean that called to him as to his father, and with it the sun and the sand and the salt.

He played with toy boats in the river. They were roughly hewn by elvish standards and impossibly detailed by human ones. Eärendil would set them in the river and watch their small sails unfurl. Then he would race along the river banks as his boats were dragged, inevitably, inexorably, out towards Sirion’s open mouth.

Usually, Eärendil retrieved his toys before they were pulled out to sea. Supplies were stretched thin among the refugees at the Havens, and even a hína knew better than to waste. Yet sometimes, when the current was too strong or the waters too swift, Eärendil would watch as his little boats floated out to sea beyond sight. He would watch them disappear and he would wonder where they were going, and if he would ever follow them.

Years later, when he was a man grown and Tuor stooped and weary, Eärendil worked beside his father to build the ship Eärrámë, roughly hewn and finely detailed. Eärendil did not question his father’s need for a ship. He did not know then— and would not know for several months yet— that it was built to carry his father and mother to the horizon, to their doom.

-

Tuor and Idril set sail in the late afternoon, as the shadows were beginning to lengthen. The sun in the west was golden by the time Eärrámë finally passed beyond sight of Eärendil’s half-elven eyes. By that time, the party that had gathered to wish their lord and lady farewell had largely dispersed. Yet Eärendil remained at the water’s edge, watching as sunset faded to night and the stars began to appear in the sky. Only Elwing waited with him.

Eärendil had known Elwing since he was first brought to the Havens, nearly as long ago as he could recall. In appearance she was his opposite: petite and fair where he was rough and tanned. Yet in all other respects, Eärendil and Elwing were just alike. They were the only two peredhel at Sirion, perhaps in all the world. Their strides matched one another in growth and maturation as no one else’s ever could. They could not help loving one another; for they fit together as two halves of a clam shell.

Elwing waited beside Eärendil all night long after his parents passed beyond the horizon. She was quiet for a while, and then presently she began to name the stars.

“There’s Alcarinquë,” she whispered, pointing. “Ele! How bright it is. And there is Luinil, blue and steadfast. I think it would be impossible to lose one’s way on a night as bright as this.”

-

With Idril and Tuor gone, their son soon took up their mantle as leader of Sirion, with Elwing beside him. They married quietly, for to them it seemed as though they had always been of one body, one kind. As inexorable as the tide, their union; and perhaps also their doom.

Yet now that he was grown, Eärendil’s mariner-heart could not content itself with toy boats and river-mouths. The ocean called to him in the voice of many waters, and so, on another starlit night, Eärendil crept out of bed and to the shed where Tuor had hammered and sanded and built Eärrámë. It was there that Elwing found him come morning.

“You’re building another ship,” she murmured, coming up beside her husband where constellations of sawdust hung in the air. “Where are you going?”

Taking her hand, Eärendil led his second self out to the shore, where the first dawn light lapped gray on the water’s surface. “Tell me, Elwing,” he murmured. “What do you see?”

-

In the late nights that followed, Eärendil showed his wife how to lob off the edges of the wood; how to cut and sand and shape the it into something that resembled a roughly hewn ship. He took her small hand in his own large, freckled ones and guided the tools along the wood. Elwing helped her husband build his ship; but in the wee dawn hours when they returned to bed together, she would clutch his arms tightly, leaving tiny, crescent-moon divots when she released him.

-

A fingernail moon was etched against the western sky when Vingilot made its first voyage. In truth, Eärendil was not thinking of Valinor when he left, nor even of his mother and father: all he could hear was the echoing sound of deep crying out to deep.

At sea, his heart was calm. Eärendil navigated by the stars, charting an all but arbitrary course across the waters. He came back to Elwing a week later, a little more tanned and freckled, his hair a little more sun-bleached. He tasted like salt when Elwing kissed him. She tasted like starlight, like home.

She found him at the dock several nights later, tending to Vingilot’s rigging. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” she murmured, and gripped his arms with her fingernails.

-

At sea, Eärendil dreamed of light far off in the west. He dreamed of rivers opening their mouths to the sea, of monsters roving through the deep, but always there was the strange light that shone off in the distance. Night by night, it grew nearer. He would wake with a fierce, frenzied look in his eyes that frightened his three shipmates. Eärendil wondered, sometimes, if this was how his father felt when Ulmo first spoke to him.

-

“Where are you going?” Elwing asked him again.

“There’s a light in the West,” said Eärendil. “I am going to find it.”

“Valinor?”

“Not Valinor. A star.”

-

II. Fingernail divots 

Elwing was sister to twin brothers and mother to twin sons. She knew about loving helplessly; about holding on and letting go. 

“Mariner’s wives are always widows,” a human woman warned. “Their husbands go where they cannot follow.”

“I know it,” said Elwing.

Her husband left, and he returned. At home, Elwing sank her fingernails into his arms, his shoulders, his back. She left crescent divots wherever she touched him. Sometimes, she drew blood.

Eärendil never complained. He knew that Elwing had to hold on tight, in order to let him go again.

-

She bore their sons while Eärendil was away on one of his voyages. Because Elwing and her husband were both peredhel, their children would be something new. They came too soon for elves and too late for men. How could their father have known that they were being born, but that he had not strayed from Sirion? 

The pain of childbirth was greater for Elwing than it had been for her Sindarin midwife, or either of her full-blooded elvish handmaids. Human women suffered in childbirth, doubly so when they bore twins. It was the silmaril that carried her through all the long, painful hours of her labor. 

The sacred jewel for which Elwings parents had died never left her person. She clutched it as a man clutches a war-prize, knowing it has been paid for in blood. On the childbed, she held it so tight it left its imprint on her hand. She gazed at the bloodstained jewel and saw only sacred starlight. 

Her pain lessoned a little. Beauty was an anesthetic, of a kind. Elwing’s heart swelled with supernatural hope, and soon she was holding two little sons in her arms. She had paid for them in blood too. 

-

Eärendil came home late at night a week later, when the moon was eggshell-large in the sky. Elwing was holding the twins in her arms when he opened the door. She looked up when she heard the latch. 

"Your children are born," said Elwing. "Elros. Elrond."

"The sea and the stars," her husband answered. He studied them, with love and fear of loss all writ across his face. 

"The sea and the stars," Elwing echoed back. The two great lovers with which she would always share her husband. 

The babes were holding each other tight in her arms: mindless, instinctual, because they had never been apart. It was ironic, in the end. The stars endure forever. The waves roll in, and then they go back to the sea. Her babies would let each other go, in time; just as their mother would let them both go one bloody day, very soon

-

"You're going to run," Elwing said, gentle and firm as she knelt in the the nursery before her two little boys with her hands on their shoulders.

“Ama, you’re hurting me,” Elros whispered. She looked down. She was gripping him tight, so tight. There were fingernail divots on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, beloved,” Elwing said. With effort, she released both boys’ shoulders. "You're going to run, and you're going to hold hands. Tight as you can, do you understand? You're not to release one another for anything in the world."

Her sons nodded: Elrond solemn, Elros stubborn. Elwing wrapped her arms around their small bodies one more time and squeezed them, not too tight. She released them. They ran. 

Outside, Elwing clutched the silmaril until it hurt; until her hand bled where its facets had cut her. All her family before her had died for that jewel, to keep it from other hands. It was obsession, and beauty, and hope. It was the star that Eärendil searched for on his far-flung sea voyages. It would save Middle Earth one day, when a little hobbit named Frodo would raise a phial of its captured light and shout her husbands name. 

Elwing knew about holding on, and about letting go. 

She made for the cliffs. 

-

III. The speed of light in a vacuum

The ocean of the heavens was like the oceans of the earth, except in all the ways in which it was not. Vingilot rocked smooth and rhythmic on cosmic waves and occasionally it rolled from side to side as though tossed by storms. Eärendil navigated by the stars, and by the light of the silmaril studied his maps and charts. The ocean of the heavens was always different, for all that the stars stayed the same.

-

When he’d first landed in Valinor, Eärendil had been all but certain that the Valar would destroy him. He’d been sailing west a long time by then, seeking after that elusive star; yet he knew, like his father before him, that the horizon was also his doom. It was only that last, desperate hope that carried him to Valinor’s shore: that perhaps, before they struck him dead, Ulmo or Nienna or Varda would at least hear his pleas and understand.

Eärendil did not want Elwing to follow him to shore. He wanted his wife to live, live and find their sons, if by some grace they had survived. But Elwing had been letting him go for as long as the ocean had gripped him. Only at the last, at the forbidden shore of the sacred isle, did she finally leap into the shallow water and go running after her husband, reaching for his hand.

-

The silmaril should have been blinding, set between his eyes as it was. When Eärendil took it from his head and studied it, its brightness put all of heaven’s stars to shame. Yet when he looked out from his little ship, his eyes were clear. On the ocean of the heavens, Eärendil half-elven leaned over Vingilot’s rail and glimpsed interstellar clouds that billowed with color and brightness. Towering and fae they were, and his were the only eyes born of Arda ever to have seen them up close.

-

Eönwë had greeted him, “Hail Eärendil, the longed for that cometh beyond hope, bearer of light before the Sun and Moon.” It was a greeting unlike anything Eärendil could have expected. It changed him utterly.

In the dreams that followed, the voice of the sea was quiet; a lilting lullaby rather than the fierce, inevitable call it had been for so many years. Now, now it was starlight that ran through his heart like lightning. Now the sky, not the sea, became his doom.

-

When Vingilot passed through the Door of Night each morn, Elwing’s birds were always the first creatures to greet him. Gulls and osprey, albatrosses and terns circled round his mast and cried out in high, fair voices, Good morning! Welcome home! in the language of birds. Then, at last, Eärendil would catch sight of his wife’s feathered wings, white and silver-gray. She was only a speck at first, but his eyes were elven-strong. When Elwing came into sight, Eärendil would cry “Utúlie'n aurë!” “Day has come!” as he rushed to the prow of the ship. Elwing would reply in clear, glorious birdsong, and then she would alight on the deck and fall at once into Eärendil’s arms.

When at last they broke their embrace, Eärendil was always covered in bits of feather and Elwing in glittering stardust. They would both laugh the way only exiles do as Eärendil steered his hallowed ship into the waters of day. Elwing would run her hands over Vingilot’s paint, which she herself had long ago brushed onto its beams. She would look at her husband, so much less tan and freckled than he was in their youth, and he would kiss her tasting of plasma, with lightning in his eyes.

-

When Manwë had summoned them to Valimar, Eärendil told Elwing, “Choose thou.” She chose the Eldar, and for that choice, Eärendil was given a hundred thousand million nights of sailing through the heavens’ ocean. The stars sang to him, burning at Eärendil’s heart with a kind of beautiful, terrible fire that scorched as much as it overwhelmed him with joyous longing. They carried him away from Elwing, for all that she gripped him tight.

Before he set sail, Eärendil spent one last night with his wife in his arms. “Our parting will not be long,” he whispered, holding her tight to his freckled shoulder. “The Lady Elbereth told me. Light traveling through the void is the fastest thing in all Eä.”

-

IV. High Hope

Hobbits were simpler folk than elves. When Frodo’s heart pulled him away from the Shire, there was no obsession in it. It was only love for his uncle, his cousins, his friends that made him go; only duty; only courage. Only that.

Galadriel gave him a phial of starlight, and it was a gentle, desperate thing. She didn’t tell him that the star which had cast it had been the cause of more bloodshed than any other bright and beautiful thing in their world. She only called it hope.

More than anything, Frodo longed for hope.

He could feel himself coming unraveled, drawing close to Mordor. He was stripped bare and hollowed out, and all his longings turned ill by the bit of metal that hung around his neck. Yet in his cloak, cradled close to his heart: starlight.

-

In the depths of the earth, Frodo pulled the star-glass from his bosom, and the Star of High Hope—Eärendil’s star—shone about the pit. The longed for that cometh beyond hope, Eönwë had said. Frodo did not know those words, but he felt them deep in his sinews.

Eärendil stepped down from his high sunset paths with the last silmaril upon his brow. He stood beside Frodo in that cave where nothing lovely ever came, casting rays of lightning into the dark till it was as sun-soaked as the Havens of Sirion. Hope, he murmured in Frodo’s ear, the stars. The sea.

Frodo gasped, and with a voice that came from somewhere beyond him he cried out, “Aiya Eärendil elenion ancalima!” The very darkness trembled at his words. Eärendil smiled.

Yet from close by, Sam watched helpless as Shelob came and snatched Frodo away. Sam would have dug crescent moons into Frodo’s arms, had they been within reach. As it was, he could only pick up the star-glass where his master had dropped it and go running after him.

[stariwrites]

Father’s Day

Reader and Endeavor

Warnings: reader has a shitty dad and gets comforted by Endeavor, Angst, Fluff, Reader is GN

Author’s Note: Something that has been stewing around in my brain for sometime. This is self indulgent he’s a shitty horrible dad but he allows his kids to heal in this and if that’s not something I’ve wanted my whole life idk what is. The daddy issues really popped out in this

The sunset was beautiful from where you saw it on the rooftop. Oranges melted with purples and the clouds held a pink hue to them. It would’ve been more beautiful if you weren’t waiting for a text. For what felt like the thousand time you checked your phone.

Nothing.

You scoffed and shut your phone off once more. Of course, today out of all days he would ghost you. Figures.

Before you could revel in the bitter feelings of betrayal, a set of heavy footsteps began to approach you.

If it was a few months ago you might’ve jumped at the sound, but now? You weren’t fazed at all, especially because this was your chosen rooftop to meet up on during patrols.

“Thought you’d be with family, Endeavor.” You said keeping your attention on the sunset. It wasn’t until he took a seat next to you that you glanced over at him.

He was wearing his hero suit, his eyes scanned over the city while his mouth harbored a small frown.

“I figured the same with you.”

You shrugged. “It’s overrated.”

Endeavor studied you skeptically before looking at the sky.

“I had lunch with Fuyumi, but Natsuo, Touya and Shoto didn’t want to see me.” There was a waver in his voice that was painfully sad.

You looked over at him. “Did they tell you that?”

Endeavor nodded, continuing to observe the people below. “It’s just a day and besides I deserve a lot worse than this. It’s their choice.”

“What about you?” He asks.

“Hang on, I don’t think I follow. They said they didn’t want to see you on Father’s Day and you just let them?!”

Endeavor looked at you with furrowed brows. “Yes. I may have apologized but that doesn’t mean they have to forgive me.”

He let out a breath and continued.

“You know I wasn’t a good father. I wasn’t even a good man. I was horrible and I wish I could go back and change it, but I can’t. All I can do now is try to be better, but through that I also have to accept that my family, who I’ve hurt in more ways than I can even say, don’t have to give me another chance. It hurts, but if it’s better for them and makes them happy that’s all I want.”

Your hands shook as you gripped your phone.

Endeavor reached out a hand for you. “Are you alright? I didn’t mean to upset you-“

Before he could touch your shoulder you jerked away, guilt rushed through you at the crestfallen look that overtook Enji’s face.

“You didn’t, believe me. And you’re right You sucked as a dad and I mean really sucked I don’t even think there’s enough words to describe how horrible you were-“

“The point?” Enji asked breaking you out of your ramble.

“Right. The point is after all of that you’re allowing your family to heal. I wish more than anything for my father to sit me down, look me in the eyes and say ‘I’m sorry for what I put you through I was wrong. And if you don’t forgive me that’s okay.’ But the only thing he can do is bail on me and not even send a text to let me know.”

Silence fell between the two of you leaving you to watch the sun disappear from the sky.

You expected Enji to cough awkwardly and leave muttering something about hero work, but instead he moved closer to you causing you to look over at him. The flames had been burnt out and now you were just looking at him not as the hero, but as Enji Todoroki the man who had fucked up on several occasions but kept trying anyway.

He looked you in the eyes and said “For what it’s worth I’m sorry about your father. You’re a wonderful person and for him to not even contact you shows he’s undeserving of your time. I hope you know that it isn’t your fault, it’s his.”

Tears pooled at the corner of your eyes. Before you knew what you were doing, you pulled Enji into a hug. His arms hovered in the air taken aback by the sudden action before his face softened and he held you back.

The two of you stayed like that for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry he sucks,” said Enji causing you to laugh.

The two of you broke from the hug, you wiped your eyes with a small smile.

“Thanks Endeavor. You know for somebody who used to be so bad at interacting with people you’re surprisingly good.”

He nudged you playfully. “Watch it. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“It’s paid off, seriously though I needed that.”

He smiled. “Me too.”

Before the two of you could say anything else your stomach rumbled.

“You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

You shook your head. “After I figured he’d ignore me for the day I pretty much booked it up here. Happens a lot.”

Enji pursed his lips into a thin line, saving that information for later. He stood and began to walk towards the door leading back into the building.

“Did you want to go out to eat somewhere? I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

You beamed and began to follow him inside. “I’d love to! There’s this new Raman place that opened, they have a pro hero theme and from what I’ve heard they say that even you can’t handle their super spicy Prominence Burn.”

Endeavor smirked. “We’ll have to see about that.”

You nodded. “Oh and Endeavor?”

He looked down at you.

“Happy Father’s Day.”

[stuckwith-harry]

cried out to you alone

“It becomes a part of who you are”, Harry says, some sort of clarity coming to him. “Death, I mean. Grief. It doesn’t have to swallow you whole, but there is a little bit of it in every part of you.”

Impossible, is the only thing Harry can stand to think. That there is still sunlight in the world after everything.

Still, it pours out over the Burrow’s kitchen table in bright, luminous yellow, warming the veined wood. Harry and the Weasleys watch it creep over the tabletop, sitting elbow-to-elbow. Molly and Arthur are touching shoulders and brushing through hair as they pass around steaming mugs of tea, as they pour milk and stir in spoonfuls of sugar, the bags under their eyes swollen and purple like figs.

When Harry tries to open his mouth, to offer help, Molly quickly shakes her head at him; pleading. Like she wouldn’t know what else to do with herself.

So Harry stays, cramped between George and Ginny, and lets her place her palm on his back as she places his tea in front of him. Through the open window, a sweet-smelling breeze comes pouring in, the smell of warm soil and flowers and summer rapidly approaching, which seems impossible, too.

Tomorrow morning, they’re going to get out of bed and make breakfast. They’re going to feed the chicken in the yard, do the dishes and read the newspaper. Still, the sun is going to come up.

For a moment, he catches Ron’s gaze; Ron, whose face is oddly contorted and whose eyes are glassy and bright red. Harry can’t bear the sight of it: he stares at the old mug in his hands, examining the faded red dots, hand-painted. Anything that soothes.

Poppies, he realises. On the inside, near a chip at the rim, he can make out the small letters spelling out Ottery St. Catchpole, and below that, half-drowning in sweet tea: Flea Market, 1988.

A memory, then. One he wasn’t a part of, but one he can envision, anyway, the bright red summer day, the bustling and shuffling of the little village, the shrieking of children, strawberry ice cream rapidly melting and dripping on bare knees; a younger, happier Ron –

The scraping of a chair yanks him back, as Ginny abruptly gets to her feet and walks out without a word. No one tries to stop her, and the small, pathetic sound of her bedroom door closing from atop the stairs sounds down to them as though she slammed it.

After that, only silence. No pots stir in the kitchen sink, no footsteps thunder from several floors above, and no chatter, no yelling, no laughter holds the walls of the house together. No explosions sound from the twins’ room.

Death is an awfully quiet affair.

One by one, as the stripes on the tabletop grow long and orange, the Weasleys crawl into their hiding places. Harry knows he’s intruding, so he wanders outside, following the soft clucking of the chicken pecking away at the dirt behind their wooden fence, the only things alive and making a sound.

The solitude is a relief: he has never wished to flee the walls of the Burrow so desperately, only stayed long enough to change out of the black funeral robes and into an old Quidditch jumper. Then he pushed Ron’s bedroom door open far enough to slip out and disappear, and mercifully, Ron didn’t try to stop him, either.

The jumper is Ron’s, technically. It feels like being held, Gryffindor red and worn and entirely too large for Harry. Somehow that only makes him feel worse.

The Weasleys did not hesitate to take him home with them after the battle, because that was their way. They put up the old camp bed in Ron’s violently orange bedroom like they always had, and Ron silently handed him a pile of hand-me-downs so Harry would have something to wear other than the clothes that still reeked of the tent, of sweat and of blood.

Harry props his elbows up on the weathered fence and buries his face in the soft sleeves, breathing deeply. For a while, he simply listens as the hens, who do not know or care about anything, cluck away happily, as the urge to slip under the invisibility cloak, to disappear and never make a sound again, keeps on rushing over him.

“Hi.”

His heart jumps painfully into his throat at the quiet greeting and the sound of footsteps on dry grass that preceded it, and when he turns around to face it, he’s looking at Ginny. She’s changed out of her black dress robes, too, back into worn-out denim dungarees and a striped t-shirt. Scarlet and yellow. Her hair has come out of the braid from earlier and falls wildly to her collarbones again, no longer to her belly button, like it used to.

“I couldn’t stand the silence anymore”, she says, voice oddly throaty.

Harry wants to say, you don’t have to explain, but before he can, she pushes out: “And then I was in my room and it was just as fucking quiet, and I just – I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

She looks older, Harry thinks wildly. He hasn’t let himself look at her, not really, doesn’t even know why, just that he’s been avoiding her most of all. Ever since May 2nd, the quiet between them has stretched and stretched over miles and oceans and continents of wasteland. Harry knows it’s his fault, that he should say something, but he has no words, no words at all.

The first morning after the battle, when he came stumbling into the common room and found her there, they just held each other, and he had no words then, either. There was sunlight there, too, he remembers suddenly, poking through the shattered windows and lighting up every particle of dust floating around the empty room.

“Can we go somewhere else?”, she asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Anywhere else?”

Harry nods, mouth dry. For a moment, her eyes seem to linger on him, but then she turns away without another word, and he follows her lead without question or objection. They don’t speak again until they reach the old broomshed, and Ginny suddenly turns to look at him again, face unreadable.

“Any chance you wanna go for a fly?”

“Wh-What?”

She shrugs. “Do you?”

It’s a strange time capsule, the shed. Ginny pushes the wooden door open and sends flurries of dust into the air, catching sunlight; Harry, who is standing behind her, catches a glimpse of Arthur’s old Muggle trinkets and the old brooms lined up against the wall. Ron and Ginny’s are closest to the door; the twins’ brooms are up on a shelf opposite the square window.

For a moment, Ginny is perfectly still, and Harry knows she is looking at them, too. Then she reaches for her broom and silently pushes past him. Harry grabs Ron’s and closes the door of the shed behind him, and together they wander away from the Burrow, over the hills that surround it, where wild poppies are peeking through the unkempt grass and weeds.

Harry thinks he knows where she’s going: their makeshift Quidditch pitch hidden between gnarly old trees from summers long lost, where they used to chuck apples and tennis balls at each other, during all those afternoons spent playing Quidditch two against two.

Tall, sweet-smelling yarrow brushes along their bare shins as they walk, and pink clover, the soft heads bending back to the earth under the weight of bumblebees passing by, thick dandelion leaves spread all across the ground amidst the weeds; and everywhere poppies, peeking through the tall grass, the paper-thin petals fluttering in the breeze.

Tucked behind another hill, Harry remembers, a few minutes on foot further north, is the lake where they whiled away happier summer afternoons than this. The image comes to his mind in bright, sunny colours, Ginny’s wide, toothy grin as she sneaks up on Ron, the thundering splash and Hermione’s piercing shriek, and Ron, emerging, spluttering and yelling, his sopping hair plastered to his face.

But that was centuries ago, and their full-bellied laughter seems miles and countries away already. Here, only silence. Harry wants to ask, are you okay?, or say, it’s going to be alright, but what good would it do?

The poppies are early: they’re not supposed to bloom for another month. There’s no end to them, no matter how far they walk, a sea of red stretching out all over the soft hills. Harry can’t tear his eyes away until the first beech trees they used to climb, black pines and yews throw cool shadows over their heads.

Strange, that it looks the same. The leaves up above their heads rustle softly as they mount their brooms, and Ginny shoots into the air, a quiet cannon. For the better part of an hour, they zoom in circles through the rapidly cooling air, chucking an old Quaffle back and forth at each other. Ginny’s throws are hard and unrelenting: they’re not keeping score, but she’s playing like it’s the last game of the season, like the House Cup depends on it, so Harry lets her exhaust herself. By the time they sink back to the ground, the sky over the meadow is dotted in shades of pink and red.

Ginny hits the ground with such force her knees buckle under the impact and hit the dry grass. Harry gasps, but she is already getting up again, brushing off the dirt without comment.

They find a spot at the outer edge of the pitch and slump into the tall grass with their backs leaning against an oak tree, where they can see the sunset falling on the soft hills and the Burrow in the distance, bright red like poppies. Ginny’s hands are uselessly holding her ribs, her warm eyes staring off into nothing.

“Feel any better?”, Harry asks after a while.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

She shifts next to him, tucking her scraped knees to her chest. They look like she’s spent all summer climbing trees and rolling down the grassy hills around the Burrow and crashing her broomstick into her brothers in a spectacular grab for the Quaffle.

“At least I feel a little less like I was buried with him”, she mutters.

I’m sorry, Harry wants to say, but that seems useless, too.

“I wanted to leave, too”, he says finally. “It was so quiet in there.”

“I hate it”, Ginny says softly. “It doesn’t feel anything like home when it’s like this.”

“I’m sorry”, he says despite himself, for what feels like the thousandth time since everything. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Ginny's brows furrow slightly, as if to say, yes, you should. “If you weren’t, I’d still be shut up in my room right now. Going mad, probably.”

After a short pause, she adds: “I wouldn’t know who to talk to.”

It strikes Harry like lightning: she was looking for him.

She looks over at him as though searching for something. Her brown eyes glow golden in the warm light, like honey, her whole face painted in reds and oranges and pinks.

“How do you do it?”, she asks finally, voice quiet, but steady, as the soft breeze continues to rush through the trees. “How do you lose everyone you’ve lost – and go on living? How do you live with the dead?”

Harry looks at her, the way she sits cross-legged and hunched over in the grass next to him, arms hugged to herself, and it sinks in, what she’s searching for, what she’s asking of him.

“It’s not the same”, he says softly.

She scoffs quietly. “How is that not the same?”

Harry looks around their hiding place. Maybe it’s the creaking of old branches around them, almost a murmur, the smell of the trees, that brings them back: his parents in the Forbidden Forest, walking towards him, Sirius’ bright grin, Dumbledore at King’s Cross Station.

The thought of them cuts through him, every beat of his heart sharp and stinging as they remain dead and he does not.

“Your speech”, he says finally, and watches her jaw clench. “I couldn’t have said anything like that about my parents – or Sirius …”

“I can’t believe I wrote him a fucking eulogy”, Ginny mutters, staring at the weeds to her feet, the patches of moss creeping across the earth under the wild, entangled grass. “It makes it feel so fucking final.”

“You did really well”, Harry says. “It was beautiful.”

She merely shrugs, and he doesn’t blame her.

“I’m glad I got to say something, I think”, she says after another stretch of silence. “But, Merlin, he was walking and talking and making jokes just a week ago, and now he’s six feet underground and I’ve written a double-sided page on how sorely he’ll be missed.”

She wipes her nose on the back of her sleeve.

“Up until today, I really thought he might jump up and laugh it off and make fun of us for falling for it.”

You made it feel like that today, he wants to say, but doesn’t.

“I’m so sorry, Ginny.”

She read it out with a completely steady voice, both fists clutching the slip of paper in her hand. She did not bother to find a silver lining this time, or to look for meaning at all; but every word seemed to bring Fred back to life a little, even earning a few teary chuckles from the other Weasleys. Every anecdote and every prank she recounted was a testament to the fact that Fred Weasley had been alive, that he had mattered, that he had left an impact on her, on all of them.

“You know my Mum had brothers”, Ginny says suddenly, looking over at Harry’s hands. “Fabian and Gideon Prewett.”

She points, and Harry realises what she’s really looking at: Fabian Prewett’s battered old watch on his arm.

“They died in the first war. Bill, Charlie and Percy say they remember them a little, but the rest of us just grew up hearing stories.”

She picks at the shallow wound on her knee, where droplets of bright red blood have pushed to the surface through the cracks in her freckled skin. “It’s why Fred and George are named after them. A little bit, anyway – you know, Fred and George … Fabian and Gideon … Mum was pregnant when they died.”

Harry swallows. “I didn’t know.”

Ginny smiles sadly. “I liked the idea that they got to live on in the twins a little. I never thought to ask Fred and George how they felt about it, actually. I can’t imagine … how Mum feels.”

Harry watches her wrap her arms around her legs, watches the strawberry blond hairs on her shins stand on end as the air cools around them. She looks tired, but her eyes are dry.

“I never made that connection”, he says softly.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you”, she says. “It seemed important.”

Even over the rustling of the trees, the chirping and creaking all around them, he can hear her clearly, her voice steady, unwavering.

“Do you miss him?”

“Yes.”

She looks around at him. “Do you not miss your parents?”

“I don’t know how”, Harry mutters. “Your speech … it was full of memories.”

She doesn’t respond, understanding silently. Then: “What about Sirius?”

Harry shrugs. “He never really got to be my godfather, did he? Not the way he was supposed to, anyway … there wasn’t time. And I don’t remember when my parents were alive – I’ve never known anything else.”

He looks at her, the way she’s quietly watching. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you were hoping to hear.”

Ginny dismisses it with a half-hearted gesture, lost in thoughts somewhere else.

“Do you think grieving someone is the same thing as missing them, then?”

“No … do you?”

She seems to consider it for a moment, then shakes her head.

“I just – I just want to talk to him and tell him what’s going on, and I think about how long it’s been since I’ve talked to him and how much I wish he were here and how I’m not gonna get to talk to him –”

She pauses mid-sentence, as though looking for words, and doesn’t find any.

“And then I think about the fact that he’s dead. That his life is over. And that I helped bury him today. And they’re both – awful, but it’s different, I guess.”

Harry nods, more to himself than to Ginny this time.

“And now, I just – I need to know what to do. So it doesn’t swallow me whole.”

Harry is still watching them walk towards him before his inner eye, his parents in the Forbidden Forest, his mother’s hungry face.

“I forget, sometimes”, he says. “For a moment, I think I forget they’re gone. Or I’m – I don’t know, distracted, and I’m not thinking about it – it slips away, and then it hits me again.”

Ginny’s teeth dig into her bottom lip. “I … honestly can’t fathom it right now.”

Harry looks over at her, the way she sits next to him, curled into herself, her hands still uselessly holding her ribs. Like it is physically hurting her.

“I dunno. Maybe forgetting is the wrong word. But when it happens, it always feels like it’s happening to someone else, like I am someone else.”

Ginny watches him intently as he stumbles to the end of his sentence: it feels pathetic already, having said it out loud like that.

“Like you are who you would’ve been if they hadn’t died?”, she asks, in that quietly remarkable way of hers, where she doesn’t treat him like something delicate, but she doesn’t ask for more than he can give, either.

“Yeah, I reckon. But I don’t recognise him at all.”

Ginny hums in understanding. She leans back against the bark of the tree and pulls her knees to herself again. “You would’ve been happier, anyway.”

Harry turns away at that, suddenly not trusting himself to speak.

“I know it doesn’t make sense or anything –”

“No, it does, Harry.”

“I mean, I know they couldn’t have lived. Everything would have to be different. We probably wouldn’t be here.”

Ginny sits in silence for a while.

“Do you ever wonder?”, she asks finally. “What you would’ve been like?”

“I guess … more like them. In ways I can recognise, anyway.”

He gestures helplessly at nothing, and Ginny takes that as a sign to push no further.

“I don’t recognise Ginny a week ago, either”, he hears her say, and the muffled sound of her voice tells him she’s wiping her nose on her sleeve again. “Every time something terrible happened, I guess I didn’t. It’s like remembering an old friend. One whose address you lost or something.”

“It becomes a part of who you are”, Harry says, some sort of clarity coming to him. “Death, I mean. Grief. It doesn’t have to swallow you whole, but there is a little bit of it in every part of you.”

“Cheery”, Ginny says in a hollow voice.

“It gets less all-consuming”, he says softly.

“Good”, she mutters. “Right now it’s pretty fucking all-consuming. It’s there when I wake up in the morning, and it’s – in my tea, and on all my clothes, and it’s in everyone I talk to and everything I say.”

Harry stares at the sky overhead, the red rapidly paling. Still, there is that whispering in the treetops, the feeling of being transported back into the Forbidden Forest. Still, his parents, reaching out for him.

“I’m sorry”, he says truthfully. “That’s all I’ve got.”

Ginny shakes her head. “It’s all I needed.”

He watches her tug at a poppy near her feet, struck by how long he’s managed to stay away from her, when her company is so comforting. The resolution comes to him all on its own, that he’s going to tell her everything. The Forbidden Forest. King’s Cross Station.

“Do you want to head back yet?”

Ginny looks at him, and she seems calmer somehow. For the first time since they got here, she doesn’t seem to be searching for anything – just looking.

“In a little while”, she says.

Harry looks back at her, really looks at her, and for a long time, neither of them speak, having arrived at some quiet understanding. Still, there’s a murmur in the trees around them, but they pay it no mind, and they don’t turn to look.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Tainted Apollo

Pairing: Kars x Reader

Warnings: mentions of gore, death of minor characters, slight allusion to dubcon.

Words: 3056.

Summary: Finding a peculiar sculpture in the ruins of an ancient temple, you realize you have stumbled upon a god set in stone.

P.S. I forgot to post this one here haha

____________

"Good morning, Sire." You welcomed him as you stretched in your improvised bed, an old metal container of some kind with a pile of blankets on top of it.

Rubbing your sleepy eyes, you slowly put your feet on the floor and adjusted the hem of your nightgown so he wouldn't see too much of your flesh. Kars always found this habit of yours ridiculous. He had been a piece of stone for God knew how long, and even after you found him he'd been confined to bed for no less than a year, barely moving and unable to speak. Kars was sure you didn't even understand what he was, but you still cared about covering your body in front of him. What a pathetic habit, he thought.

When you found him in the sands, somewhere in what appeared to be a long abandoned temple that had been in ruins even before he reached the Earth, you first thought he was some kind of sculpture, adoring his unusual but captivating form. He hated you watching him with your eyes wide, even touching a lock of his petrified hair - you were just a mortal human woman, one of those he had been determined to wipe out, but you had the audacity to act like his sole purpose was to lay in the sand for your entertainment. If he could move, he would definitely end your pathetic like there and then. But Kars couldn't.

It must have been ages, if not a millennium, since he had been banished from Earth. Drifting through darkness, his body had turned to stone, his limbs losing their ability to move - regardless of him finally becoming an ultimate form of life, it brought him nothing but eternal suffering and oblivion. Kars had stopped functioning like a living being almost completely. Almost. If he hadn't been returned back to Earth by some accident, he would continue his meaningless journey to the stars till the end of times because the darkness enveloping him had no limits. It felt like being thrown into a cold throat of some gigantic monstrous creature, but instead of reaching its stomach and finally dying he had been forced to circulate somewhere in between, neither dead nor alive. If silly humans thought the Hell was real, it had to be it.

He couldn't remember what force sent him back to Earth as he could think of no one doing it intentionally, but it didn't matter as long as he could reach Earth. Regardless of what would happen after, Kars knew he would survive and regain his power, finally giving humanity what it deserved for what they had done to him.

Funny, but when his mind had awoken from hibernation, Kars realized there was no one to take revenge on. Humanity had successfully wiped itself out.

Even after year and a half that passed, he still saw just you, a girl who had brought his petrified form to her home to take care of him knowing he was alive - by the time you met him Kars was able to open his eyes. Oh, he remembered well how horrified you were, stumbling upon an immensely beautiful statue that turned out to be a stone god, he heard you saying that for a few times. That day you ran away with such an expression Kars didn't expect you to ever come back, although you showed up a couple of days after, trying to talk to him in that odd new human language he had never heard before. As he kept silent, unable to even move his lips and make a sound, you realized the god you stared upon had been trapped in stone, and you could do nothing to free him. You went away, but came back with an odd machine that reminded him of Stroheim, and Kars thought of melting your bones when you dared to use to transport him. However, he had to admit how further did human technology evolved when even a small and timidly-looking machine like yours could lift and transport him to your home, a place inside another machine that had been definitely used for military purposes before being abandoned. It looked incredibly pathetic, as if you were a little rat that had to live in a pile of garbage out of pure need.

The world he once knew and wished to conquer had disappeared. All he saw while being driven away by your small machine had been a never-ending desert and ruins of other machines: he learnt lately those were enormous satellites, star ships, and other rusting remnants of an epoch that had been long gone. Watching gigantic sand stingrays crossing the desert as if it were a sea made him realize how far humans had gone - they had created monsters that were never meant to exist in the first place.

Of course, they paid for it. Judging from the stories you told him and what he observed himself, humanity had faced almost complete annihilation even without intervention of their outer space enemies, if there were any. The atomic war destroyed nearly everything humans had been creating since the beginning of their era. It affected even the natural course of life of every living being on Earth, forcing them to change and finally become a horrifying, mutilated, monstrous life form of something they had been once. Even the Moon had been gone, it's ugly half-destroyed form shining in the night sky and making it even more revolting. You had said something about unsuccessful colonization and the war over moon territories while Kars had to force himself to look down on the sand that was at least familiar to him.

Disgusting. He still had hard time believing how far humans had gone, destroying everything that existed long before they started ruling the planet. What would Jojo say now if he saw what a nightmare the world had become? Wasn't it better to let Kars wipe out the humanity before this had happened?

He had been fighting the urge to break your spine or melt your insides at least for a couple of months, blaming you for the crimes of your ancestors despite you obviously being too young to commit any of the atrocities that had happened. How come a human being had the audacity to survive in this post-Apocalyptic world while other life forms had mutated into monsters? When you were wiping any impurities off his cold stony skin, he was dreaming of the time when his body would come out of this odd hibernation period he couldn't control and then murder you in some rather painful way, prolonging your death till you felt all kinds of despair a human like you could. As he struggled to move even his fingers, he had finally decided not to harm an only being capable of taking care of him.

Each day you brought him to sunlight so he could observe what was outside of your pathetic shelter while you worked to grow anything in this lifeless place, several times a week departing to some place to fill the ugly rusted water tank, then watering your plants in a some kind of a nicely equipped greenhouse - funny, now you used it to protect the plants from the intense heat rather than trap it inside. Fruits and vegetables were what your diet was based on, including some synthetic supplements Kars refused to consume, disgusted by something made purely by humankind. Sometimes you would bring him fried meat, and while the thought of eating a mutilated animal had been revolting to him, Kars knew you could offer him nothing else. Even the meat you brought you offered only to him, rarely taking a piece for yourself: now it must have been a great privilege to consume meat. Besides, it truly sustained him better than fruits or vegetables, and he was dependent on what you were feeding him, slowly getting his strength back. After a year and a half he was now able to move his lips and fingertips, making you nearly ecstatic: it seemed you were doing everything right.

What did you think he was? A deity? A monster? A machine? Probably an immortal being who had existed long before the annihilation, that's what you said: you were talking to him from time to time either to pay your respects, tell him more about your world you thought he knew nothing about or voice what you were going to do right the next moment. One day as you brought several rectangular plates made with what looked like a blue metal to him, you read Kars about ancient Greek gods, wondering if he had been one of them - you saw him melting food with his skin, and for you it was the inherent symbol of his divinity. Kars had to give you some credit: you weren't as stupid he first thought you were. You weren't worshipping him as much as he deserved, but you probably did the best you could do, just a little desert rat having nothing but her plants and a decaying metal house.

"I won't come back till the sunset." You said once you finished washing your face and brushing your hair, tucking them under a faded scarf out of some light fabric and then reaching out to grab your mask. "I'll try being quick, Sire, but it's important I visit that place. If I'm lucky, I might bring something very useful to you."

Useful to him, huh? He would appreciate if you stopped humoring yourself: there was nothing useful you could bring him aside from a dozen people to devour. While he knew there were some people left on Earth still, he also knew you wouldn't master the strength to capture, less sacrifice them to him. Besides, Kars was still deciding whether it was worth devouring those creatures. While it certainly would make him return his powers faster, he could wait a couple of centuries - Kars doubted remaining humans could do something worse to Earth than what had already been done.

You didn't return after the sunset that day. It was the first time you hadn't keep your promise to him, and it made ill-tempered Kars bitter: oh, he would remember it and make sure you remembered it, too. He spent the night thinking what he was going to do to you, albeit not getting too violent in his thoughts. Something probably happened on your way, and you had to stop and spend the night in the desert before coming back.

The next day you didn't return either. He waited for you till the sunset but heard nothing but the sound of sand stingrays travelling to the other part of the desert. The complete silence troubled Kars more than he was able to admit: you had been somewhere around most of the time, taking to him or making some other irritating noise. While he found you just one more annoying creature inferior to him, your absence had a strange effect on Kars - it felt like something was crawling beneath his stony skin, making it harder to keep calm despite the fact the man had always been patient, unaffected by something so unworthy of his attention. However, your absence was a clear sign that something had happened, and it somehow bothered him.

Were you attacked by the monstrous creatures roaming the earth? Humans? Some other force he knew nothing about? Surely, it had something to do with the thing you attempted to bring, but you were vague about its nature, and Kars doubted it was really something decent. How come you had the audacity to risk your life when you were his one and only follower, sustaining and taking care of him while he was still in hibernation? Were you so unbearably stupid you decided you could leave him alone for long? Who had given you the right to bother Kars with your absence? It was inexcusable. The only reason why he didn't punish you was his petrified body, but he wouldn't stay in such state forever.

The lack of your presence was becoming more and more disturbing, and Kars questioned himself why did it matter. He had never needed someone's company - even though he had respect for both Esidisi and Wamuu, their closeness to him wasn't something essential. Not that your presence was either... and yet he found himself constantly thinking about the reasons why you were late. Although it irritated him, Kars decided that time he spent into space had its effects on his mind.

When you returned at last, the sun had already disappeared over the horizon. You were bleeding - he saw crimson stains on your face and your left arm, your faded scarf absent when you stormed inside your house, a small metal container in your hand as you flew to your stone god. Something had gone terribly wrong.

"I'm sorry, Apollo." You were running out of breath, but Kars heard you calling him by a Greek god's name. Was it the god of light? Your choice was rather peculiar. You were probably calling him like this in your mind since you brought those books home, but was afraid to voice your thoughts to him. "I wasn't as prepared I thought I was. The guards are still there even after all these years."

Leaving the container on the floor close to him, you took your bag and started your things there, searching for food and flasks. Somebody had been following you to your hideout.

"This is all I could find." You whispered, opening the container and taking out a small glass vial with a bright red liquid inside. "I can't tell how it will affect you, but I believe it would be of use to you, Apollo. Please, consume it."

You had carefully lifted the vial as if it were going to explode and then put it on his chest, awaiting for Kars to melt it onto his body. He had been suspicious about this, for some reason unable to detect what the liquid was as the vial seemed to block it, he consumed it, nonetheless - there was a chance it could speed up the end of his hibernation.

And it did. He felt the familiar heat, albeit Kars had never thought the stone could be turned into liquid, and yet it was it, something he had been chasing for so long once before becoming who Kars was now. How come it had been somewhere here all along? Was it fate to land here where it had all ended for him once? Kars had no answers. Not that it mattered now as his petrified body was rapidly recovering, his limbs finally able to move, his dark locks softening, the paralysis shattering while he stood up, showing you his perfect form in all its glory as you stared at him, either afraid or unable to move. He was the God you were waiting for, his large wings turning into flesh hands, a halo of light surrounding his perfectly proportioned, sculptured body and making you lose your eyesight for a couple of seconds. It happened so suddenly you were trembling on your knees in front of him, forgetting about those who had trailed you and the danger they could bring to your God and you, both fear and admiration engraved into your stare. Kars was much more than you had pictured him to be, undoubtedly.

As much as he enjoyed that look on your face, devouring your fragile figure with his eyes, he could feel his enemies breathing down his neck. Of course, all of them were unworthy of seeing his true power, but even someone as miserable as them would do for a quick warm up after centuries of hibernation: once several disgustingly looking men with scars and mutilated limbs showed up in your hideout, all of them Ripple users just like Jojo had been, Kars let out a laugh, watching them demanding both him and you to surrender. Worthless little creatures, they thought they could give orders to him, the most perfect form of life on Earth. He had slashed all of them the next moment, pools of their blood dirtying the floor and spreading further to metal walls: apparently, despite them still being able to use Ripple, their power had deteriorated greatly to the point they only posed a threat to a fellow human being, someone as frail and delicate as you.

Turning to face you still on your knees, he saw your wide eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks while you covered your mouth with your hands: was your God more terrifying than you had imagined him to be? Did you think he would forgive those who made a mistake of challenging him, the most powerful being the Earth had ever hold? Silly little girl, there were so many things you had to learn about him, the God you were destined to worship and love with your whole being.

"Stand up, woman." He said, watching you tremble and trying to wipe away your tears, not knowing what you had to say to the God you finally saw in all his glory. "I demand you to leave with me before the sun rises. Gather whatever belongings you need for a long journey, we will depart soon."

You bowed to him deeply, afraid to open your mouth and say something your God would consider inappropriate, and hurried to take your bag, quickly putting everything you considered important in it while Kars stepped closer to the pathetic beings, consuming what was left of them and feeling the power coursing through his body, filling him with warmth he had craved for so long. That little vial you brought was truly worthy of him, and Kars felt satisfied it was you who found him in the sands in the middle of nowhere. He would take you with him while he would try to resurrect the Earth as he remembered it, bringing the balance to it and watching it flourish once again.

"Apollo, I have taken everything." You whispered to him timidly, forgetting you were using that fictional name you gave him.

Kars chuckled, marching through your hideout flooded with blood of his enemies. If you needed to compare him to some stupid Greek god so desperately, you should have chosen Hades.

[cozy-the-overlord]

Masquerade

Part 2 of Cozy’s Fluff-To-Angst Fun and Games

@loki-hargreeves said

Here's a fluffy-ish prompt for you,

Dancing together (anything between ballroom dancing or just dancing in the living room at 2am together) 💚

Summary: It didn’t have to be bad, Loki told himself. His parents were married through such an arrangement, and they were happy together. 

He would be happy too.

Word Count: 1,659

Pairing: Loki x OFC

A/N: I feel like if you’ve read any of my other stuff, you’ll know how my favorite trope is childhood friends to lovers. I thought I’d try a twist on that formula. Not sure if it worked, but here you go!

Thanks for reading!

Warnings: None? I think? It’s just Loki being lonely

Tags:  @lucywrites02 @silver-lupines @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

Loki had always loved dancing.

Alfheim balls were a little different from the ones he had grown up attending on Asgard, but the dancing was similar enough. It was a comfort, little scraps of familiarity floating in a frozen sea. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be swept up in the rhythm.

Rowan was radiant, as always. She laughed as she spun in his arms, the skirt of her dress flaring around her legs in a sparkling golden blur, and when he pulled her closer he found himself laughing too. It was impossible to resist—her smile was infectious.

His wife was a brilliant actress.

Loki hadn’t known what to expect from the arranged marriage laid before him. He had been granted only a month to attempt to straighten his thoughts before being sent away to Alfheim to meet his bride. It didn’t have to be bad, he told himself. His parents were married through such an arrangement, and they were happy together. Happy enough at least. He would be happy too.

And … he could almost feel happy here. Dancing. Drowning in the music. Letting the cacophony of the ballroom wash over him. The two of them swooped across the floor, so smooth they might have been flying, all eyes on them. It almost felt like the life he had always expected to lead.

It almost felt real.

Loki felt lightheaded. Before his wedding, he had never cared for Elven wine, but now he had been finding himself warming up to the drink a little more with each banquet. It made everything seem distant. He liked that.

Rowan twirled again. Her gown was silky green, swathed in gold—his colors, of course. She had been wearing something similar when he first arrived. Really, between the dress and her dark curls, she could have been mistaken for Loki’s sister. It was something Thor had been quick to point out, smacking his shoulder with a boisterous laugh as soon as they stepped off the Bifrost.

Loki missed that laugh. Everything here seemed too quiet. The highlight of his wedding feast had been watching his brother drunkenly frolic his way through the night, challenging men he didn’t know to duels over women he had just met, spilling wine all over himself when a pretty girl brushed up too close to him. His mother had been mortified, but Loki found it endlessly entertaining.

He had nearly cried the next morning, when he came down to bid his family farewell. He hid it, of course. It wouldn’t do to have a son of Odin bawling like a baby over a goodbye. He even managed a weak laugh, when Thor clapped him on the back and congratulated him for surviving his wedding night, although he was curious as to what his brother would say had he known Loki spent it on a couch.

But he really felt it rising, that frozen knot of panic in his throat, when his mother gave him one last embrace. He wondered if she could hear the frantic, childish plea he left unsaid.

Please don’t leave me here.

But as powerful as his mother was, she couldn’t read his mind, and so leave him they did.

He didn’t blame Rowan. He couldn’t—this was no more her fault than it was his. In fact, he had tremendous respect for her. The speech she had given him that night, when they returned to the apartment they were to share as husband and wife, had been straightforward and concise—perhaps a little rehearsed, but not so much that her conviction was unclear.

Still, it had startled him.

“I’ll be your wife. When I’m crowned Queen, you’ll be my Crown Prince. You and your realm will have the power and control you so desperately desire. But you won’t have me. You’ll never have me. Understand?”

Loki nodded. What was he supposed to do? Of all the scenarios he had run through his mind, over and over again until he could barely focus on anything else, he had never prepared for such an abrupt dismissal. When she disappeared into the bedroom, slamming the door with a swish of her emerald gown, he could only stand there like the great gaping idiot he was.

She was swishing that gown now, as they circled the floor once more. She stretched her hand out to his, his hand grazing her waistline as they turned to the music. The crowd of nobles watching from the edges of the ballroom seemed to have drawn even tighter around them since he last looked. The muscles in Loki’s neck tensed, but he held his easy smile. He had learned to dance through these maskless masquerades, and he danced them quite well.

Rowan wasn’t bothered by all the eyes on her. She peered across the assembly, scanning the faces even as she fell back into his arms beaming. Loki didn’t even have to look up to know who she was searching for.

He had met him once. The Other Man. His name was Ari, and he worked in the royal stables. For banquets such as this, however, he was occasionally called in to aid the overworked staff. It was a station he had been born into, it seemed—his father had served as groom, his mother a kitchen maid. Ari had served alongside him as a stableboy in his youth. He and Princess Rowan had known each other since they were children.

Loki had met him when he discovered him lounging in the very rooms he shared with his wife. It was a rare occasion—usually Rowan was smart enough to keep her extramarital engagements outside of the palace—but it seemed that she had to step out for a moment and asked Ari to wait for her. They shared several minutes of stilted conversation. Loki tried to be polite, but the stablehand was clearly uninterested in friendship. They were both exceedingly relieved when Rowan returned to whisk her lover away. The foul-eyed smirk Ari shot at him as he left made Loki feel sick.

He thought about asking Rowan not to bring him back to their apartment. Surely that would be a fair request. If Thor had been in his position he would certainly have no qualms about making it. No, he’d demand that Rowan never do such a thing again.

But … Loki had never exactly been the demanding type. He didn’t want to be the demanding type. It was her life, her love, and he was the intruder from another planet butting in and turning it upside down. It didn’t bother him that she wanted to be with someone else. He wasn’t jealous. He didn’t want Rowan, not like that. He didn’t love her, and she certainly didn’t love him, and Loki was perfectly fine with that. He wanted her to be with Ari, if that was what brought her happiness. They both deserved to be happy.

But … he found himself thinking about them a lot. He had precious little else to do here, besides nod along in meetings where he had no real say and reread books that no longer offered him escape. Loki’s mind would drift off, and he’d wonder how they met, the princess and the stableboy. Maybe Rowan had been lonely as a child—after all, she had no siblings, and the Alfheim court held precious few her age. Maybe she had come to the stables to hide away from the weight of royalty. Loki had done that when he was little—hide in the stables, or the wine cellar, or anywhere safe and secluded where it felt like nobody was looking at him.

Maybe she had hidden in an empty stall, and Ari found her when he came into clean. He imagined Ari had been quite lonely too—there couldn’t be a lot of conversation to be had when one spends their days mucking after horses—and so when he came across the princess huddled in the corner, her silk skirt carefully tucked under her knees, he sat down next to her.

Loki imagined them talking, not about anything in particular, just bouncing from topic to topic the way children tend to do. Maybe Rowan brought up her favorite book. Maybe Ari showed her his favorite flower. It didn’t really matter. But Loki pictured them growing closer, meeting up in secret again and again, their endeavors growing wilder with their childish glee. He saw them sneaking away to the roof of the palace to watch the sunset and count the stars, laughing at the ant-like people scurrying by below as they snacked on stolen chocolates. He saw them creeping away to practice dancing in the moonlight, with nothing but the nightingale’s song to count their steps. He saw them slowly begin to look each other in a different light, nervous lips brushing against each other for the first time. He saw them hatch plans of escape—long, intricate schemes that called for stolen ships and falsified identities—before they came to their senses and realized such plans would never come to fruition. He saw himself enter their story and felt their loathing.

Loki wished he had that. That closeness, that bond. He wished he could talk to Rowan, really talk to her and trust her to listen. Not in a romantic sense, but as something else. Friends. Weren’t there stories like that, where the husband and wife in arranged marriages grew to have a friendship more powerful than anything romantic?

But somehow, Loki knew that to his wife, he’d only ever be the man trying to rip her from her beloved.

The music was reaching a close. Rowan pulled away in a graceful curtsey. Loki let her go with a bow. The crowd rippled with polite applause, devoted and empty as always. Loki kept his smile, blithe as can be.

His wife wasn’t the only brilliant actor in the room.

[fanfic-cave]

The Reveal Pt. 2

Rating: SFW/PG-13

Word Count: 1.6k (nearly 1.7k)

Pairing: Hunter x Fem Jedi!OC

Warnings: Swearing (im too lazy to write the star wars swear words so its our kind of swears), trauma/fear situation, lightsaber/jedi things, mushy hug/romance, its supposed to be kinda intense and dramatic

Summary: You’ve exposed yourself as a Jedi to the Bad Batch, and not intentionally. Now its out in the open, and this ex-jedi needs to escape before things get messy. Will these rogue clones attack? Will you have to defend yourself? How will this end without someones blood getting spilled?

Authors note: Check out part 1 linked below, theres links to a few other fics i'd reccomend reading as well along this these! Theres like a tiniest bit of fluff here. I have a few other fluff/short things I want to post soon, and I have some ideas for giving the other TBB memebers some love since all I've been posting is Hunter stuff lately

Please enjoy!

Part 1 here

“Isn’t it obvious? Sera is a Jedi.”

RIP

Tech's words flipped the switch and you took action. You used the force and ripped your lightsaber out of your bag, ignited it, and took a defensive stance.

“Stay back boys” You wish your voice wasn’t shaking. The green glow of your lightsaber reflected on their surprised faces.

“Omega, stay inside.” You heard Hunter's voice, and saw him push her in, her eyes wide when seeing your weapon ignited. Wrecker took a step back, a look of shock on his face. Tech raised his hands. Crosshair eyed you suspiciously, he stood just behind Tech. You couldn’t see Echo.

“Hmm. Looks like I was right.” Tech said nonchalantly, like he had just proved a scientific theory. Well, I guess he did, in a manner of speaking.

You held your lightsaber with two hands, squeezing tight and ready to use it at a moment's notice. You started taking a step back. “Nobody moves. I walk away, and nobody gets hurt-” you sensed something in the force, and heard a minuscule movement, a blaster. You pointed your saber to Echo, who had just appeared at the top exit ramp “Drop it!”

“Easy Sera,” Echo spoke. “We’re all removing our weapons.” He looked at the rest of the boys and nodded. “See?” You watched Echo lift his blaster pistol, careful not to touch the trigger, and throw it. Crosshair dropped his rifle. Wrecker raised his hands up. “You’re a Jedi?” Wreckers face looked shocked and confused.

You tried to ignore the emotions you were feeling. You didn’t want to leave, you had happy times with them. But you were too afraid to take the risk of staying and finding out if you would survive. “I don’t want to hurt any of you” You took another step back. “Just let me go and I won’t…”

“We won’t hurt you Sera.” It was Hunter's voice this time. He stepped forward out of the Havoc, and walked past the boys. His knife and blaster were gone, left on the ship maybe. He held his hands out in front of him, slightly raised. He had a slight crouch as he came towards you, like he was approaching a wounded animal. His expression was hard to read still, but he had a slight frown on his face. You looked into his eyes and couldn’t look away. He held your gaze intensely, like he was trying to send a message to you through his eyes.

“Please,” you said, desperation in your voice. You tried to move your feet. You couldn’t, you were frozen by his look, held by him. You felt the same electric current drawing you to him, keeping you from leaving.

“We don’t have inhibitor chips, not that they worked too well anyways.” He lifted his headband and shifted his hair, pointing to a small scar. The rest of the boys did so similarly, showing they all had an identical scar on the right side of their skull.

You looked at them confused. Inhibitor chips? All you knew was that the clones executed the Jedi. Every Jedi. You didn’t know how, or even why, other than the Empire saying the Jedi committed treason.

Hunter had been taking small steps forward the whole time. Your eyes stayed locked onto his. Then, you felt something you hadn't in a long time, something you shut out.

You recognized the feeling of the force, it moved through you, awakening your force sensitivity. Maybe you reignited a severed connection by touching your saber again, maybe the strong emotions in you and everyone else caused the resurgence. Whatever the reason, you felt it move through you, connecting you to your surroundings.

After the battles on Umbara, with a lot of effort, you closed yourself off from the force. You realized now that it was never truly gone, and you had still been seeing your surroundings with your instinctual force sensitivity.

You hesitated and broke eye contact from Hunter, shocked at what was happening. You took a breath, and closed your eyes. You concentrated on the force, focusing on the feelings you felt now. Fear, love, sadness, anxiety, all of it. You quieted them, and then reached out. You felt a surge of more emotions. Worry. Fear again. But not a selfish fear. They were scared you would leave. You could sense the intentions of each of them, seeing a bit into their mind. You sensed no malice, no intention to take life.

You sensed Hunter step closer. He was maybe a foot away now. He reached out and touched your forearm. You took another deep breath, then opened your eyes, watching him. He reached his hand up to your face slowly, reaching for your mask. You made no movement to stop him, and he slipped it off of you, tossing it aside. Beneath it revealed your face, and he calmly looked into your eyes.

You realized he was trying to reassure you, comfort you. He wasn’t scared of you, despite the legendary weapon you held. You felt more hopeful, now that you saw nobody had tried to attack you. You turned off your lightsaber, never breaking away from his gaze, and dropped the saber to the ground. Everyone relaxed.

“What are inhibitor chips?” You asked. Tech launched into an explanation. The Kaminoans created the clones with chips in their brain, to inhibit the clones' cognitive functions and allow them to follow any order. Theirs were not functioning, save for Crosshair. Crosshairs face darkened as he mentioned this, he looked like he would rather avoid the memories all together. They retrieved him from the empire and removed all their chips.

The clones were forced to kill the Jedi. Thinking about it left a bitter taste in your mouth. The clones would’ve stood by the Jedi, their commanders, generals, and friends. The Jedi only wanted to protect the Republic. They were forced to murder them. They were all tricked.

But, the bad batch… your friends. You sighed. You’re safe. You don’t have to leave. “So none of you feel an overwhelming urge to execute me for holding a lightsaber? Or making a 40ft jump?”

“More like 45 feet, and no. We never were known for being rule followers.” Hunter said. He smiled a bit when he said it, and watched you process his words. You blinked back tears, and a smile spread on your face. You couldn’t believe that you were all going to be okay. A horror you felt sure of was now averted.

You felt the electrical current run through your body again as Hunters hand retreated from your arm. You looked up at him, tears threatening to roll out of your eyes. The current dragged you in. You walked towards Hunter, the heat of the moment sweeping you up. You slammed into him and wrapped your arms around his torso. You squeezed tight, and shut your eyes, tears rolling down. “You’re not going to kill me.” You spoke half laughing, half crying.

You felt his arms wrap around your shoulders, and return the hug, squeezing you back. He was warm. Compared to moments ago feeling terrified of death, the feeling of being hugged and cared for was euphoric.

Hunter pressed his face into your hair, and you felt lips press to top of your head for a brief moment. He bent down a bit and whispered in your ear “Never. You’ve protected us, and we are going to protect you.” A few more tears rolled down as he spoke, and you pressed your face against his chest. He made circles with his thumb on your back, seemingly to comfort you. The world around you just disappeared. It was just you and him. You could feel him take deep breaths, while yours were a bit more shallow and sporadic.

A minute or two passed, and suddenly you heard awkward coughing. You withdrew from the hug, looking to the rest of the boys. Hunters left hand remained on your right shoulder.

You normally might’ve felt embarrassed, but right now you were still just happy to be alive. You faced the rest of the group, feeling a little guilty. “I’m sorry everyone. I really thought you were going to kill me. I didn’t mean to frighten any of you.”

Wrecker laughed. “Don’t worry about it General, we don’t scare easy!” Your eyebrows knit together when he called you General.

“If we really wanted to kill you, it would’ve happened already.” Crosshair said. Hunter looked at him disapprovingly. You just laughed. “Thanks Cross.” He made a short nod, and walked off the ramp.

“To be honest, I’ve suspected it for quite some time. Your reflexes, agility, weapon skill with a blade, and extensive experience with alien culture and language all pointed to you being a Jedi.” You raised an eyebrow at Tech after he spoke.

“How long have you known?” You inquired. “Several months.” He replied. You sighed. “You didn’t tell anyone?” You asked. “No. I thought it was obvious.” He stated simply. He walked past you and typed into his data pad. “See you Sera.” He waved without looking up.

“Echo-“ You called up to him. “Don’t worry about it.” He waved off your apology quickly. You just nodded at him. He walked back into the ship.

You turned to Hunter. “Please don’t start calling me General…” He patted your back. “I’ll talk to them, don’t worry about it.” You breathed out a sigh in relief. You relaxed more and looked at your surroundings for a minute. Your eyes found the horizon and you saw a beautiful sunset beginning. “Thank you, Hunter.” The words escaped your mouth as you watched the sunset.

He squeezed your shoulder, which brought your attention to him. “You can breathe easy now.” The corner of his lips turned up a little. You returned the smile and nodded. He patted your shoulder, and it seemed like he didn’t want to let go. He eventually released your shoulder and walked back to the ship, you assumed it was to go to Omega.

You smiled to yourself as you stood alone. This changes everything. You felt more hopeful than you had in years.

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Wordcount: 2.7k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm.

Masterlist here

AO3 Link here

Playing volleyball in Milan is everything Atsumu dreamed of and more - the lights are brighter, the crowds are bigger, there are no distractions, no nagging to ignore, no pending errands to run - nothing to detract from the rush of exhilaration when he executes yet another perfect set. His teammates introduce him to the joy of soaking in the sunset over aperitivo by the Navigli canals, and he develops a liking for cheese and cured meat -  prosciutto, salami, bresola, sending pictures of the street markets to Osamu even though he receives no reply.  

But it’s not long before the novelty of living alone in a foreign land fades. He’s never been particularly good with languages, so he’s unable to get across the language barrier preventing him from socialising outside of his teammates. So Atsumu finds himself falling back into habits he learnt at home - buying take-out pizza on Friday nights from the pizzeria down the street, ordering extra because the pizza in Milan is thinner, crisper and infinitely less filling. There are no aquariums in Milan, no museums with dinosaur bones, so he measures his steps on cobblestone streets to the park every Sunday to sit on a bench too large for him alone, watching the birds and clouds in the sky. 

He tells himself to be content with watching his baby grow through the frame of an eleven inch screen, recording every one of her babbled words and chuckles onto his phone until it runs out of space and has to call Suna for technical support. He becomes a regular at the post office, mailing packages of dolls and nutcrackers, chocolates from his favourite sweetshop and handmade baby dresses from wizened oba-chan he learns to air kiss on both cheeks. 

‘Home, Oto-san?’ Shino asks during one of their calls. His voice breaks when he has to tell his baby ‘sorry, darlin’, not yet’. It’s the only time he opens up the webpage to check if he can book a flight back home. 

He starts rushing to the locker room right after matches end to avoid seeing his teammates’ faces light up when their families congratulate them with kisses and warm embraces after every match. When his teammates ask about his family (he drives away the thought that they’re asking out of pity), he whips out his phone to show them his favourite picture of Shino, her little face screwed up in confusion when they loaded her back with the giant mochi for her first birthday- ‘such a trooper, didn’t even cry when she fell down’ he tells them proudly. He’s quick to swipe past any photos of her. 

He doesn't need the memories, he really doesn’t.

Well - he might not  need  the memories, but it’s not as if they disappear. He wakes up to find himself on the other side of bed. ‘Sorry, darlin’ he mumbles sleepily (because he knows he tends to invade her space, and she’s likely to kick him bodily off the bed if he doesn’t apologise quickly enough) - before snapping awake with a thin sheen of cold sweat on his forehead remembering he’s five thousand, nine hundred and sixty miles from home. 

Not that he’s counting. He really isn’t.

He’s ashamed to admit that he heads to the club that night to pick up someone - anyone to warm his bed, but he’s not sure if it’s the burn of alcohol or the flashing lights (or that prick of something in his chest - it can’t be his conscience, he’s pretty sure only Osamu has that) because his stomach churns whenever pigs with their painted faces and false smiles approach him, and soon gives up, returning to his apartment cold and alone. He’s pretty sure it’s the alcohol because he pukes his guts out in the morning and swears off from ever going to a club again.

“MIYA !’ 

He only has time for a brief flash of shock between hearing his coach shout his name and feeling the impact of his teammate’s full weight against his shoulder that sends him sprawling across the floor. There’s a collective gasp from the crowd, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the sickening snap of bone ringing in his ears as he’s lying on the ground. 

The sharp burst of pain stabbing his shoulder is enough for him to know what the doctors later confirm - a shattered collarbone. Complete rest for at least eight weeks is prescribed for a full recovery. 

‘What were you thinking, Miya?’ his coach asks him exasperatedly when he’s discharged from the hospital. 

‘I goofed’, he replies lamely. ‘Sorry, sir’. 

It wouldn’t do to tell anyone that for a split second, he was distracted by the sight of a dark haired woman with bright eyes cheering at the top of the stands, a plump toddler balanced on her hip. 

It’s close enough to the end of the competition season that his coach figures it’d be better for him to just cut his stay in Milan short and return to Japan early to recover properly. So he lands in the Osaka airport amidst a haze of rain, arm tucked in a sling. The airport staff are kind enough to help him wheel his bags out to the arrivals gate where he’s surprised to find Osamu waiting with a bored expression on his face. 

‘I thought ya weren’t talkin’ to me’, Atsumu says.  

Osamu snorts, taking hold of his bags. ‘Mum made me come and get ya, since you're useless with that busted collarbone of yours.’ Then he turns on his heel and matter of factly adds as he walks off - ‘Besides, you’ll end up stayin’ with me anyway - it’s not like you have a home of yer own.’ 

Atsumu opens his mouth to retort but shuts it with a snap. 

‘You better hide in the kitchen if ya don’t have the guts to show yer ugly mug around her’, Osamu tells him at half past six in the evening, not even looking up from the tuna and spring onion onigiri he’s forming in his hands. 

But Atsumu doesn’t. He tells himself it’s because he can’t bring himself to leave Shino’s side for a second more than he has to, not when he’s still drinking in the sight of her grown so, so big in the span of just a few months. The little girl had been confused at first, when both he and Osamu turned up at the childcare centre to pick her up, but after several minutes of coaxing her to recognise which one of them was Oto-san and Oji-san (the hair colour probably helped) and the bribe of a very elaborate doll (probably the main reason), she’d warmed up to him and refused to let go of his hand. 

She pushes open the door to Onigiri Miya with a gentle smile on her face when Shino shrieks ‘Mama!’ at the top of her little lungs and rushes over to her, though it vanishes the instant she notices that it’s not Osamu playing with the little girl. He tries his best to ignore the stab of guilt in his chest when she takes an instinctive step back to yank Shino behind her legs. 

‘You’re back’, she finally says, glancing at his arm resting in its sling.   

‘Yeah…’ he responds, starting to sweat like he’s standing under the hottest stadium lights. ‘Ya look good’.

‘I know when you’re lying, Atsumu’, she sighs - and if he's being honest, she’s right. To the untrained eye, she looks perfectly put together, dressed in a pencil skirt and heels with her hair neatly tied back, but he knows her too well to be fooled. He can spot the pallor of her skin beneath her makeup, the droop of her shoulders, the downward tilt of her lips. But before he can formulate a response, she grabs Shino’s hand and turns to go, the little girl waving goodbye at him until they’re out of sight. 

‘Wow. That was awkward.’ Osamu quips from over the counter. Atsumu can’t even find it in him to respond.    

Osamu makes him work at his store in between his sessions of physiotherapy. ‘To keep ya out of trouble’ he says, and Atsumu doesn’t really mind, it still leaves him plenty of time to pick up Shino from childcare every day, and it certainly gives him the excuse to hang around Onigiri Miya when she stops by in the evenings. 

He tries to make conversation with her - ‘That’s a new dress you’re wearing’, but is always rebuffed - ‘I bought this old thing years ago’, to Osamu’s endless amusement. She’d always enter the store with a fond smile on her face for Osamu (it makes him want to puke), and would immediately drop it the moment she meets his eyes. 

He tells himself it’s normal, she used to be cold and standoffish to him before they started dating, that she’d come around after a while. But even when he tries a different tack (perhaps compliments don’t work on her like they used to before), asking her ‘how’s yer day’, she shoots him a look of distrust that cuts right through his smile - ‘Just tell me what you want, Atsumu. You’ve never bothered asking me that before’. 

Osamu actually roars with laughter at that. Traitor. 

‘Need help with that?’ Osamu comments after watching Atsumu struggle to reach the exercise tape on his back with his one good hand, stepping in after Atsumu gives a reluctant nod. But he immediately yelps in pain when Osamu decides to abandon all pretense of being gentle and yanks on the exercise tape viciously.

‘Just take off my skin while you're at it, why don't ya’ Atsumu whines. ‘It never used to hurt that much when  she  would help me after physiotherapy’. 

‘She’s always been nicer to ya than ya deserve, fuckin’ scrub’. Osamu retorts, pulling at the remaining tape with increased vigour. 

Atsumu bites his tongue through the pain, picking apart his brother’s words before replying - ‘Hey ‘Samu. She’s still really mad with me, isn’t she? D'you think she’ll ever forgive me?’ 

‘Have ya tried apologising to her, for starters?’ 

‘What?’ Atsumu asks, bewildered, before yelping - 'Wait - ouch!! What the hell that bloody hurt!?!?!' 

‘You know - saying sorry? Owning up to your mistakes? Asking for forgiveness? You abandoned your wife and child for months - but I suppose that concept must be alien to you, shit stain.’ 

Osamu doesn’t give him a chance to respond, shaking his head as he walks away. 

His pride is an ugly, misshapen lump in his throat that's so inflamed it's almost impossible to be swallowed, but he does so anyway, asking her if they can speak for a short while in the alley behind the shop, away from Osamu’s eavesdropping ears. She furrows her brows at his request, but follows him out without complaint. 

It’s only when she’s standing before him in the dimly lit alleyway, the dying light of the setting sun reflecting a halo above her head that it hits him like a blow to the back of his head that he’s a fuckin’ idiot - how did he manage to convince himself to blame her for trying to get in his way of chasing his dreams. This is what he missed when he was living alone in his cold studio apartment in Milan - being able to return after trainings and matches to a cosy flat overflowing with her cheeky banter and his baby’s laughter. 

Gods, he wants his family. He wants to come home. 

But before he can pour out the apology he’d been preparing with Osamu’s help, she interrupts him by slapping a brown envelope into his chest. 

‘Look, I’m not sure what you have to say to me, but frankly, I’m not sure we have much to say to each other anymore,’ she tells him impatiently, as he opens the envelope, a tidal surge of dread overwhelming him. 

‘What's this’, he says blankly, even though the title on the very first page of the stack of papers trembling in his hands sets it out clearly -  Rikon-Todoke. i.e. Divorce papers. 

It spells out in clinical, cold words the terms of the proposed separation - dissolution of marriage by mutual consent, no request for alimony or compensation, legal custody to be granted to her with ample visitation rights for him. He would think it fair, if it were to apply to anyone but him.  

‘But why?’ he rasps, chest burning from the knife that pierces him right through his heart. 

She shifts forward, and the neon lights from the buildings surrounding them melding together to throw her face into sharp focus, her mouth curving upwards into something much harsher than a smile. It’s as if his departure acted as a whetstone, sharpening her edges, shaping her into a woman with hard eyes he can’t recognise. 

‘You and both know it’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it Atsumu? You’ve made it quite clear that this marriage isn’t what you want out of life. In any case neither of us have really been happy even before you left, so we might as well be free from each other.’ 

At this, he shakes his head, parting his lips to object but she continues ruthlessly, her words slicing past his tissue thin excuses. 

‘If anything, my time with you has taught me that it's impossible to stop the storm from destroying everything in its path. You can only try your best to outrun it, and  this' - ’ she stabs a finger at the stack of papers shaking in his hands -  ‘this is my attempt at outrunning you.’

It feels as if his world has somehow shifted, tilted upside down, turned inside out, his assumption that her taking him back would be an inevitable conclusion now disproven by the papers burning in his hands. He knows he’s hurt her beyond measure, but he never thought that his choice to chase what he thought were his dreams would leave him without the ground beneath his feet. 

‘You don’t need to do anything else - just sign it and give it back to me soon. I think it’s better for all of us - you, me and Shino, if we divorce formally and lead our own separate lives’, he hears her say, turning to go. 

Acting on instinct, his hand shoots out to grab her wrist and she flinches, the steel in her eyes crumbling to leave only frozen terror behind. 

I could never hurt you, he wants to say, but doesn't - because he knows it's a lie. 

Numbly, he releases his grip, letting his hand drop to his side. 

He hears the door close behind him. 

Osamu finds him hours later, crouched on the back steps to the shop, papers clenched in his hands. He takes the papers from him and mouths to himself while scanning through it, but there is no spark of surprise in his eyes. 

‘Did ya know she planned on divorcing me, ‘Samu?’, Atsumu asks, swiping his eyes with the back of his hand. 

‘I had a pretty good guess it was coming’, Osamu replies heavily. 

‘Fuck’, Atsumu groans, dropping his head between his legs. 

Osamu prods his side with the tip of his shoe. ‘It’s not that I want to kick a guy when he’s down, but she's your wife, not a toy you can toss aside and come back to after a few months, shit for brains. And if I’m being honest, it looks like you’re acting like a brat who only wants his toy back when someone else picks it up’.

Osamu’s response lights a fire in his chest, and he whirls to his feet, grabbing his twin by the front of his apron growling - ‘Whose side are ya on anyway?!’ 

Osamu looks at him calmly, uncharacteristically refusing to take his bait. ‘Well, it's not as if ya don't deserve it. You walked out on her and Shino for almost a year, Atsumu. I’ve been the one cleaning up yer mess like I’ve been doing my whole life - I’ve been the one picking Shino up from childcare, I had to accompany yer wife to the hospital when yer kid was down with a high fever - d'you still have to ask whose side I’m on?’

‘D'you love her, ‘Samu?’ Atsumu asks after a pause. 

The twins stare at each other. 

‘I love her like a sister, you asshole. And I hate that it’s my own brother causing her pain.’ Osamu eventually says, pushing him away.  

The door slams behind him again.  

The dark clouds above him rumble ominously. It starts to pour. 

[angry-geese]

Blood Ties - Chapter Thirty-One: It's

soulmate au Choso x Reader

Warnings: death mention. obligatory jjk manga spoilers (mostly about the culling game) but overall sfw

Synopsis: a pretty plot heavy chapter. mostly dialogue + another flashback + another phone call

word count: 3.2k (just under 3.3k)

prev - next

masterlist

You head into downtown Tokyo with the intent of picking a fight.

It's raining again.

Clouds gather overhead, blotting out the last sliver of sunlight. You duck into a bus stop to catch a break from the rain. Water leaks in through cracks in the roof. Though it's not particularly cold out, you find yourself shivering.

If there is anything out at this hour, it’s avoiding you like the plague. The streets are empty of both people and curses. Only one cursed spirit has the misfortune of running into you. It's quickly exorcized. It's almost comical how quickly you manage to take it out.

The sun quickly dips below the horizon, the last bit of daylight is muddled by clouds. Sunset already? You’re not certain how many hours you’ve wasted wandering around, but it must be a few, as your phone is dead, and you’re rather hungry.

Only one shop on this street has its lights on, albeit the open sign is dark. Looks like there's still power in this part of the city. Reliably, the power is on for most hours of the day. Sometimes it flickers. Some neighborhoods are completely dark. It really depends. You're not sure who’s still around to keep it on. But generally, wherever you go, you can count on the lights still being on.

A head pops out from within the doorway, but instead of readying your sword, you freeze. There's a little voice in the back of your mind telling you not to move. It's not fear. Fear is far different from this.

She stares at you for a moment, before stepping out onto the street, her black umbrella unfurling like a set of wings behind her. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You reach into your coat to sheathe your sword, pulling it close around your body.

“Come inside,” she says, “you’ll catch a cold out there. I'll bring you some soup.”

What.

Another moment goes by before you collect yourself. You stuff your hands in your pockets. “Sorry lady,” you say, “I don't have any money.”

“It's on me,” she says, “if you’ll take some pity on an old woman and have tea with her?”

You're not about to turn down tea with someone’s old granny, but you have a bad feeling about this. There's not many people who are on your side anymore. What seems like some innocent grandmother, may be another sorcerer ready to bury a knife in your back.

Yet no sixth sense is telling you to run. The hairs on the back of your neck don't stand on end. Fear doesn't prickle in your fingertips. From all appearances, supernatural or earthly, this woman is no threat.

Then again, that may be the point.

She moves to join you on the street, holding her umbrella over your head. "Or at the very least, get out of this infernal rain." She says. “It's not good for my arthritis.”

A bell chimes as you enter the shop. The building smells heavily of something floral—jazmines maybe—and tea. Soft music plays, barely audible over the small fountain out front. Coins glitter in the water. You and your brother would step into fountains to steal coins out of them as a kid. You have plenty of memories of your mother yelling at you for doing such a thing. Supposedly it's bad luck. You’re not particularly superstitious, so who knows.

"How long have you been living in Tokyo?" She asks.

"Not long." You answer. "A few months."

She hums, saying "I thought you looked new around here."

She disappears into the back for a moment, before returning with several dishes. Ramen in some sort of broth, with a fried egg on top. There's sliced scallions as a garnish. She serves it with tea, and a plate of gyoza that are cooked crisp, served with some kind of dipping sauce. As if on cue, your stomach growls loud enough for her to hear. She laughs softly, and sets the dishes down in front of you. You wait for her to take a seat, and pour herself a cup of tea.

And though you’re not a particularly religious person, you’re nearly convinced this woman is an angel.

“You really don't need to bring me so much food,” you say, “don't get me wrong—I appreciate it—but like I said, I don't have anything to pay you with.”

“These will only go bad sitting around in the back,” she says, “and what kind of person would I be to turn down hungry visitors?”

A smart one, you think.

It's as if you're possessed by some starving spirit, and no amount of food will fill the hole in your stomach. It's not until your second bowl of ramen, and halfway through the plate of gyoza, that you slow down.

"What brought you to Japan?" She asks.

Her question nearly makes you choke.

You shrug. You doubt you have it in you to explain the situation involving your brother. Plus, speaking about Jujutsu society with a non-sorcerer has to be some sort of crime, at least to the higher ups. But there aren't many higher ups around to care anymore, so, there's not a whole lot of people left to enforce their laws.

So you say what makes the most sense: "work."

"Oh really? What kind of work do you do?" She asks.

Shit. What kind of work do you do? Teaching? Extermination?!

You rest your head on your hand, planting your elbow on the table. "I work as a surveyor—so technically I'm employed under the local electric company." You say. "Really I don't have a whole lot to do with the power, I just survey pipelines and make sure nothing's getting pumped with enough electricity to make it explode. You wouldn't believe how old some of this infrastructure is."

That's a convincing enough lie, right? It's general enough, but not so vague that it doesn't make sense. You do a lot of trudging around abandoned buildings, and that can quickly be written off if you say you’re working with the power company.

She laughs, saying "sounds like you're very passionate about your work."

"Well, the money is good, and it's not like I hate the work." You say. "That's about the best I can ask for."

"There's more to life than paychecks." She says.

"Yeah," you say, "there's death and taxes for me too."

She glances up from her tea long enough for her eyes to scan across your face. She’s not the first person to tell you that. If it were anyone else saying it, you’d laugh in their face.

“You’re the first customer to come by in a while.” She notes.

Hasn't she heard? It's the end of the world as we know it.

"I'm not surprised." You say. "Didn't you hear about what happened Shibuya? It's been all over the news."

“I don't pay much attention to that anymore,” she says, “it's too depressing. I figure if it's important enough, I'll hear about it through someone else."

“There was a terrorist attack,” you say, “a bombing—that’s what they’re calling it. You can't watch any channel without hearing about it.”

Her response is only a simple "hm" and a nod. “I have a batch of sesame balls that are hardly a day old, if you’d like those.” She says.

You can't nod fast enough.

She disappears into the back before returning with another plate, and a fancy bottle, the contents of which appear to be a thin, clear liquid. The sesame balls are still warm, and filled with red bean paste. And though you’re nearly full, you’re certain you could polish off the plate.

She takes two of the leftover tea cups, filling each with a bit of liquor. Before sliding it across the table to you, she pauses, and asks “You are twenty-one, right?” Though you feel no matter what your answer is, she’ll give you the drink anyway.

“At least,” you say.

The tea mug is small, and filled only half way. Much to her horror, you down the entire thing like it's a shot. Warmth begins spreading from your stomach out into your limbs. The liquor isn't too strong. It's not so bad that your eyes water, and your throat stings.

“Why would you- you're meant to drink this like wine,” she says. “Not down it like it's cheap liquor!”

“Ah, sorry,” you say, “I’m not big on drinking.”

She gives you a look that seems to say “I can tell.”

She reaches out and takes your hand, turning your hand over so your palm faces up. "This line on your finger only appears if you have a soulmate," she says, pointing to your ring finger, "and this one only appears after you've met them."

Is this lady a sorcerer?

No way. Her cursed energy is that of a human. If she were a sorcerer, she would have tried to kill you by now.

"Yeah, I've met him," you say, solely because you don't know how else to respond to that. "How can you tell?"

"I worked with one of the agencies when I was younger," she says, "people pay a lot of money to find the person on the end of the red string. They'll either go to professionals, or find someone doing freelance. Now I can't see the string of fate myself, but I've picked up a few tricks from those who can."

And you're caught up in a mess of red wires.

“What else can you tell from my hands?” You ask.

“It's not palm reading,” she says, “so don't expect your fortune. But from these callouses, I can tell you do manual labor. And these scars- do you do a lot of cooking? They look like they're from knives.” She sets your hand back down on the table. “Forgive me if this is too forward of a question, but this soulmate of yours—what's he like?”

“Well he's…” what is he? Handsome? Kind? What do you have to say that's not something she’s heard a hundred times over? “He’s a bit dumb, but in a sweet way, and he cares for those he considers family. Really he’s a bit odd. But we both are, and I think we’re good together in that way.”

You’re leaving out the part where you murdered two of his brothers.

A strong moral compass, a talented sorcerer, and you have the feeling that no matter how this ends, it's not going to do so well.

She turns your hand over to examine your knuckles.

“Your heart beats to a cadence of anger,” she says. "Has something happened to him?"

"No," you say, "it's… family stuff. My brother has gotten himself into trouble again, and I don't think I'm going to be able to get him out of this one."

That's a bit of an understatement, but it's general enough that she’ll understand.

"You are not responsible for the actions of others," she says, "only they are. It may be hard to leave those close to you to their own devices, but sometimes that's what’s best.”

"I won’t abandon him!"

"You're not abandoning him," she says, "there's no helping someone who doesn't want to help themself."

“That's just shit people say when they don't want to help someone! Only cowards leave their family like that! He’s not beyond saving!” You don't mean to raise your voice, but you can't stop yourself from shouting.

If only you could explain to her. If only she could understand. If only you didn't silently agree with her.

Some higher power—a god or whatnot—must be laughing their ass off at you right now. Should they want to make your life all the more miserable, it wouldn't be hard. How pathetic. Your friends are off fighting for a noble cause, and you’re just fighting. Existing takes too much energy. Surviving takes even more. And when you’re faced with a real challenge, you’re burnt out, and left with nothing to give.

And you feel as if you could nap for a thousand years. Crawl into your sheets, and sleep so heavy that neither hell nor high water could wake you. It could be judgement day right outside your door and you’d sleep right through it.

"I've seen plenty of people like you- good men and women working themselves to the bone for people who won't return the same effort." She says. Her grip on your hand tightens. “It is not your responsibility to save everyone. Especially when you can hardly save yourself.”

…

Summer 2006

Winter came with a vengeance. Spring came and went. Summer arrived late. The ground thawed, and Louis went into it. And that was the last they spoke of the Rau family.

James found it strange how quickly things were brushed under the rug. A murder like that—specially at a school as small as his—would have stuck out.

But they never really called it a murder. Nobody knew what to call it. A boy had died. It wasn't a suicide. Neither was it a murder. Nobody—no living thing at least—killed him. These seemingly supernatural circumstances lead to it being dropped. The subject wasn't brought up, and everyone involved agreed to never mention it.

The following July was uneventful. The end of summer break was soon approaching. Students were enjoying their last month and a half of freedom before returning to their studies.

As the sun soon reaches its highest point in the sky, people begin filing out of the park. The heat makes staying outside for any amount of time uncomfortable. Those who can, take up shelter in any place that provides air conditioning. James finds a spot of shade under some trees, though it provides little cover from the beating sun.

“Whitford,”

There's only one person the voice could be. “Mal-” James says, “Mallory- sorry. Didn't see you there.”

Mallory moves to join him on his spot on the grass, groaning as she sits. There's a white patch over her injured eye. She looks as if she hasn't slept a day since he last saw her. He offers her the pack of cigarettes, and she takes one, holding it between her fingers but never lighting it.

“Some guys came by my house asking about you.” She says. “They were pretty old. Dressed weird too.”

“Did you get their names?”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh yeah. Got their names, their home addresses, and where their diary keys are hidden.”

Her glare tells him he’s about to lose the hand he’s holding up.

“I assumed it was more people wanting to ask questions about him,” she says. “They asked for your address, so I lied and gave them the one for the sex shop across from the 7/11.”

“Did they say what they want?”

“No,” says Mallory, shaking her head. “Just that they needed to speak with you. I tried to press but all they did was stress the fact that they needed to talk to you. Guess they couldn't find your house on a map.”

Must not have been police. Definitely couldn't have been reporters.

“There's something dark in this town,” she says, “and I don't know if I want to be here anymore.”

“You're moving?” He asks.

"I mean, yeah," she says with a shrug, "my dad got a job a few towns over, and my mom's been a mess since this whole thing started. It got worse after Cal…"

Nobody said it to him outright. But he heard it in passing. In hushed conversations.

“Didn't you hear? Cal killed himself. She was the one to find him.”

“He did it in the second floor bathrooms. You could hear her screaming from across the school.”

“He left a note. It was nonsense though. Said this place was cursed.”

School officials tried to cover it up. People claimed it was to prevent others from doing the same.

Everyone avoided him after that. Her too. It was like they carried the plague. That single moment in time seemed to leave a black mark on their souls. More and more he skipped class. It was out of pity his teachers passed him. He never would have graduated had they not.

Perhaps Louis did curse them in the end.

“I'm sorry about your brother.” James says.

“Me too.” She says.

…

Phone call III

Three missed calls, a text from Nanami asking where you are, and a text from an unknown number.

Nanami can wait. Though, knowing him, he’s not going to. He may follow you out here if you continue to ignore him. Swallowing your dignity, you shoot him a quick text: “not feeling well. Trying to nap rn” Hopefully it's enough to deter him from any further questions. It's 50/50 with him. Sometimes he’ll leave you be, others he becomes nothing short of overbearing.

Choso answers on the first ring. He sucks in a breath, as if he’s going to speak, but you don't give him the time to do so.

"I've got them," you say.

The sound of your voice makes him sigh. You can't tell if it's irritation, or relief.

"I-" you hear shuffling in the background. Presumably he's trying to collect himself. "When you didn't answer, I assumed something bad happened-"

“He's been freaking out all day.” Yuki says. “You're on speaker by the way. Tengen's here too. So, hey.”

"Yukiiiii," you say, "heyyyy. Can you take me off speaker please?"

She mutters a quiet “no”.

"What does the situation look like outside the Tokyo barriers?" This time it's a man’s voice that speaks. Tengen.

"I wasn't aware I was supposed to be keeping an eye on that," you say flatly.

"Well I'm assuming Itadori and Fushiguro have entered the barrier by now, have they not?" Tengen asks. "And they've left you behind? So by that logic, you're responsible for keeping an eye on things outside."

That's being generous…

“How is downtown Tokyo?” Yuki asks.

“Pretty calm, all things considered.” You say. “It's quiet for the most part. Haven't seen many people—sorcerers or not,

“Kenjaku has scouts placed outside the barriers forcing new players into them. All it's doing is sending civilians into the barrier. Any sorcerer in their right mind would stay the hell away from those things."

“The game has been going on for how long? Two weeks now?” Yuki asks. “Those other players have had plenty of time to gather points. What's likely left are players so strong they can’t fight one another. Or won't.”

“So they're at a standstill.” You say. “If I had to guess, there's not enough juice for Kenny’s mergence with gourdhead, so he must need more sacrifices.”

“I am right here.” Tengen says.

“Well, that buys us time,” Yuki says, muttering ‘hopefully’ under her breath.

“A lot of it comes down to adding more rules to the game,” you say. “One to establish communication between players, one to exchange points, one to grant travel between barriers, and one to get unwilling players out of the game,

“Four hundred points and it's settled. Divide this between three barriers, and six people—I know it's easier said than done, but between them, it's not out of the realm of possibility,

“All we need is to buy enough time for them to free Gojo,” you say. “He’ll know how to settle this mess.”

Never in your life would you have imagined saying those words. You hate asking for his help. Anyone’s help for that matter. But this is the hand of cards you’ve been dealt.

"Look, I'm on my way back to Jujutsu Tech right now. I'll meet you guys there."

"So be it," says Tengen, "make sure you're not followed."

[akindofmagictoo]

manuscript search tag game

from @talesfromaurea :)

my words are sun, moon, star, cloud

sun + moon + star + cloud (all in one hit... oops)

That night was a cloudless one. Eagle Island disappeared over the horizon several hours before sunset, leaving the Firebird the only ship as far as the eye could see. The only thing in the water at all. Stars filled the sky from horizon to horizon like scattered diamonds.

Sitting in the bow, Theo suddenly felt very alone and very, very small. The Firebird seemed but a speck in the vast expanse of sky and sea. He tipped his head back against the rail. The moon gleamed off to his left, a silvery disc hanging a little way above the horizon.

I shall do another! from @diphthongsfordays!

my words are move, depart, hesitate, forget, flame

move (Hurricane)

He straightened up again. “One book I read—what was it?” He pursed his lips. “I think it mixed up bow and stern.”

Her jaw dropped open. “No.”

“I think so,” he said.

“How? Come on!”

His shoulders shook with laughter. “I don’t—I don’t know.” Then his eyes lit up and he smiled, making his dimple show. “Clearly the author was no sailor.”

Aella’s heart did a little flutter.

“That same book did include a masterful joke.”

“Ooh, do tell.” She shifted her weight so she was sitting more fully in the hammock, and lifted her feet up.

The hammock tipped over and landed them both in a heap on the floor. Theo must’ve moved. Or maybe she’d misjudged.

depart (Dragonsong)

“Bethany,” Isi said. “Why must you do this?”

This time Bethany did look at her, a scathing glare. “This is my job. Not that I expect you to understand what that means.”

So news of Isi’s departure had spread this far. “I understand what it means. I understand that those words are often a disguise for cruelty. And this is exactly that. So what else brings you to this course of action?”

“In ten minutes you won’t care about anything much.”

Isi forced a smile. “Then indulge me now, instead of in ten minutes.” [...]

hesitate (Hurricane)

When she reached the deck, the kraken did look very unhappy, even more so than before. Its tentacles thrashed in all directions. Was that blood on some of them? It was hard to say. One tentacle lashed out towards the ship. The women at the rail threw themselves flat to the deck, and the gun crew ducked. Aella hesitated, then dropped just in time, the wind of its passing cool on the back of her neck. 

forget (Hurricane) (this is otherwise known as “Zoe forgot we weren’t on the Hurricane and blamed it on Marisa instead of hitting backspace”)

“It’s a little hard to point out anything much on that map, of course,” said Tempest, as though she’d read his mind.

Marisa put in, “There’s a ton of maps in that chest we stole last month. I still haven’t gone through them all. If there’s one of England—” She slapped her forehead. “I keep forgetting we’re not on the Hurricane. Grimmur better keep his grubby little hands off my maps.”

Tempest let out a half laugh. “See what other maps the Firebird has aboard her. If you find one of England, tell us.”

flame (Dragonsong) (nyehehehe reveals)

“That’s illegal, you know,” remarked SB, emptying water out of his boot. “You trying to get us caught?”

“I’d like to see you try and light this,” Robin snapped.

SB shrugged and gestured with his left hand, a similar gesture to the one Robin had used. Isi frowned. Was he mocking Robin?

Nothing happened.

SB gestured again, and a small tongue of flame flickered to life on his fingertip. In its light his face looked ghostly. A cool gust of wind swept through the clearing. Isi shivered and SB’s flame went out, but the tendrils of light on his hand—green, unlike Robin’s—took a few more seconds to fade.

“As you can see, I wouldn’t get very far. But I see why she keeps you around.”

I will tag @ellatholmes @lowslore @ashen-crest and anyone else who wants to play! your words are party, pair, pale, plead

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

76. “I want you to have this.” with Zena and Din if you are still doing these, please? Lots of love to you x

Another day, another planet. After well over two months of traveling with the Mandalorian, Zena expected to become used to it, but every time the ramp lowered, the view of an unknown skyline still made her pause.

The same could not be said for the aforementioned Mandalorian as he made his way down the ramp.

"There's a town not far from here," he explained. "I'll scout it out. With any luck we'll be able to get some supplies, maybe lay low for a while."

Zena had to nod in agreement. There food stocks were getting low and her back was begging for anything resembling a mattress.

"What about a job," she asked, also remembering the sever lack of credits.

"You'll get your money," he assured. If it was anyone else, she would have found the tone patronizing, but she knew he meant it. At least, he hadn't backed out of his word so far.

"I want you to have this," he said, turning to her. In his hand was a small compact blaster.

Zena looked at it skeptically, glancing between it and him.

"What am I supposed to do with that?"

"I don't know how long I'll be gone," he explained. "I need to know you can defend yourself, and the child. You know how to shoot, right?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "Not really. I mean, I know which side is the blasting end."

"That's enough."

When it became clear he wasn't going to take no for an answer, Zena plucked it carefully between her fingers.

She never liked blasters. Sure, she always had one on hand in the shop, but that was about as standard as wearing pants on Mir. It was just a way to scare of potential thieves looking for an easy mark, nothing more. With Mando, however, she had a feeling just showing the blaster wouldn't be enough.

"Here," he said, cutting through her thoughts.

He took a step closer, closing her hand around the handle.

"Just remember to turn the safety off," his thumb guided hers over the switch, turning it on and back off again. "After that, point and shoot. It's small enough you shouldn't have to worry about a recoil. We'll worry about target practice when I get back."

She nodded, her throat suddenly feeling a little dry. He was incredibly close.

"You think I'll really need this," she asked.

"No, but I'd rather know you have it."

Again, she nodded, feeling some bit of relief at his words. She still didn't know the Mandalorian that well, but she couldn't deny the security she felt in his presence. If he said she wouldn't need to use it, she believed him.

"Thanks."

There was a pause as another stray thought entered her mind, making her cheeks go a little warm.

"Something wrong?" he asked, as if he could read her body temperature. She didn't know what was behind his helmet, for all she knew he could.

"No, it's just... thanks."

What was she thanking him for? For checking to make sure she had a way to defend herself? Giving her something without expecting her to pay him back? The implication he didn't want to see her killed. It was the barest minimum of care she could ask for, but it was more than she had gotten in years. Gods, was she that lonely?

"Do you have any idea when you'll be back?" she asked, burying her thoughts as quickly as they came.

"Sunset at the latest," he assured. "Keep an eye on the kid."

And there it was. He wasn't expecting something for nothing. She had a job to do and he was just giving her the tools to do it.

"You know, I should really charge you extra for baby sitting duties," she said, dryly.

"Just make sure he doesn't get into trouble or you for that matter."

"Since when am I the one who brings trouble?"

He let out a breath with the barest hint of a chuckle at the end of it. He turned to leave, but not before she felt a small squeeze of her hand. Suddenly she felt very aware of the simple fact he had been holding her hand all that while.

"Scout out the garage if they have one," she shouted after him. "Your junk yard of a ship is eating up all my tools. Mesh tape isn't a cure all, you know."

He didn't say anything, just raised his hand in acknowledgement before disappearing into the trees.

As soon as he was out of sight, Zena looked down at the blaster in her hands. It was light enough, heavy enough for her to never forget it was there, but not so much it couldn't easily be hidden. She tucked it into her pocket. To her surprise, it slipped perfectly into the lining without a hint of its presence pocking through her pants.

A small smile tugged at her lips. Tool or not, it was the perfect one for her. Maybe Mando was thinking of her.

Before she could indulge in that thought further, the familiar coo of the child turned her attention back inside. He must have woken form his nap.

With a breath, Zena walked back to the ship, closing the ramp behind her. Time to work for a living.

[gaemkyuu]

Mommy will you marry Charlie? (Charlie Gillespie x Fictional Character)

Warnings: mention of teenage pregnancy A/N: I was pleasantly surprised at the amount of love “Mommy can we keep him” received. I was originally going to upload the proposal AND the wedding, but I’ve been struggling a bit with the wedding portion. I hope you enjoy the proposal! Disclaimer: This is a FICITONAL writing piece! In no way do I claim characters in this piece act this way in real life.

Masterlist *now taking requests ;)

Mommy will you marry Charlie?

“Hey! Are you ready to go?” Charlie knocked and popped his head into Riley’s ensuite, pausing to take in her beauty. She was dressed in a pretty summer dress and placed a few more bobby pins into her hair, smiling at him in the mirror.

“Just about. Are Owen and Savannah here?” Riley’s answer came at that moment when the doorbell rang. Charlie left the ensuite and headed for the door just as Emerson got to it.

“Emmy, what did we say about answering the door?” Charlie chastised, moving quicker to the door. Emerson slightly pouted knowing he was right and sat on the entryway bench, waiting for Charlie to open the door. “You guys are just in time!” “No thanks to Owen” Savannah scoffed, motioning to the giant behind her.

“I hadn’t eaten yet, I needed My Chick-fil-A, but then I forgot to order some for Emmy, so we had to go back through the drive through” he sighed, showing him the two bags of take out in his hands. “Where is the little stinker?”

“I’m not stinky! I took a bath!” she hopped on the entryway bench and into Savannah’s arms first, Owen dramatically displayed his offense to the toddler.

“How come she gets a hug first?! I brought you Chicken Strips!” Savannah picked her up and balanced her on her hip. “I even convinced the lady to give you two books!”

“Aunty Savannah didn’t call me stinky and knows that I ate supper before you came.” she giggled and shook her head. “Plus, I like the chicken nuggets and not the strips” Owen rolled his eyes and muttered a ‘oh come on’ under his breath, but as soon as Savannah put her down, Emerson gave Owen’s leg a hug.

Riley came to the front door and greeted her friends, thanking them again for being so willing to babysit while they went out for the evening. After Charlie and Emerson’s date, the couple decided that they would go on more family dates as a request from the little girl and Charlie. Riley didn’t think anything of it, but she certainly didn’t want to come between the relationship they were both developing. This was the first time Emerson ever really accepted another man into their lives.

At the young age of 18 and saving enough money, Riley moved out of her mother’s home in Chino Hills to a one bedroom, one bath in downtown LA that was closer to her office. Riley was grateful that her mom agreed to come over to their apartment to babysit Emerson while she was at work as it helped her to save up more money to eventually move into a chic modern home on the outskirts of downtown. She was always so focused on providing for Emerson that she rarely let anyone into her life and when she did, she always had to make sure that they got the seal of approval from Emerson.

There was Nick from the marketing department at Netflix who she thought was cute, but he wasn’t very open to the idea of potentially becoming a dad so early on. Emerson really didn’t like him as she would cry every time he looked at her or moved towards her. That didn’t last more than three weeks.

Then there was Jaime from the grocery store who loved children and really liked Riley, but Emerson didn’t like the fact that Riley made more money than Jaime and warned her mom several times about him, despite her young age. Riley learned her lesson that sometimes four year olds are very perceptive because Jaime asked to borrow money for his rent a month later.

Lastly, there was Greg, a single dad who had twins the same age as Emerson. That didn’t last because the kids would often fight. Emerson thought the children were dumb and immature, while the twins thought Emerson was acting like a weird grown up.

Riley always prioritized Emerson in any decision making process she had, but at her core she felt lonely. She couldn’t tell her daughter this despite her intelligence. She was still a child. What kind of a mother would she be if she vented to her child? But Emerson knew her mom was lonely. She often heard her crying in the pantry and quietly talking on the phone late at night. That’s why when Charlie walked in their lives, she knew she had to play nice for a little while for the sake of her mother. Neither girls expected that Charlie would become such an important piece of their lives.

“Emerson we will be back past your bedtime, so give me kisses now” Riley requested as she hugged her little girl and peppered her with kisses. She giggled and kissed her mother back until she let go. Instinctively, Charlie knelt down too and opened his arms, giving her a quick peck on the head. Emerson gave him a hug back and kissed him on the cheek, the gesture garnering a loud “aw” from Owen, as the girls silently admired the interaction. Charlie rolled his eyes and whispered to Emerson quickly, making her giggle as his breath tickled her ear and neck. 

“You guys should get going so we can start painting Uncle Owen’s nails!” Savannah interrupted, glancing at the time on her phone. “We also get to facetime Uncle Jeremy, Aunty Carolyn and Aunty Madison too!” Emerson got super excited and skipped to her bedroom to grab her “nail kit”, a toy Savannah had bought her last Christmas. With a laugh, the couple headed out the door and off to supper. 

As soon as the door closed, the two friends and Emerson got to work. They were in on the plan and set about decorating their house. Emerson and Charlie had gone to PartyCity a few days ago while Riley was at an executive meeting and picked out a bunch of decorations for his proposal. At first, Charlie was hesitant, but Emerson was absolutely sure her mother said yes. Knowing his past of always being proven wrong by Emerson, he decided to listen to the little girl and follow her lead.

“Remember, mommy had me when she was a kid so she missed out on kid things. Do a bunch of kid things with mommy!” 

That’s what prompted Charlie to take her to Santa Monica. Charlie had made a reservation at a restaurant on the Santa Monica beachfront and the two enjoyed a lovely casual dinner. They talked about projects they were excited about and started ‘people watching’ from their seats, laughing and making silly jokes about the people who passed them by. After dinner, they set out to do “Kid Things” and played games on the pier, settling for mini donuts as dessert and eventually watching the sunset. Charlie tensed for a moment, but quickly relaxed as he felt the small box in his pocket.

“Mommy won’t say yes unless I’m there. She would be too busy thinking about me before she says yes, so ask her at home”

“But what about bedtime?”

“I mean if you say I can stay up, then that should be okay right?”

“You okay? You looked tense for a second” Riley snapped him out of his thoughts, but he was grateful that she shivered because it gave him a chance to change the topic. 

“Yeah, I was just thinking about the sunset in Dieppe. Can’t wait to take you one day. Cold?” he draped his denim jacket over her shoulders, and hugged her from behind. As soon as the glow from the sunset disappeared and the glow of the carnival lights replaced them, Charlie decided that instead of walking on the beach, they would go home and watch a movie on the couch. They spent the drive back to Riley’s place in a comfortable silence with the radio gently playing music. Charlie started to feel more excited and antsy the closer they got to her place. Before exiting the car, he held her hand in his and kissed the back of it. “I love you, you know that?” Riley smiled, nodded and kissed him on the lips. Charlie raced her to the door, knowing full well that he would beat her to it, but that didn’t stop Riley from trying. They stumbled through the entry a fit of giggles and laughter, but Riley stumbled on a pair of shoes. 

“Charlie! I told you to... put your shoes...away?” she became more confused as she stared at the pair. They weren’t Owen’s, Charlie’s, Savannah’s or Emmerson’s. Who could be in their house? She looked up to see Charlie nowhere in sight and began to worry. “Char, this isn’t funny. This is like the scene from a horror movie” she quickly shed her shoes and walked down the corridor to the living room. She didn’t expect to see her mother, Charlie’s mom and their closest friends standing behind Charlie and Emerson with excited looks on their faces. To add to her confusion, they held party poppers and noise makers, while a giant Congratulations banner decorated her living room. She heard Emerson clear her throat and Charlie stood proudly beside her.

“Dear mommy, I stayed up past my bedtime because Charlie said I had to” everyone in the room laughed at this, as Emerson continued to read from the piece of paper in her hands. 

“Mommy, you work so hard to give me the best life and the best toys. Sometimes I wonder how I can give you the best life and the best toys, but adults don’t play with toys. I asked aunty Carolyn why she was so happy with uncle Jeremy, and she said it was because she gets to be with uncle Jeremy forever” Carolyn wiped the tear that had formed in her eyes. 

“I asked uncle Owen why aunty Carolyn and uncle Jeremy got to be together forever, and that’s when uncle Owen said it was because they were married.” She took a deep breath and lost her place on her paper. Charlie peaked over and pointed to where she needed to keep reading from. 

“Oh, right. When I asked you were getting married, you told me never and that it was a rude question, but I think that was because you had a bad day at work” despite the teary eyes, her comment made everyone laugh. 

“So I asked Charlie to go on a date with me and ask him when he would marry you” Riley gasped as Charlie pulled out the box with the ring, getting down on one knee. “I know Charlie makes you happy and I think you should be together forever. Charlie has a question for you and the answer is yes.”

“Riley King, I love you and I love Emerson. I can’t think of anyone I want to spend the rest of my life with. You and Emerson are my family now, so let’s make it official” Charlie winked at Emerson who put her paper down and also got onto one knee beside Charlie.

“Mommy, will you marry Charlie?” Riley was crying full tears at this point listening to her daughter’s words, but she nodded and whispered a yes. Everyone erupted in a cheer and the party poppers went off as he put the ring on her finger, kissing her and picking up Emerson. “You did so good, Emmy!”

“You’re gonna be my daddy!!!” Emerson exclaimed, full of excitement and squeezing Charlie. 

Riley wiped her tears and kissed her daughter on the cheek, truly speechless. Everyone came around to congratulate them, Savannah, Madison, and Carolyn all wanting to see the ring first and then hugs. She was on cloud nine, still not able to understand how this was all being planned behind her back. “Is that why you volunteered to babysit?” Savannah nodded her head sheepishly and hugged her friend. Charlie’s mother gave her a big hug congratulating her on their engagement expressing her excitement to have another daughter in law, while Riley’s mother hugged Charlie, crying happy tears. The rest of the evening was spent enjoying everyone’s company that the couple lost track of time. By the time they said goodbye to Owen, the last to leave, Emerson had fallen asleep on the couch. 

“You mean to tell me, you planned this entire thing with my daughter behind my back?” Charlie smiled and nodded, picking the little girl up from the couch, careful not to wake her up. “I mean, I am touched, but I’m also afraid of what else you two are capable of doing”

“Just wait til you hear her ideas for the wedding.” Charlie chuckled as they headed to her room to tuck her in for the night. He put the little girl into bed and Riley watched the whole scene from the doorway, tears coming to her eyes as it finally sank in that this was her family. Emerson stirred and shifted around, uncomfortable all of a sudden. Charlie cooed at her and assured that she was fine, humming softly to her, something that he often used since the first night he helped her through a nightmare.

“G’night daddy” she mumbled in her sleepy daze, settling back to sleep. Charlie was taken off guard as the new title fell from her mouth. He felt his heart explode and wiped a tear that fell from his eyes.

“Sleep tight Princess” he sniffled, clearing his throat and kissing the top of her head. He pulled another blanket over her frame as she often got cold in the middle of the night. It amazed Riley how much Charlie knew of her daughter despite the amount of time he had been present in their lives. They softly shut the door behind them and walked hand in hand to their room. “Planning the wedding is going to be fun”

“I was thinking we do it in Dieppe or Moncton” Riley suggested, something to which Charlie lit up at. He looked at her with wide eyes in disbelief.

“If you’re pulling an Emerson on me right now, I’m going to be so mad” they had come up with the term ‘pulling an Emerson’ to describe the sarcasm they often received from the little girl. But Charlie became overjoyed as Riley bit her lip and shook her head, confirming that she did in fact want to get married in his hometown.

“We start planning tomorrow”

A/N: if you really want a wedding scene or a glimpse of life after the wedding let me know!

[emilia3546]

Shadowsinger Part 3 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter

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Part 1

Part 2

*****

The library didn't feel safe anymore. From the people who had hurt her, yes, but not from whatever it was that had attacked her last night. Gwyn closed the book she had been reading, placing it back on the pile to return and glanced at the candle beside her, it had almost burned down, she had maybe half an hour before sunset, and she didn't want to be here then. She made her way up to the library's entrance, waiting just inside, still scared to step properly outside on her own, especially when people were milling around the streets, males she didn't know. She would wait here.

She was only waiting a few moments before wingbeats sounded and Azriel landed on the street outside, and pushed the door open,

"Are you sure you want to come?"

"Yes. I," she paused, glancing back for a moment, "I don't feel safe here. I do with you." He nodded, glancing back outside, but Gwyn caught a glimpse of his smile, the tears in his eyes, but when he turned back to her, all sign of them was gone. He offered her his hand,

"I'll have to carry you," he started, and paused, seemingly lost for words,

"I trust you." Gwyn took his hand and stepped outside, immediately backing into him, the solid mass of him behind her reassuring her, she smiled as he curved a wing around her almost instinctively, making to draw it back when he realized, "No. Leave it." He let it curl back around her, and she pressed into his side, she could do this, she could walk through a crowded street, she wasn't alone anymore, she could do it.

Azriel squeezed her shoulder gently, and dropped his hand to her side, cautious of spooking her, but she grabbed his hand, holding on as he started, surprise glimmering in his eyes,

"You're not going to scare me off, Az." She followed his gaze to where their hands joined, the sadness, almost horror in his gaze, "We all have scars, Az. Yours are no more shameful than mine." she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, and he smiled, really smiled, and squeezed her hand gently, leading her into the street. They stayed near the edge, with Azriel closest to the people walking up and down the street, and gradually Gwyn's fear faded, not disappeared, but faded, she was alright, and she could look after herself now. As her fear faded, she began to take in the beauty of Velaris, the shopfronts, the restaurants, the way the Sidra shined in the moonlight as they walked next to it, taking a short walk as she had asked before flying up to the House of Wind.

As beautiful as the city was, it was nothing compared to the night sky, nothing compared to the full moon shining bright over the city, the wind rushing over her face with each of Azriel's wingbeats. Gwyn had been grinning the moment he had lifted her into his arms to take off, and now she let out a whoop of joy, earning a chuckle from Azriel,

"What?" She asked,

"Nothing, it's just, your joy is infectious." He laughed again, flipping onto his back so that she could see the stars better, and she gasped as a shooting star crossed the sky, sending a trail of light through the inky black. When Azriel turned back to fly normally, he flapped harder for a moment, and Gwyn threw her arms round his neck, clinging on at the sudden rush of speed, but let out another whoop of joy as he sped up,

"I see why you love flying so much," she mused, "It's freedom."

"It is. And more than that," he sighed, as if deciding whether to continue, "I don't know what anyone told you about my mother."

"Just that she and your father weren't married."

"Married? No, not to each other, anyway. My father was married to another female, I was the product of an affair, a reminder of it. He-" he broke off, glancing around, and Gwyn squeezed his shoulder, resting her head against his chest, she would be there if he wanted to talk, whenever he wanted to talk. "I spent the first eleven years of my life in a cell underground, not able to fly or see my mother more than once a week. That's why I love flying, it's a reminder that no matter what, no matter how bad something is, it can get better."

"Az,"

"You don't have to say anything, I know it's a lot."

"Az. Thank you for trusting me." She cupped his face, forcing him to look at her as they hovered over Velaris, "You can't chase me off. We all have a past, you know mine," his eyes darkened at that, rage rippling off him,

"They didn't suffer enough," he murmured,

"They can't hurt me, just like you family can't hurt you now," she ran a finger over the back of his hand, over the scarred ridges, "I'm guessing they did this?" a nod of assent was all she needed, "So own it. You survived, and became Spymaster of the Night Court. I'd say you outshone all of them easily, even from the shadows." The tears that had formed earlier now threatened to fall,

"No one has ever said that."

"Perhaps you never wanted to hear it. You deserve happiness, Az." He sighed, contemplating her words,

"You don't know what I've done,"

"You are not a bad person. I don't care what you've done. It's what's in your heart that matters, and you are a good person. You are the person I feel safe with, not Cassian, not Rhysand and Feyre. You." She glanced around one last time before Azriel dove for the balcony. Gwyn squeezed Azriel's hand once more before stepping out of his arms, but something made her stop, made her turn back, there was something in his face, understanding, pain, perhaps, that mirrored hers, enough that she stepped back towards him and wrapped her arms around him before slipping away into the House before he could return the hug.

*****

I trust you, she had said, I feel safe with you, but why? She couldn't possibly understand what he had had to do for his job, could she? Perhaps she could, she of all people knew the worst their kind had to offer, and had survived. His blood was still roaring at the closeness she had offered him, proof of how her trust had grown over the last several months, of her willingness to keep living despite the past. She was right, his scars, physical and mental were not something to be ashamed of, she wasn't ashamed of hers, if she could accept the past, so could he.

He glanced towards her room when he reached his door, impulse making him knock to check that she was okay. Her voice was shaking when she called for him to come in, and the room was filled with candles,

"It's dark," she whispered, "It feels like it's chasing me again,"

"Do you want me to stay?" She  chewed her lip for a moment, considering his offer, and sank onto the bed,

"Everything I said just now, and I'm scared of the dark for something that happened once, and that can't happen here," she met his gaze, and laughed, "I'm such an idiot."

"You're allowed to be afraid of things, Gwyn, it happened yesterday, I'd be surprised if you simply brushed it off, but if it helps, my shadows found it again, and it was just the darkness at the heart of the library, I don't know why it went after you yesterday though."

"Well, thank you for finding it, I was worried it was some other dark magic."

"Nothing malicious, I think it was more curious than aggressive, it didn't seem to fear me, more to recognize me, to know who, and what, I was, so it wasn't interested." She nodded, and smiled,

"So it won't come back?"

"Honestly, I don't know, probably not, but it's possible." She drew her knees up, "But not here, it can't get up here, and nothing will hurt you while I'm here. Anything you can't handle yourself, I will deal with." She smiled and nodded, her breathing evening out as she settled down to sleep, mumbling a quick 'goodnight' when Azriel slipped out to go back to his own room.

With Gwyn safe, he could finally get started on some of his leftover paperwork from that afternoon that he'd never got round to. He leaned a pillow up against the headboard of his bed, trying to ignore his shadows dancing around at her presence.

"Go to her if you're that exited, but for the gods sakes, don't wake her, or scare her," he muttered, and stifled a chuckle as they all skittered off, immediately slipping under the door to keep an eye on Gwyn. His shadows were still with her when he finally blew out the candle to get some sleep of his own.

*****

Gwyn jolted awake. She was in the House of Wind, and safe. She glanced around the room, and something moved, for a moment she contemplated lunging for the dagger on the dressing table beside her bed, but recognized one of Azriel's shadows,

"Are you hiding from me?" She chuckled, "Come here," the shadow, and others around her drifted towards her, she knew that she ought to be afraid, but she was just intrigued, even in the months she had known him, she hadn't had a chance to get this close to Azriel's shadows, "Did Az send you to look after me?" She muttered, not expecting any response, but a shadow twined around her hand, the sensation tickling, and she laughed, but clapped a hand over her mouth to avoid waking Azriel in the next room. She giggled again when another shadow twirled through her hair, exploring, before settling beside her. One of them drifted towards an old dust-covered piano in the corner of her room, and came back, before drifting towards it again. "You want me to sing?" All the shadows froze, and drifted to the piano as one. "I can't. I'll wake Azriel, in the morning I'll sing for you." They almost seemed disappointed as they drifted back towards her, but suddenly rushed for her, surrounding her in a safe cocoon of darkness.

There was a muffled bang from down the corridor, and Gwyn did grab the dagger on her dresser then, silently crossing the floor to hide behind the door, the shadows concealing her, protecting her. The sound didn't come again for almost an hour, but she needed to know what it was, so that she could sleep properly. If only she had a proper sword, but she didn't even know where to get one from. She sighed in resignation, and pushed the door open a crack, checking down the corridor to either side, she couldn't see anything but,

"Go check it's safe," she whispered, and the shadows disappeared off, returning swiftly and swirling around her feet, it was safe. She silently crossed the corridor, and pushed Azriel's door open, "Az?" He opened his eyes immediately, and sat up,

"Gwyn? Are you okay?"

"Fine. I just heard a noise, like a person, and I don't have a sword, or I wouldn't have woken you." His eyes flicked between her, and the shadows still swirling around her,

"You spoke to them?"

"Yes. Is that not normal?"

"No." he mused, "It isn't, I've never met anyone else who can communicate with them. I'll check for anyone in the House. Wait here, I'll only be a minute."

"No. I didn't wake you so you could protect me like some pathetic maiden. I only woke you because I don't know where to get a sword from, other than that, I'm fine."

"Shall we both go, then?" She nodded, and her eyes widened in surprise as he pulled open the wardrobe, and handed her a sword, "Always have weapons accessible."

"Noted." She muttered, and poked her head of the door, "Is it still clear?" The shadows swirled again, and Azriel froze behind her,

"How do you do that? Speak to them."

"I just speak, they understand, I think."

"They do. It's just, they've never deigned to speak to anyone else before. They like you." She smiled, and caught a glimpse of a similar smile across his face, "C'mon, it's probably Cassian getting back, but we'd better check."

She dropped into her familiar stance, with Azriel at her side, sweeping through every room and corridor silently and efficiently before reaching the dining room, where a note was left on the table. Azriel got there first, and laughed at the note,

"It was Mor, she came to steal some more wine."

"Of course, she did." Gwyn chuckled, and laughed properly seeing Azriel roll his eyes, the light of dawn shining through the windows, "Well, since we're already awake, do you want a hand setting up for training?" He smiled and nodded, his gaze lingering on her a little longer than was perhaps necessary, but he did turn away to head up to the training ring. He'd hardly spoken to her since he'd woken up, granted he'd been suddenly woken, but perhaps he was annoyed with her, he'd only come to check that she was alright briefly last night, perhaps he hadn't wanted her advice with anything, perhaps he regretted telling her everything last night. She had overstepped, grossly overstepped, and now she might have ruined the first meaningful relationship she'd had with a male since the attack at the temple. She sighed and followed him, at least she could just pretend it had never happened, maybe then things would get back to normal.

*****

It was inescapable. Even her scent following up the stairs was driving him half-mad, it was taking every ounce of self-control he possessed not to just blurt out his feelings, or even just kiss her. He couldn't risk scaring her, not after everything, not when she was finally starting to be comfortable in public. Sure, she'd bee around people before, and his blood still boiled at the thought of her in the Blood Rite, but that hadn't been by choice. She had made huge steps recently, and he would not be the reason that she got scared again. If she actually wanted him she would tell him, perhaps the hug had just been an impulse, nothing more.

Still, he couldn't help snatching glances at her while she helped him set up the new obstacle course for training that morning. She moved so much more confidently, each action was thought through, measured, deliberate. She moved like a warrior, a Valkyrie, like she was finally comfortable in her abilities, like she knew that she could protect herself now. He tried not to remember holding her in his arms last night, what he had told her, and what she had said. She was a stronger person than he was, she always had been, even before he had gotten to Sangravah, she had protected the younglings, had made a terrible decision, but she had saved so many young lives. She had saved lives, and he couldn't help remembering the lives he had taken with each glimpse of his hands, the invisible blood that marred them. No matter what she said, he had done unspeakable things, even in the name of a greater cause, he was still a murderer. Gwyn had told him that being Spymaster was a great achievement, and it was, but she couldn't understand what else that job entailed, could she?

She was shining in the early sunlight, glowing in her newfound confidence and happiness, and he was still shrouded in shadows, even as she glanced in his direction, smiling broadly at him, he couldn't help but mirror the smile, and his shadows leapt for joy at her smile. He kept one eye on her while the other females trained, waiting for the moment that she would call him over for 'help', he'd figured out from day one that she didn't need help, she was just trying to get more comfortable having a male near her, touching her, someone she at least trusted, if nothing more. But she didn't even speak to him the whole session, and he found himself staring at her turned back as she shot arrow after arrow into the target, not perfect, but her groupings were improving, her form was better, and her technique was load better than the last time he'd seen her shoot. She was a natural, at all aspects of fighting, even the silent movement he had adopted this morning when they had checked the House for intruders, he hadn't taught her that, and Cassian certainly hadn't.

Azriel was still watching as Emerie dragged Gwyn away from the archery range to spar, several other females stopped to watch, and he didn't reprimand them, no, it would be good for them to watch these two spar. He leaned against the weapons rack next to him, actually concentrating now. Both females had picked up the skills well, but Gwyn best of all, she kept light on her feet as she circled with Emerie, darting forward, and feinting left, but striking right, leaving Emerie reeling backwards to escape the blow, and retaliate, but Gwyn was already gone. They circled again, and Gwyn narrowed her eyes, waiting for Emerie to stumble, or lose her balance. The moment her friend stepped on an uneven stone, she struck, tackling her to the ground with perfect form, and pinning her still. She grinned, and whooped with delight at winning, immediately helping her friend up, and showing her what she had done to best her, she could be a wonderful assistant with training once she had honed her skills a bit more.

Azriel was still watching when Gwyn waved goodbye to return to the library for the day, he wasn't sure if she would sleep there tonight or not. A rush of wings caught his attention, and he rolled his eyes at the overwhelming scent rushing into the ring,

"Back are we, brother?"

"Everything alright?" Cassian asked, setting Nesta down, an arm still around her shoulders, his grin fading at Azriel's obvious distraction, even if he couldn't see what was distracting him,

"Just tired, I'm fine. How was the honeymoon?" Nesta grinned,

"I don't think you want to know."

"You're right. I don't. I'm glad you had fun at least." Cassian snorted in laughter, and pressed a kiss to Nesta's temple,

"You could say that," They were so in love it was ridiculous, Azriel had always thought it was impossible, that mates didn't really exist, that it was just the world playing tricks on him. But then Rhys had met Feyre, and Cassian had met Nesta. He had assumed that he should be feeling that same devotion to Elain, and he had tried to force it, thinking that perhaps it took time in some cases. But that love, that devotion wasn't there. She was beautiful, and kind, but she wasn't the person who he could love with his whole heart, who he wanted to fight for a future with, because it wasn't right, he didn't feel any of that for her. Maybe he was broken, maybe he couldn't ever feel love like his brothers did, but then there was Gwyn, if he didn't know better he might think that she was worth fighting for. But he knew better, he had never deserved a mate anyway.

"Have you two eaten this morning?" He forced out, forced himself to engage in conversation, reminded himself that he genuinely liked these people, both of them, that talking to them wasn't a chore. Cassian had been his brother for five centuries, and Nesta was now his sister, he supposed, so why was his whole body screaming at him to follow Gwyn, to talk to her, to find out what was wrong, what he had done wrong to push her away enough that she didn't talk to him. Gradually, he managed to drive Gwyn from his mind, sitting at the table with Nesta and Cassian, he was happy for them, he really was, the way Nesta was talking about the lakeside mountain cabin Cassian had taken her to, the way Cassian was smiling at her the whole time, the way his his love for her shone in his eyes, made Azriel's own heart soften. It was about time Cassian had found someone, and for Nesta, they had found each other, found their mate, their mirror.

"Az?" He blinked, realizing that Cassian had asked him a question,

"What?"

"Cauldron, Az, you are tired. I asked how training was going?" Azriel mumbled something noncommittal, but sighed at Cassian's genuine worry,

"Fine, Emerie needs a brace for her wings to shoot, she can't reach full draw at the moment, she's seeing Madja later, I think Gwyn will probably go with her, and Nes, I suppose, now you're here."

"They're learning to shoot?" Nesta asked, shock crossing her face, and Azriel nodded in confirmation, "With war-bows?"

"No, thirty pounds, we'll build up the draw weights."

"I was going to say." She chuckled, "I could hardly draw Feyre's hunting bow when she taught me," Cassian squeezed her shoulders tighter, "I'd like to learn to shoot properly."

"I thought you could shoot, didn't you do it in the Blood Rite?" Right, Azriel remembered her mentioning that,

"Adrenaline, I couldn't even draw that bow afterwards, let alone hit anything with it, I know the basics though."

"Well, now's a good time, a few of the others are starting, you can join them tomorrow morning, that is, if you can cope with leaving that prick for more than a minute," he ducked the cup Nesta chucked at him,

"I'm not as pathetic as you males," she crooned, "I can stand to be away from him, it's Cass who's the baby here." Azriel took that as his cue to leave, draining his cup of tea, and throwing a knowing glance at Cassian,

"Have a nice ride," he whispered to his brother as he left the room, causing Cassian to choke on his own tea, but Azriel was gone before he could respond, diving off the balcony to retreat to the relative safety of the River House, it was eleven in the morning, surely Rhys and Feyre would be being sensible? He was wrong. Only the townhouse was safe it seemed, and Mor must have come to the same conclusion, given that she was sitting in the living room, drinking what could not possibly be water, an grinning almost evilly at him as he entered the room,

"Lovebirds smoked you out as well?" He grunted, and she patted the couch next to her, "You look like you need a drink."

"You could say that." Azriel didn't return to the House until well after lunch, praying to all the gods that Nesta and Cassian would behave. He glared at the horrible stack of paperwork on his desk, and groaned, sitting down to tackle it all, making up for all the time he had lost daydreaming recently. Soon, the familiar rhythms of work filled his mind, leaving no space for thoughts of Gwyn, or anything else.

[sanstropfremir]

pls do talk more about b*s and their current image (censoring because if you don’t have great things to say i don’t want you to be attacked by their crazy stans :))

i always bring this up when i talk about them but it’s really :( that they are the way they are now. like i was a fan because of their hyyh era and their songs about the troubled youth. and of course they can’t stay in that image forever (because we all grow up and it would just be v fake if they tried to continue it given their status and wealth now.) it’s just disappointing that they went down the ‘safe, disney image’ and are releasing generic mainstream pop songs people will forget after a couple listens. i’m no longer a fan of them now but yuh.

also not to mention how they essentially made kpop boring for me now lol i wish companies had fun with their music selections instead of aiming for whatever b*s has. like we will never get a group like orange caramel again (i know wjsn chocome’s concept was similar but it just didn’t feel the same. you talked about it before and i wholeheartedly agree with ur points.)

thank you for the consideration of censoring the name but honestly i'm not that worried about it. i do however find the increasingly creative ways people censor it to be extremely hilarious so keep it up if you would like.

i addressed most of the first part of your ask in the second part of my response here, this is now the third installment in a series, somehow. (the first part is here).

not to level this at you in specific anon, because i know a lot of people share this sentiment of kpop being 'boring' now, and while there is an element of this that is influenced by bts, and although it is true we aren't getting the same level of wild that produced orange caramel, there is actually interesting and kinda weird stuff happening in kpop; it's just not by the groups that are getting the most attention. dreamcatcher has been out here doing horror rock since their debut in 2017. onf has put out two excellent summer pop tracks with fun and stupid genre mvs. i love this recent ghost9 track. i'm obsessed with the instrumental in the chorus of bdc's moon walker. just b debuted last month with a strange bang yongguk track and a very 2013 feeling mv. here's another weird and fun boy group debut, blitzers. a.c.e have put out favourite boys, the fave boyz remix, down, and higher as their last four releases which all have the most coherent and well designed concepts in the last year. and while i'm at it i might as well include take me higher and undercover. oneus put out a mad max themed performance video randomly for no reason like three weeks ago. the rest of the industry were cowards for not following up on to be or not to be with a shakespeare comeback wave. rip onlyoneof but they gave us a whole three week comeback of dick grabs. hanya brought my attention to this weird as shit debut track from a group that has now totally disappeared. knk's sunset exists. we moved on way too fast from the mv because taeyang was being cunty on music shows but sf9's teardrop has probably some of the most interesting shots in a kpop mv in the last several years. and we definitely moved on too fast from my favourite just some guy and goofy movie character woodz's feel like.

i think it's pretty fatalistic to view bts as having singlehandedly made the industry boring because honestly......i don't think they have. if you want to talk about the downturn to plainclothes styling....well that's shinee's fault. and the general trend to less dramatic fashion and visual tastes is not exclusive to the kpop industry, it's been a whole cultural trend. the mid to late 2010s were the rise of 'normcore' and we haven't burst the bubble yet. bts is just reflecting trends happening in the wider world, and in particular the western one. for the most viewed kpop mv of 2020 dynamite did....what exactly? it didn't really spawn any significant copycats in terms of sound or aesthetics, with the exception of maybe superm's we do if you look at it a bit sideways. although this is one of bts' better styled mvs, 70s retro did not make any resurgence in kpop styling, EXCEPT in magazine and fashion shoots, which it was already doing in the west. taemin's criminal was significantly more influential; i can think of at least three different male soloist mvs that borrowed heavily from it. honestly i think stylists and groups are trying to steer as clear as possible of whatever aesthetics bts uses, lest they accidentally doom themselves to a (perceived) slighted fanbase. plus, there's been a pretty sizable resurgence in contemporary hanbok styling, so even though there is a lot more outward attention going to things like international promotions for other groups and whatever the hell sm keeps trying to do with nct, i think a fair amount of companies are interested in maintaining the koreanness of kpop while facilitating broader global access.

and honestly, bigger acts have also put out interesting things in the last year. we did all see taemin's back to back release roster for ngda right? criminal? idea???? advice???????? fuck, chocolate was barely a year ago. whatever your opinions on yunho are, thank u is fucking brilliant mv. sunmi's tail. lie to me and tell me the mv for you can't sit with us isn't fun as fuck. i dunno what the hell the new nct127 song is gonna be like but the teaser photos and mood sampler are weird as hell and i'm absolutely interested. he's only kpop adjacent at the moment but jackson's 100 ways and lmly are really sharply produced low budget mvs with clean and interesting visuals. maniac shot to the top of my most listened immediately after it dropped because lia kim AND those slick horns in the instrumental???? ten's paint me naked was not at all what i was expecting but it's still fun as hell and has a pretty unique aesthetic.

the tldr of this whole three parter is this: bts has always been reactionary to wider cultural trends and that's been how they've made it this far. yes their influence on the industry looms very large because of the predominence of them on the scene, but it's mostly in the perception of kpop rather than in the artistry of it.

i don't think any company is going to be able to achieve what bts and hybe have, which i think is fine. they're the scale tipped too far. hopefully by now most companies have probably noticed that they don't need to cater to the western market so hard, and that it's probably not a good idea to offer their artists up on the racist chopping block of the western pop scene. you can market to an international fanbase without trying to gun for a grammy or for billboard or whatever. creating interesting art should be at the fore, not numbers goals. but we're just gonna have to wait and see what happens in the next year or so.

[cobaincreates]

the fuck is a touron?

warnings: language, smut (wrap it you’re smart), 18+

count: 7k+

hehehehehe ;)

part two!

gif cred

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“i was one hundred percent trying to teach him a lesson, but he’s too stupid to realize that you’re not supposed to lend one of my t-shirts to a random girl. god, he’s so dumb.” liza shook her head in frustration, her thumb absentmindedly scrolling along her phone screen.

“didn’t you guys used to be friends?” you asked, picturing the girl in mind. you could’ve sworn you’d seen liza with her at some point.

liza made a noise and bit her lip. “maybe he’s just trying to get back at me for something. i can’t think of anything i did though.”

“maybe they’re just messing with you. you know, because you did sleep with both of them.” liza made another dismissing noise. you took a sip from a glass she had given you from her kitchen. it was just beyond the doors behind you from where you sat on her massive deck.

you had taken it upon yourself to visit your friend before the last few weeks of summer ended. you’d see her back at school anyways, but she had asked you several times to make the trip out to see her. you’d been enjoying the ocean breeze and the hospitality of liza and her dad. it had only been a few days since you arrived; you hardly thought about leaving.

so far you had been biking around with liza through small sections of her neighborhood. she pointed out a few of her favorite spots, mostly trying to pass the days with you here, but also to make you feel welcome. she had taken you shopping off the island today, which resulted in a thousand more steps recorded on your phone and a new bathing suit to wear. you had also found a little lighthouse souvenir figure that you planned to put somewhere in your room once you got back home. you had dinner at a restaurant that liza said was one of her favorites, then you took the ferry back at sunset and now here you were, sharing a whole box of wine.

you snuggled further into your sweatshirt and pulled a pillow onto your lap. you stared out at the ocean in liza’s backyard and imagined how insane it was that she lived right on the beach. a small fire sat in front of you, warming your legs. liza put her phone down and took a large sip of her wine.

“anyone cute here? think i’d be into some east coast beach boy.” you mentioned, squinting your eyes playfully as you looked over at her.

she shrugged with her head on the back of the couch. “i mean there’s a few i went to school with, but you don’t want to mess with them.”

“how come?”

“they’re practically heartless. they’d totally leave you in the dirt.” she said. “well, sand.”

you snorted. “are you speaking from experience? because if so, i’m more than willing to get into a fight in your honor.”

“shut up.” she laughed. “you don’t want anyone from here, trust me.”

“no, trust me when i tell you that i do. i haven’t gotten laid in months and i’m crawling out of my skin.” you admitted as much as you didn’t want to. it had been a simple thought before getting on the plane to visit and you didn’t think you’d bring it up, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it. even while shopping you were mostly on the prowl. they should’ve had a store to buy a one-night stand. you were on vacation, you deserved to indulge.

“i have so much pent-up frustration. i need someone to sex me right now.” you continued, drinking the rest of the wine just to add to your tipsy rambling.

“jesus.” liza stared at you.

“i don’t want to tell you this but i was literally fantasizing about your dad earlier.”

“ew!”

“i’m sorry!” you laughed. “i mean, he’s single so it’s fair game.”

“absolutely not!” she looked at you like you were crazy, and you couldn’t stop laughing as she got up to get more wine, taking your glass too.

back home, there wasn’t anybody you wanted to sleep with. you didn’t really make any friends in high school that you kept into college and it was hard when most of your friends lived in different states. sure, there were apps for hookups and for you to meet new people around you, but you had a thing about technology tracking that made your skin crawl.

liza came back less disgusted with you, handing you your glass. you sipped on it and stared at the fire, not feeling tired in the slightest from how much you walked. beside you, liza picked up her phone again and scrolled, tapped.

“i don’t know why i’m doing this, but there is someone i might be able to set you up with.” she said minutes later.

you perked up with optimism and shifted on the couch. “mhm, give me more.”

“his name’s topper.” she said, her phone illuminating her face with a white light.

“you’re kidding.” you deadpanned, your eyebrows furrowing. you figured she was joking, slipping in a harmless pun.

“i’m not.” she bit her lips together, glancing at you to gauge your reaction.

“what kind of name is that?”

“could not tell you, but he’s super chill and i’m pretty sure he’s newly single.” she said, tapping a few times on her phone’s screen. “he was dating someone from his college for months, but i think they broke up since he doesn’t post pictures with her anymore.”

“i just want to fuck him. what does he look like?”

liza tapped a few more times before shining her phone at you. you squinted from the brightness before your eyes adjusted, took in the photo she was showing you. he was in front of a sunset and you could faintly pick out the dirty blonde locks. liza picked a different one that gave you a better view of him.

you let out a delighted hum, smiling slightly. “he looks like an asshole, but fun.”

“i have his number,” she said, turning the phone back to herself. you leaned your side into the couch, readjusting to keep the warmth. the fire cracked as one of the logs shifted.

“text him.” you prompted liza and scooted closer to her to watch her type on her phone. she found his contact and moved her thumbs along the screen.

hey so weird question but would u be interested in hooking up w/ my friend?

the friend in question is not me i swear

“smooth,” you said as she sent the texts.

“i can’t believe i’m helping you with this.” she locked her phone and dropped it into her lap. you shrugged and sipped from the glass, staring into the fire.

you slipped into a regular conversation with liza while she waited for a text. you weren’t giddy for a reply or asking her to check every ten seconds. it didn’t really matter that much to you if you didn’t hookup with anyone or not, you just thought you’d put it out there.

liza had you cracking up, bent over the couch and nearly falling to the floor when her father came outside onto the porch. you settled as you looked up at him, listening to him ask you both if you were doing okay and needed anything. liza was quick to shut his offer down when you gave her a look, jokingly wiggling your eyebrows at her. her dad noticed, looking between you two as you belted out laughing again, this time landing on the wooden deck. liza tried to keep her laughter in, telling her dad that you were fine and that you both were just a little drunk. he nodded and left you two alone.

“god, you suck.” she said once he was out of earshot.

you were now crying from laughter as you sat up. you wiped your eyes and climbed up onto the sofa, taking your glass from the floor. “i’m glad you invited me,” you giggled as you pulled the pillow back onto your lap. you both continued to shake with the aftershock of amusement.

“he texted me.” liza said suddenly as her phone was back in her hands.

“and?” you asked, leaning your side against the cushions. you propped your elbow on top of them and held your head against your hand.

“all he said was ‘pic’.”

“send him one.”

“okay.” she said and turned toward you, opening her camera on her phone.

“should i pose? how does my hair look?” you asked, brushing the back of it just in case it had gotten messy from falling to the floor.

“do something before i send a blurry one.” liza commanded.

you put your hand back against the side of your face and smiled lightly. liza took the photo without the flash, the fire bright enough. she set her phone down again and hit send as you watched her thumb. you watched her screen for a second then looked away, tilting the glass against your lips.

“he said ��give her my number’.”

“fuck yes.” you said. you reached behind you for your phone, feeling around for a couple seconds before finding it. “okay, what is it?”

liza read his number aloud as you typed it in. you opened your camera and took a selfie, holding the wine glass to your lips and crossing your eyes. you typed, hiii, and hit send.

after having not touched your phone in the past few hours, you moved out of the conversation with him and replied back to a few of your friends. it wasn’t long before he texted back. you opened the message to find a photo sent back to you, tapping on it with an intrigued smile. he took his own selfie, balancing a beer bottle on his head with his own fire lighting up his face in an orange glow. you saw someone’s back behind him, your eyes trailing down to the drawstrings against his chest at the bottom of the photo.

impressive, you sent.

what’s your name?

y/n! what kind of name is topper?

rich people

thought so, you joked. are you sporting salmon shorts and sperry’s with that sweatshirt?

liza was in her own world as you texted topper. you glanced at her, finding her glass propped on her chest so she could slowly sip it. she was texting like a speed racer.

you looked back down at topper’s new message and laughed.

gray sweats and sandals

socks?

no

thank god

you watched the bubbles pop up almost immediately. they disappeared with no message then came back.

liza said u wanted to hook up?

you weren’t sure what to say back. your thumbs floated above your screen for several seconds before you decided just to be honest with him. what’s the worst that could happen?

long story short i’m needy & haven’t been laid in a while

you down?

sure when’s good for you?

“i’m going to get some ice cream.” liza said as she moved off the couch, throwing her phone down on the cushions. “you want any?”

“sure.” you said before typing.

think we’re going to the beach tomorrow so how about sometime in the afternoon? i’ll text you

sounds good, looking forward to it

“oh my god.” you said loudly, dropping your phone.

“what?” liza called from the open door. you could hear her clinking around the kitchen.

“he just sent an eggplant emoji.”

suddenly the clinking of dishes was drowned out as she laughed louder than before. you covered your face and laughed too.

—

the next morning you woke up already feeling too warm. you winced as you felt the heat radiating through your body and you peeled your eyes open. you were still on the couch outside and the sun was happily beating down on the deck. you moaned and pulled a pillow over your head. you remembered that you had finished the boxed wine with liza last night along with ice cream and decided to just sleep outside. with the alcohol and walking, your legs were not prepared to function that late at night.

you lay there for a few minutes until liza’s foot appeared and knocked right into your nose. you flinched and held it as it throbbed, sitting up to throw the pillow at her.

she jerked awake and grimaced at you and the sun. “what?”

“you just kicked me.” you said nasally. you sniffed and checked your nose as it continued to pulse. liza yawned, stretching and sitting up to look around like she forgot where she was.

“today’s going to be a good beach day if it’s this fucking hot.” she grumbled. her hair was wild atop her head, sticking out in every direction. she looked over at you as she yawned again. “breakfast and then beach?”

you nodded, your hand back in your lap as the throbbing subsided. you picked up your dirty dishes and phone and followed liza inside to eat. her dad was already cooking when you two came inside and your mouth watered at the sight of food on the counter. he provided a whole display of drinks, fruit, bread, and eggs that had you contemplating about never leaving.

liza told her dad of your plans for the day while you ate. you kept quiet as you cleared your plate, normally taking at least an hour to fully wake up in the morning. liza seemed almost too chipper in the mornings from what you witnessed. once you finished up and put your plate in the sink at liza’s dad’s request, you went to her room to fish out your new bathing suit. you changed in the bathroom and brushed your teeth along with the rest of your morning routine. you pulled on a t-shirt and shorts over your suit and tied your hair up just as liza knocked to see if you were done.

thirty minutes later, you were on your way to the beach. you held liza’s tote bag in your lap, full of snacks, waters, a speaker to connect to her phone, and towels. you were anticipating the beach, wanting to just run into the water and swim all day.

which is what you did for the next few hours. you munched on some pretzels, drank a ton of water that you had to pee several times, listened to music, and laid out in the sun. you soaked up more sunscreen than you could imagine, reapplying at least ten times. the water felt good whenever you swam to the sandbar with liza and back to the shore.

liza was on her stomach now, her hair still damp. she closed her eyes against the sun while you sat beside her and people-watched.

“when are you going to text topper?” she mumbled against her arm.

you watched an elderly couple read their respective books while sitting beside each other in folding chairs. they sat under a green umbrella, the one reading a james patterson novel with their toes poking out of the sand and the other reading a paperback of some sort with the cover twisted back and wearing a large sun hat.

“i guess i could text him now.” you said, hearing her question.

“i’ll probably head out whenever he gets here. let you two be alone.” she drawled.

you shoved at her shoulder and reached for your phone. you found topper’s conversation and typed quickly to tell him which beach you were at.

you want me to head over there?

you weren’t expecting him to text right away, but you replied back just as quickly.

yes

you put your phone back down under your shirt and lay on your stomach so you could keep an eye out for him. you looked at where the parking lot was, a large area of gravel and tall grass. people were pouring in and out of the beach, little kids in thick foam flip flops kicking up sand while older adults with mass amounts of luggage followed after them.

liza sat up, looking in the same direction and drinking from her water bottle. you flipped over onto your back and closed your eyes, listening to the crunch of sand, the distant chatter, the hush of waves.

“that’s him.” liza said beside you. you couldn’t tell how long it had been. you leaned up onto your elbows and looked behind you, seeing topper walking down the small crest in a white t-shirt and bathing suit bottoms.

“do i look okay?” you asked her as she watched him under her sunglasses. her head turned to you and you didn’t need her glasses off her face to know the look she was giving you.

“i don’t think you should be worrying about that if you’re just going to end up taking your clothes off in front of him.”

“just say yes and move on.” you said, exasperated.

liza laughed to herself and lifted her hand to wave topper over. you watched as he put his phone back into his pocket, lowering his gaze to his sandals as he walked along the sand. you pushed yourself to stand with liza, trying your best to not fix your appearance.

“hey,” liza said easily as topper came closer.

“hey, how’s it going?”

“good. this is y/n, as you already know.” liza gestured to you.

“hi,” you said and gave an awkward wave. it was only awkward with liza there, but you knew she’d be leaving shortly.

“hey.” he said and slipped his hands into his pockets.

it made you smile when you saw his eyes traveling over you for a split second. liza saw it too. you let your own eyes wander as liza said something; you weren’t paying attention to listen. 

“well, i’m going to head out.” liza said as she bent to roll up her towel. you crossed your arms loosely as you watched her. she picked up her bag and turned to you. “let me know if you need me to pick you up.”

you gave her a nod and watched her take a few steps. she turned slightly to point at topper. “be nice to her.” she warned, making you laugh like she was a parent trying to threaten a boy.

once she was out of sight, you sat down on half of the towel so topper could have the other side. he followed you, propping his legs in front of him as you stretched yours out.

“so, are you just here for the weekend?” topper asked after a few moments. you were trying not to let it become awkward, but he had beaten you to it.

“until next saturday.” you said, glancing at him as you leaned back on your hands. you could feel a shell under your palm, so you moved it to a different spot. “liza wanted me to visit before we go back to school.”

topper nodded, his elbows atop his knees. he glanced at a beach ball rolling by, a little kid chasing after it. “are you guys close?”

“you could say that. you went to high school together?”

“yeah, we kind of had the same friends so we hung out at the same places.”

you hummed as you looked toward the shore. you saw a couple kites over the water, their tails whipping in the wind. “it’s nice here.”

“yeah, kitty hawk is nice. i like to paddle board over at kill devil hills.” you turned your eyes to him, finding him already looking at you.

you smiled lightly and squinted at him. “i’ve never been paddle boarding.”

“really? it’s fun. what about surfing?”

“i tried, but i split my lip. i’m sure if i tried again i’d get the hang of it.”

topper nodded with an identical smile, looking at you a little longer. ten seconds later, your heart lurched as topper reached back and took his shirt off. you glanced away with a slight blush, an inkling of a thought about public sex creeping into your mind. topper then stood and reached a hand to you.

“come on, come in the water with me.” he promoted. you felt your heart settle as you took his hand and he pulled you up.

you spent the next fifteen minutes in the water. you glided your hands along the surface as the waves rolled and topper talked animatedly with you. you were enjoying this part as much as you didn’t want to admit, seeing as that all you were looking for was a hookup. but he was so talkative and curious and hardly ever broke the eye contact. you played with the sand under your feet while he dunked himself under the surface then wiped a hand over his face.

when you got out and dried yourself off with liza’s towel, you wiped your face and looked over the soft fibers at topper. you held the towel out to him, dripping onto the sand. you were partially dry for now and itching under your skin. you looked away as he dried himself off but found yourself looking back as he bent over to wipe down his legs. when he stood tall again, you couldn’t help the way your eyes lingered over his glistening stomach, admiring.

“can we get out of here?” you asked.

topper nodded and handed you the towel. he took it back from you after pulling his shirt on so you could do the same. your bottoms were still wet so you left your shorts off for the time being and grabbed the rest of your things. topper fiddled with his keys, brushing the sand off them as he led you to the car lot. the gravel poked at your bare feet, some pebbles sharp enough to make you wince, but you endured it the whole way to a jeep that topper brought you to. it unlocked with a beep and before you climbed in, you put the towel over the seat and brushed your feet off, not wanting to track sand, dirt, or rocks into his shiny vehicle. it felt too high up for you, like you were sitting on the roof rather than inside it, but you closed the door gently.

—

“oh...wow.”

it kind of looked like a forty-year-old woman threw up. and it was all over the house. every room seemed overly decorated, a bunch of different script fonts with those cheesy sayings plastered everywhere. the house had high ceilings and the paint was pristine. it was very bright due to all of the windows and you wondered if there were any dark spots at all inside the house.

even topper’s room had a hint of a forty-year-old woman in it when you walked in.

“i think your mom went overboard at pottery barn.” you joked. “your dad couldn’t monitor her credit card uses?”

topper closed the door behind you as you wandered in, hands clasped gently in front of you. he tossed his keys onto a dark dresser beside the entryway and paused there at your remark.

“i don’t know my dad.” he said.

you turned then from staring at the light blue walls adorned with framed potted plant prints. “oh.” you said, your stomach aching like you’d been kicked. you knew it wasn’t exactly the nicest thing to say, no matter how you said it. normally you could get away with saying things like that, but you had to remind yourself that you didn’t know topper.

“my dad has a habit of canceling a lot of my mom’s outstanding online purchases so i just thought— i’m sorry.” you shifted on your feet, moving your hands to your sides.

topper only shrugged as you went back to scoping out the room. you tapped your thighs awkwardly as a discarded pair of socks seemed pretty interesting to you. when you looked back at topper, you relaxed since he didn’t come off as uncomfortable. you decided to just forget it and push it out of your head as you crossed your arms and reached for the hem of your shirt.

you left it somewhere on the floor before taking a few timid steps to topper. he stayed where he was against the dresser, watching you closely as you came to him. you leaned in close, bringing your hand to the back of his neck while his hands fell easily to your hips. glancing over his features quickly and landing on his mouth, you smiled softly and asked, “is this okay?”

the tension left your body as topper nodded, staring at your own mouth, before you finally gave him a kiss. another had him opening his mouth wider, and another was a little deeper. you smiled against him.

“what?” he asked, his fingertips poking at your sides, his face close.

“i can taste your toothpaste.”

topper’s cheeks tinged a light pink and he pulled you closer against his body, licking into the next kiss and surprising you. you moaned delightedly and brushed your fingers into his damp hair.

you let your hands wander down his neck, shoulders, and chest. he felt firm in all of those places and his shirt soft. you enjoyed the touch of his hands on your face, exploring a new territory, and holding you close. every cell in your body was cheering with delight, like you’d just chugged a liter of water after a sweltering day. a slight buzz started under your fingertips as a familiar tingling grew in your bathing suit bottoms. every touch had you anticipating the end result.

topper’s skin was warm and taut as you slipped a hand under his shirt and played with the waistband of his bottoms. his tongue was fighting with yours while you were fighting with yourself about whether or not to take his shirt or bottoms off first. you couldn’t decide if you wanted to get it over with or to build up to finally having him inside of you. a moan slipped out at the thought. your finger hooked between his lower stomach and his bottoms when he pulled away abruptly at your noise and reached behind him to tug the shirt off.

as it fell to the floor, his hands returned to your hips to tug you flush against him. you could slightly feel him through his bottoms, the want to stick your hand inside now greater than ever. but he had a tight grip on your hips that showed no signs of letting up.

your breath was heavy with his as he turned the both of you so you were the one pressed against the dresser now. his hips brushed into yours slowly as the edge of the dresser dug into your lower back and you let your head fall as another moan came out.

“shit.” you whispered to yourself, your eyes closing at how good it felt. something so subtle that had your knees growing weak.

topper dragged a hand up to your jaw and pulled your lips back to his as he rolled his hips, this time a little firmer. to only add to the pleasure you were feeling, his hand slipped down to your chest where he groped you gently. he massaged a few strokes as you licked at his lip, begging for entrance. he granted it while he fingers flexed over your breast. you gladly let them wander to your back where he pulled at the strings, the damp silky fabric peeling off like those fake tattoo papers you put on when you were younger.

you pushed your now bare chest against topper’s, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and rubbing the heel of your foot into his calf. he turned you around, his hands rubbing down to your ass as he moved to the bed. you crawled backwards at the same pace he crawled over you, faces still close that you could feel his breath growing heavy.

“stop teasing.” you said through clenched teeth as topper nipped at your neck and rolled his hips into yours.

“where’s the fun in that?” he smiled to himself as he skimmed his nose along your neck.

you wanted to kick him, but instead you settled for pulling him back against your lips while letting your hand rest on his shorts again. his hips seemed to sink lower to you at the feeling and you hadn’t even touched him yet.

your ears perked up at a small noise from somewhere while topper went unfazed and slipped his tongue back into your mouth. you ignored the small disruption and focused on him and your hand, now creeping your fingers along his abdomen. just as you barely got a knuckle deep into his bottoms a sliding door opened and banged. topper must’ve been so lost in where your hand was going that he still didn’t move away from you.

“did you hear that?” you pulled away.

“what?” he breathed.

a chorus of shouts and hollers came through the closed bedroom door. topper stilled and closed his eyes. “fuck,” he said before he pushed himself up and crawled away from you.

your eyebrows furrowed as you watched him get a footing and leave the room. you stared at the open door, partially annoyed at the interruption and the fact that you were left; naked.

groaning, you got up and pulled on your shirt again so you could follow topper. you went down the hall and found him in what you assumed to be the living room, a large tv on one wall and a white couch placed in front of it. the sliding door you heard led out onto a large deck, where you saw a group of guys all standing. topper’s bare back was facing you as he was in the middle of talking to someone, his shoulders tense.

the moment you stepped on the threshold, your bare feet against the cool metal, all eyes were on you. the guy topper had been talking to looked over his shoulder, instant curiosity on already stimulated features. he had topper’s hand in his, his opposite on his shoulder like he was giving him a pep talk.

“who’s this?” he asked, a sick smile appearing like you’d drop down onto your knees in front of him.

you grimaced very noticeably and spoke for yourself. “someone who’s trying to get laid. who the hell are you?”

a few low whistles rang out and you sent glares to the guys behind the one you were originally looking at. topper looked at you over his shoulder and gave you an apologetic look. you were glad he didn’t ask you to leave or wait for him, because you would’ve gladly left. you were starting to feel the irritation bubble and soon you would be leaving.

“got yourself a nice touron, huh, top?” the friend said, his arm looping around topper’s shoulders as he jostled him. his eyes were blown wide and not just from surprise. you grimaced deeper. they all looked like entitled, pretentious asshats and you were starting not to want anything to do with them. liza was totally right.

“rafe, come on, just leave. i’ll text you later.” topper was saying while you seethed at the door.

“don’t be pussy-whipped, topper. just drop the bitch and come try my new stash.”

“excuse me?” you pushed yourself off the doorway and stepped onto the warm deck. topper stopped you, turning out of rafe’s arm to plant his hands on your shoulders.

“woah, woah,” topper said as you sent daggers at his friend. he just laughed cockily at you and rubbed his chin. “can i text you later?”

your eyes snapped to topper’s pensive face in front of you. “are you kidding?” his hands dropped like you singed him. “don’t even bother.”

topper opened his mouth to call after you as you turned and walked away into the house. you shook your head to yourself and muttered as if anyone was listening. you should’ve known better or you should’ve expected less than for someone to put your needs before their own, much less a total stranger.

you wanted to slam a door behind you in annoyance as you went back to topper’s room to get your shoes. you also wanted to yell in frustration when you remembered your phone was still in his truck; you had wanted zero distractions. his keys were atop his dresser and you debated for a second whether or not to take them— you’d just be getting your things and liza’s towel.

just as you snatched your shoes and bathing suit top from the floor, topper slid into the room behind you and blocked the door. “please don’t leave,” he said quickly.

“unlock your car so i can get my stuff.”

“come on, please stay. i want you to stay.” he took a step closer to you, his pleading expression prominent.

“i don’t want to be here with your shitty friends pretending that we might get along when one of them just called me a bitch for no reason.” you countered and took a step to get by him, only to be caught around the waist. he turned you gently, his expression still the same.

“they’re leaving right now, i swear.”

“i don’t believe you.”

“i swear!” he pleaded. “you can go look yourself or you can take my word for it and we can pick up where we left off.”

you held your steely glare, trying not to show that you were reconsidering. you just really wanted to get laid and the situation only added to that frustration.

instead of smacking him with a sandal, you dropped everything in a heap and attached yourself to him again. his fingers worked quickly to pull your shirt back off, running along your sides and planting themselves on your hips. you nipped at his lip, silently begging him to move faster. he seemed to have the right idea as he turned you and pushed you back to the bed. you landed softly, your legs dangling off the edge, as you watched topper stand tall in front of you. his chest grew bigger as he took a breath and bent down to push his bottoms off. you pulled your lip between your teeth, not hiding the way your eyes flickered down to catch a glimpse. your ears grew hot and your skin pricked at topper’s semi-erection, the tip of him glistening. you wondered what he tasted like.

your gaze broke as topper moved to the side of the bed, rifling through his nightstand. you took that opportunity to take your bottoms off, flicking them somewhere in the room with your foot. you flipped over onto your stomach, grinning to yourself at the full view of topper’s butt. taking a nail between your teeth, you bit it anxiously and watched as he found a condom. you couldn’t help but giggle as he looked over the packaging, reading the date. your feet kicked in the air playfully.

when topper went back to the foot of the bed, you looked over your shoulder as he rubbed himself before rolling the condom on. he combed a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead.

“good to go?” you smiled.

he breathed in and nodded. “you want it like this?” he gestured to the way you were on your stomach.

you hummed, nodding your head, and moved a little further down the bed so your hips were at the very edge. topper’s hands fell to your thighs and he spread your knees apart, his skin ghosting against yours as he stepped closer. you took a shaky breath in as the anticipation rose higher— god, you couldn’t wait. deep down, you hoped that it didn’t suck. he had worked you up so much that you were sure you’d feel silly if it wasn’t satisfying.

you tried not to show just how desperate you were as the tip of him teased your folds. you licked your lips, biting down on the bottom one and lay flat on the mattress. his hand gripped your hip now while the other guided himself to your entrance. a high-pitched moan bubbled from your chest and slipped past your lips as topper slowly moved himself inside of you. you let out a lower, satisfied moan when he was fully inside, flush against you. your feet knocked into his back as you adjusted to the size of him. topper tried to control his panting behind you, staring down at your ass and himself fully sheathed by you.

“jesus christ,” he said more so to himself, marveling at the way you fit around him. he imagined it would’ve been so much better without a condom, but this was just as good.

just as you were about to ask him to move, he pulled out of you inch by inch. it felt uncomfortable at the empty feeling, but he came back a little quicker with a low noise of his own.

topper kept a steady rhythm, his hold tight on the skin over your hips and his breath blowing across your back each time he thrusted into you. you reveled in his noises, enjoying the low grunts and the occasional moans to mix with yours and the sounds your bodies were making. his skin started to smack against yours, building as your hands tightened over the comforter. there wasn’t much conversation or dirty talk, which you didn’t mind at the moment since you weren’t looking to lengthen this experience out. you just wanted him to give you what you needed. so far, he was doing a pretty good job.

the bed dipped beside your shoulder as topper’s hips still moved. his body moved closer to yours, the heat from his chest seeping into the skin on your back and giving you a pleasant wave of goosebumps. you opened your eyes to find his fist planted beside you, just as his other hand gripped your shoulder. you pushed yourself up to your elbows, stretching your head backwards. topper followed your movements and bent over you, planting a wet kiss to your lips. he continued to move in you, the hand on your shoulder moving to your neck, his fingertips settling on the sides. you breathed heavily into his mouth at the new sensation as a slew of curses rang out in your mind.

topper licked into your mouth, teasing you and playing with your tongue as his fingertips pressed a little more into your skin. you moaned lowly and broke apart from him. he stayed close, reaching down to your ear and nipping at your earlobe. your mouth opened, eyes screwing shut again as you became aware that you were close to your end. maybe if he just squeezed a little more around your neck, you’d go over the edge.

“topper, i’m going to come.” you breathed, feeling your head knock into his shoulder as he still moved. just then his hips snapped forward, hitting you a little deeper, a little harder. his lips moved off your ear, his breath hitting it now. you tightened yourself around him, not knowing that it brought him even closer while you came over him. you held on to the blanket, knuckles turning white while the same thing happened behind your eyelids. your face screwed up in ecstasy as topper pumped into you deliciously, his movements eventually faltering and stopping as he found his own climax. he groaned loudly into your ear, his breath hot, his grip not too tight, and his come feeling warm even through the condom. if only you’d actually felt it.

topper let go of your neck and you lay flat again, finding your breath with a heaving chest. topper watched the side of your face through hooded eyelids as he stayed hovering over you for a moment. the heels of your feet rested against his back; your thighs no longer tight against his thighs as you relaxed now.

your eye lazily opened as the air in the room met your back, topper moving away from you. you could see him out of the corner of your eye as he carefully touched your side and pulled himself out of you. you made a small noise, almost one of disappointment that he didn’t stay there longer. he disappeared from your sight and your legs promptly closed, your feet still in the air even though you ached from staying like that for a while.

when topper came back, condom gone and thrown away and holding a washcloth, he tapped your lower back. you pushed yourself up slowly, wincing at tired joints and muscles, and thanked him before finding your way to the bathroom. you cleaned yourself up inside, peeing quickly and washing your hands. topper was stepping into his shorts when you came back.

“the fuck is a touron?” you asked as you reached for your bathing suit bottoms almost under his dresser.

topper laughed behind you. “it’s a tourist.”

you made a face and pulled your bathing suit top over your head, tying it in the back. “east coast people are weird.”

topper smiled to himself, glancing at you as you pulled your t-shirt on. he was dressed and ready to go when you were, grabbing his keys and letting you lead the way.

once he pulled into liza’s ridiculously long driveway, you thanked him and jumped out, not wanting to make it awkward. liza was in her kitchen when you walked in, hair a little messy but dry.

she looked up at you from cutting some fruit. a curious smile came onto her lips. her eyebrows rose. “how was it?”

you lifted yourself into one of the chairs at the island counter and reached over for a small piece. “i don’t like his friends so i can see why you warned me but i’m letting it go.” you said, popping the fruit into your mouth.

liza blinked at you, not totally understanding but becoming uncomfortable with how chilled you were compared to the other days you’d been her guest. “wow,” she said. “you really had a whole ass iceberg of frustration, huh?”

“i told you.” you shrugged and laughed once you stared at each other for a moment.

you ate dinner that night with liza and her dad, hearing a few stories and sharing your own over wine and lobster. just after you helped clean up the dishes and the kitchen, you felt your phone vibrate in your sweatshirt pocket. pulling it out, you read texts from a number you hadn’t saved.

i enjoyed today

let me know if you’re ever visiting again😉

⭐️taglist of beauties & babes!⭐️

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