#I swear I knew how to draw Shadow!!! What happened to me??

[sapphire-draw]

Now that I've got a new phone I guess I'll have to pick a new background image...? Haven't touched it in 2 years...

*sigh*

Sorry Shadow, you've been dethroned.

[theragethatisdesire]

pretty girl - jean kirschtein x afab!reader - 18+!!!

there's def more eren coming but while that's in the works please enjoy the result of the jean brainrot i experienced the other day. fair warning- it's going to get pretty rough, but that's what you asked him for ;)

pairing: reader x jean kirschtein

wc: 4.6k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, established relationship (jean's ur gorgeous bf lucky u), unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, pretty rough sex, vaginal fingering, biting, dirty talk, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, daddy kink, use of names (pretty girl, crybaby, good girl), very dom jean, multiple orgasm, dacryphilia/crying, creampie

this one was super fun and is very tasty u guys enjoy <3

-

-> be there in 5 babe :)

You are not looking forward to this, to say the least. You pace madly around your little apartment in a massive t-shirt and sweatpants covering the skimpiest lingerie set you own. It’s got all the bells and whistles: a matching garter belt, lace in all the right places, stockings that come up to where your plush thighs are the fattest. You should be looking forward to this, you tell yourself, candles lit and ambient lighting ready to go. You have a gorgeous boyfriend who’s going to “be here in five”, and you should be brimming with excitement. But…you’re just not.

Jean’s been in your life for a few months now. What had started as a run-in at the coffee shop around the corner had turned into candlelit dinners, movie marathons, and exclusive titles, and you adore him. His sandy brown hair, the tattoo on his strong bicep, pretty hazel eyes– Jean’s sexy, loving, sarcastic, attentive, literally everything you could ask for in a boyfriend. Except when it comes to your sex life, that is.

The sex isn’t bad per se, you just can’t shake the feeling that he’s holding something back from you. He’s almost too perfect; he’s gentle with you, always taking care to ask permission before touching you, chaste kisses as he slides in, hand-holding in missionary. He cums every time, immune to the whiskey-dick you’d expect from his bourbon drinking habit, so you know he’s enjoying himself, but he doesn’t always seem all there. The fire just isn’t in him, and you know he has that side to him. You’ve seen those hazel eyes you love so much blaze, in a heated argument, at the gym. Why it doesn’t happen in your intimate moments is beyond you, it’s like he’s afraid to break you, like he’s not doing everything–

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Shit, knocking on your front door is what he’s doing.

You take one last look in the mirror: hair’s casual, but still sexy, makeup to a minimum, all straps and lace covered up by your inconspicuous pajamas. Time to potentially ruin your relationship.

“Hey beautiful,” Jean greets you with an innocent smile, “you look cozy.”

“Feel cozy,” you accept his kiss, chewing on your lip as he comes in. Your heart’s pounding in your ears; poor thing has no idea what’s to come. Maybe it’ll go well, you think; false hope might be the only thing that gets you to pull through with your plan.

“Have any movie ideas for tonight? I was thinking Hereditary, but only if you’re not too chicken…” Jean raises his eyebrows, a taunting smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Ha! If only he knew all of the things you aren’t “too chicken” for.

You smile weakly, stomach churning. “Maybe. Can we just…can we just talk for a sec?”

Jean’s playful demeanor drops instantly, replaced by a faint frown. “What about?”

You amble over to the couch, playing with the strings of your sweatpants anxiously. How the fuck are you even supposed to bring this up? Your mind’s racing so quickly it draws a blank, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt: “Sex.”

“Sex?” Jean’s cheeks tinge pink. He hasn’t shaved in probably a week, a shadow covering his sharp jawline. God, he’s gorgeous, you can’t mess this up, you really can’t.

“Yeah,” you confirm, “sex. Our sex, to be clear.”

“I figured as much,” Jean’s sat himself beside you now, one eyebrow raised suspiciously. He’s not upset, not yet, but you’ve definitely caught him off guard.

“I– I feel like we’re on different pages,” you stammer– fuck you are so bad at this, “I just feel like sometimes you’re so…gentle, and you don’t necessarily, like, have to be?”

Jean’s frowning full on now, a precious little wrinkle appearing in the center of his forehead. You’ve hurt him, and your heart sinks. Probably should have started with the pros. “Like…what do you mean, by ‘don’t have to be gentle’?”

“Our sex life is great,” you try to smile enthusiastically, as if you don’t actually want to blow your brains out right now, “please don’t think I’m saying you’re bad in bed or anything. I just, like– okay, for example, have you ever tried anything rough?”

His mouth is a flat line. “Like what?”

“Like, handcuffs, or roleplay, any of that stuff.”

“What have you tried?” His voice is even, collected, but there’s something simmering in him that you can’t put your finger on. It’s not anger, but it tastes similar, running in the same vein but not quite there. It’s your turn to feel your face warm.

“I mean, I’ve tried handcuffs before. Some light slapping, spanking.” You’re twiddling your thumbs, confessing into your lap. You can feel his eyes on you.

“That it?”

“I guess.”

“Did you…enjoy that kind of stuff?” He’s taking the bait. You finally meet his gaze and it ignites a little fire in your stomach; he’s never looked at you this intensely, brows pinched together like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. All of these little mannerisms are tells, you’re intuitive enough to know that, but exactly what he’s trying to convey you just can’t figure out.

“Yeah.”

“How rough are we talking, here?” Jean sounds deeper than normal, the slightest bit of strain to his words. That’s definitely new; Jean’s the most unshakeable person you’ve ever met.

“If I’m making you uncomfortable, I–”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable,” an easy chuckle floats out of his mouth, “just trying to feel you out is all.”

Your brows furrow. “Feel me out?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Surprised?” Your nose wrinkles. “Did I ever give off the impression that I was, like, super vanilla or something?”

“No,” he laughs again, a bit of the tension melting from the room, “no, not that. We’re just still pretty new, that’s all. Wasn’t going to whip out everything in my toolbox ‘til I knew you were okay with it.”

That piques your interest; you think you’d very much like to see what’s in this toolbox of his. “So you do like some of this stuff?”

Jean rolls that thought over in his mind for a beat before responding, a suspicious smirk that you can’t read tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I guess you could say I like some of this stuff.”

“We’re back to my original question then: what do you like?”

“I’m more worried about what you like,” Jean says, “especially since you won’t come right out and say it. Gonna make me guess?”

That’s your Jean, blunt as ever. The fire in your stomach sparks and spits at the conversation, teasing and tempting. There’s something playful to his words; you can’t shake this feeling that you’re missing something, that he’s toying with you, but you like it. You let him keep pushing, see where he’s leading you. “Sure, guess.”

“Do you like…” Jean trails off, examining you with his chin nestled between his thumb and index finger, “to be dominant?”

“No.”

“Submissive, then.”

“Yeah.” He likes that, you can tell by the way his eyes glint at you. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“Like to be tied up?”

“Already told you about the handcuffs.”

“I bet you have a praise kink.”

That has you flustered. There’s a sinking sensation in your stomach that you’ve underestimated him, waded out too deep into the water, but fuck it, you’re already here. “How’d you know?”

Jean smiles, pleased. “I just do. Overstimulation?”

“Sure.”

“Orgasm denial? Degradation?”

“If I deserve it.” It’s a bold answer, but it makes Jean suck in a sharp “fuck” between his teeth. Oh yes, you’ve definitely underestimated him.

“You like to be punished, don’t you?” His hand has traveled up to cup your jaw, thumb playing absentmindedly with your bottom lip. There’s an anticipatory warmth gathering between your legs, and the air between you both is practically crackling, charged by the tension thrumming through both of your bodies.

“Yes,” it comes out in a breath, almost pathetic, but you can’t help yourself. He looks so good, always does, and now he’s grazing his eyes over you like he wants to take a bite.

“You know how safewords work?” You nod a bit too eagerly. “Ours is going to be red, okay?”

“Okay,” you’re agreeing, but you aren’t entirely sure what to, caught up in the soft rubbing of his thumb over your mouth.

“If your mouth is,” a deep breath shakes through his frame, “occupied, give me a sharp pinch with your nails.”

“I can do that,” the tension between you is palpable now, the room’s so hot that you’re surprised your wallpaper isn’t peeling off.

“Go to your room,” Jean releases you, eyes dark and hungry, “take your clothes off and wait for me on the bed. I’ll be in soon.”

You follow his instructions without thinking twice, as if a switch has flipped in your brain. Maybe it was his tone, an authoritative way of speaking that threatens consequence, or maybe you’re just so ready to see what this perfect boyfriend of yours has been hiding all this time. As you’re getting undressed, you realize he still doesn't know about your lingerie. You bite back a smile, kneeling on the bed. This is going to be so good.

A minute or so ticks by slowly, and just when your legs are starting to ache, Jean’s entering your room. His face darkens in a way you’ve never seen before when he sees your little get up; lightning shoots through your core.

“Put on a pretty outfit just for me?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“That’s good,” he says in that slow drawl of his, “good girl.”

He’s only testing the waters, but you can feel your body viscerally react to the little pet name, shifting on your knees to mask your desperate attempt for friction, dampness spreading in your panties. Jean sees right through your act, smirking.

Jean joins you in undressing, slipping his shirt over his head. You take your time admiring his torso; miles of long, lean muscle, little ripples by his ribs trailing into a ridiculous six-pack. Jean’s a confessed gym rat, and it shows in every little line along his body. You have to blink and look away before you start salivating.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jean scolds, tilting your head up towards him, “eyes on me, got it?”

“Got it,” you answer. Jean frowns.

“That’s not very nice,” he says, “try again.”

You go out on a limb. “Yes, sir.”

Jean’s eyes glint again in that mean, pretty way you saw earlier. You did good, you did good for him. “Much better. Get on the floor.”

You slide off of your mattress, practically buzzing with anticipation, settling on your knees in front of him. A low groan rumbles in Jean’s chest.

“Look so good like that, my pretty girl.”

Oh, you really like that, nuzzling against his hand on your head. Jean smiles down at you, inching his pants down until that little thatch of brown hair starts revealing itself. “Open up for me, nice and wide.”

Your jaw’s dropped, mouth open and tongue out, expectant. Jean smiles wider, sharp and dangerous, pulling his cock out for you. He taps the head against your tongue a few times, even slaps you with it, facade faltering for a fraction of a second to gauge your reaction. You’re good for him, sitting still and patient with your mouth still open, a drop of drool starting to slide off the end of your tongue. Jean makes a sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a chuckle.

“Oh, you’re an obedient little thing, aren’t you?” Your panties grow impossibly wetter, you wiggle on your thighs under him, earning yourself another slap of his cock on your tongue, heavy and drooling. “Gonna fuck this pretty face, okay?”

You close your mouth around his head, sucking lightly to show your approval. He’s not even touched you, not so much as a kiss, and your brain’s foggy, running like a hamster on a wheel chasing the circular thought of be good, be good, be good. Jean grabs your hair none-too-gently, tugging it at the roots, and starts canting his hips towards your mouth, muttering under his breath about how good you are, how good your mouth feels on him.

You lower your jaw ever so slightly, and before long, Jean’s picking up speed, knocking your gag reflex here and there and making you cough around him. He doesn’t seem overly concerned; in fact, he grins cruelly down at you when he hits an extra-sensitive spot, making you hunch and gag on him.

“Look at my pretty girl, so happy getting her mouth fucked,” he hisses when you moan around him, feeling the vibrations up his cock. He’s moving faster now, rougher than he’s ever been. You’re gagging with some regularity, tears welling up in your eyes and threatening to spill down your cheeks. You expect him to let up, give you some air, but it only spurs him on, and before you know it, there are thick streams of tears running down your face. Your jaw aches, your knees burn, but you stay, letting him use you how he pleases.

“Fucking crying on me,” Jean growls, “my cock too much for you?”

You try to answer with a shake of your head, but he’s relentless, fingers tightening in your hair and cock shoving to the back of your throat, making you retch.

“No, you love it, don’t you? My little crybaby.”

You’re so wet you can feel it gathering on the insides of your thighs, entirely soaked through your panties. You move your hips subtly, this way and that, desperate for friction. Jean notices, pulling out of your mouth but staying connected by a string of your spit.

“You squirming, pretty girl? Need some attention?”

“Yes, sir,” you rasp, nodding eagerly. Jean helps you up onto the bed, lays you back against his chest facing the mirror on top of your wardrobe. It’s a terribly lewd sight; you spread out in front of him, face swollen and teary, the telltale glisten of wetness glittering on your thighs.

Jean slides a hand down your body, rubbing you over your panties and nibbling at your ear. “You’re gonna watch me make you cum, and if I see you look away, I’m fucking you ‘til I cum, and you’re not getting a damn thing. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” your voice wobbles pathetically. Jean seems to like it; his cock twitches in interest against your back. He pushes your panties to the side, flicking his fingers faster over your clit. Embarrassingly enough, you’re already nearing your halfway point from the face-fucking, moaning and grinding up into his palm.

“Need something?”

“Mhm,” you grit out, jaw clenched. Jean slaps your pussy; not too hard, but firm enough to make you jolt, bring you a moment of clarity.

“Manners,” he reminds you sharply.

“I’m sorry, I– can I please have a finger?”

Jean’s placated, slides one finger into you and laughs hot against your neck at the obscene sound that tears from your throat. “What do we say when we get what we ask for?”

“Thank you– fuck, thank you,” your words are coming out in puffs of breathe. Jean has long, skilled fingers, a fact you’re already familiar with, but the position he’s put you in has you dripping onto the sheets: forcing you to watch as he pumps in and out of you, grinding into your clit with the heel of his hand. You’ll be lucky if you last another minute.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? My pretty girl likes being full, right?” Jean murmurs, hot against the shell of your ear. “Tell me.”

“Yes, sir, I– I like it, I need– fuck!”

“What do you need?” Jean coos, entertained, as if he’s not unraveling you with just the one.

“I want one m-more finger, please,” you stutter, relieved you’re able to get the words out at all.

“Learning so fast,” Jean kisses your shoulder, granting your wish. His fingers are thick, the slight stretch making you throw your head back against his shoulder, hips rolling into his hand of their own accord. “Still looking?”

You force your head back to its upright position, mindful of the threat in his tone. His fingers work faster at your obedience, curling insistently against the gummy spot inside your walls that makes you see stars, makes you a little out of your mind with need. It’s that out-of-mind dizziness in your head that causes your little slip-up:

“Fuck, please, more- more, Daddy.”

Jean’s fingers still; it’s not until you’re halfway into a whine of disappointment that you realize what you’ve said. Your face burns; you meet his eyes in the mirror, yours shot wide and embarrassed. You trip over your words, trying to explain yourself. That definitely hadn’t been mentioned in your earlier conversation.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that, I just–”

“Just what? Already so fucked out you can’t think straight?” Jean curls his fingers pointedly against your walls, punching a groan from your chest.

“Yeah,” you sigh, head growing cloudy again.

“Say it again.” That definitely isn’t what you expect to hear him mutter against your neck. Jean works a third finger into your cunt with some difficulty, stretching you to your limits. “Fucking say it, or you’re not cumming.”

“Oh my God, D-Daddy,” your cries are pathetic, punctuated by whimpers. The bubble in your stomach is about to pop, the tension growing unbearable. You’re almost there, grinding into his hand pitifully and babbling, when Jean takes one of his hands to grab your throat roughly. He holds you captive, staring at your own stretched cunt on display for you in the mirror.

“Good, good girl,” he says, “now watch Daddy make you cum.”

The band inside you snaps viciously; your back arches away from him, and you squirt, gushing all over your bed sheets, inhuman sounds tearing from your throat where you struggle under his hand. Jean’s working you through the whole thing, still steadily pumping his fingers and whispering dirty little nothings into your ear. It finally begins to quiet, overstimulation washing over you. You push urgently at his wrist, mumbling something or other about “too much, too much”.

Jean mercifully obliges, pulling his hand from you with a shameful sucking sound, giving your pussy another light slap.

“Such a good girl for me, yeah? How you feelin’?”

“Good, so good,” you slur, “I’ve never– never…”

“Never squirted?” Jean’s eyebrows shoot up at your answering nod before a smug expression settles over his face. “Such a fun little toy, aren’t you? Just wait, you’ll get used to it soon enough.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing; so he can make you do that? Again? Jean’s slid out from behind you and is repositioning your limp body, dragging you down the bed by your ankles to line you up with his cock. He bends your knees up, pressing them close to your head. Jesus, he’s going to kill you at this rate.

“Want me to fuck you?”

“Please,” you hate the begging lilt to your voice, but you’re beyond fighting it. You gave up the reins a long time ago when you knelt for him, let him call you a good girl, let him fuck your throat.

“I’ve got you, pretty girl, Daddy’s gotcha,” Jean starts bullying his way into your pussy, still tight and pulsing from your orgasm. “Shit, got a tight little cunt, don’t you? Feels so good– fuck.”

You’re simpering under him, barely able to process the stretch of his cock in you. He’s well-endowed and you’re overwhelmed, a dizzying combination for your fucked-out brain to handle. Just when you think he might be in your throat he’s so deep in you, his hips press to the back of your thighs, both of you letting out a long groan at the feeling.

“So pretty,” Jean muses, not moving yet, just placing a thumb on your clit and absentmindedly playing with it, “such a beautiful pussy.”

You whine, frustrated. He glares at you, landing a harsh smack to your inner thigh.

“I’m not going to warn you again.”

“Please fuck me, oh God, please,” you pant, past the point of humility. Jean licks his lips, presses his palms deep into the backs of your knees, practically folding you in half. He gives you what you ask for.

You’re jolted back and forth on the mattress, mouth hung open in a silent scream as he splits you open on him, forces every inch deep into you. His tip’s kissing your cervix, pain blooming in your abdomen, but you don’t even care, so lost in the rhythm of his hips.

“Jean, I– oh my God,” you try to tell him how good he feels, but all you get is a firm hand around your throat.

“Who’s fucking this pretty cunt up, hm? Fucking you good and deep? Who is it?”

“Daddy,” you choke out, breathless, “Daddy’s.”

“There you go,” Jean’s focused on where you’re connected, eyes never leaving the frothy white ring forming around the base of his cock. You’re crying again, vaguely aware of the streams of tears running down your temples, into your hairline, but fuck, he just feels so good your brain can’t even process it. Jean takes notice, wipes one of your tears and licks it off of his thumb. “Cute fucking crybaby, all happy and cockdrunk, aren’t you?”

You whimper some semblance of an agreement, feeling the band of tension in you already getting stretched to a breaking point. He’s at an angle that allows him to hammer into the most delicious spot inside of you, rubbing against it with each thrust.

“Gonna cum soon, I– I’m gonna cum soon,” you manage, locking his gaze.

“Let me feel it, go on, do it for me,” Jean pants, squeezing your neck tighter. The lack of air goes to your head; the room spins until all you can focus on is him pounding into you. You cum violently, throbbing around his cock, thrashing against his strong arms. Jean fucks you through it, never losing his pace. “Good fucking girl, just like that.”

You’re practically wheezing as your senses return to you, clawing at Jean’s arm on your throat. He lets up on your neck, smiling down at you. “Feel good?”

“Mhm,” you hum, blissed out and half-asleep until Jean flips you, forcing you to prop up on your hands and knees. “Wait, Jean–”

“Wait?” Jean scoffs, sliding back into you. You let out a little cry, and he smacks your ass sharply. “This is what you asked for, right? Said I was being too nice to you.”

“I didn’t– oh my god…” your eyes roll back into your head, a well-placed thrust cutting your words off. “It’s so…it’s so much, Jean.”

Jean lands three more sharp slaps to your ass, already thrusting into you at a brutal pace. “What was that?”

“T-too much, Daddy,” you collapse, face shoved into the bed to mask the pitiful cries leaving your mouth. It is too much; if you tuck your chin to your chest, you can see a little bulge in your tummy where he’s fucking into you, another orgasm already building in the pit of your stomach. You feel like you might pass out if he makes you cum again, but he’s ruthless.

“Too much?” Jean coos, fisting your hair to turn your face. He’s glaring down at you. “You were practically begging me for it, and my pretty girl gets what she wants, right? Said you wanted it rough, so you’re going to fucking take it.”

You nod miserably, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Jean hisses when you clamp down around him. “Squeezing me so goddamn tight, this pussy.”

You feel a hand start thrumming insistently against your clit and nearly shriek; your pussy’s so swollen, so sensitive already. You claw at the bedsheets, feeling something warm and wet swelling inside of you.

“Daddy, I– fuck, it’s, it’s–”

“Gonna make you squirt again,” it’s a promise from behind your ear, “you’re gonna squirt on my cock and Daddy’ll cum for you, okay?”

“I can’t, I–” you’re wailing, words cut off by your own moans. Jean loves it, you can feel his thrusts growing more urgent against your hips, so deep in you you could choke.

“You can,” he corrects you, hand moving faster, “want Daddy to cum in you?”

“Yes, please, p-please,” You cry, letting him use you as he wishes. 

“I’ll give it to you, gotta cum first, you can do that, can’t you? Taking me so well, pretty girl, just need you to cum one more time for me.”

“Uh-huh,” the edges of your vision are starting to close in. He’s ruthless, hips slamming into yours hard enough to bruise, cock stretching you out so nicely, you can’t hold it, but you know, somewhere deep in this primal part of your brain, you need to be good, need to ask him. “Need to cum, Daddy, please– please let me, I–”

“Go ahead,” Jean shushes you, hips moving impossibly faster, “be a good girl, let me feel it.”

That tips you over the edge and Jean makes good on his promise; your cum is dripping out of you, spraying onto his thighs and ruining your sheets. You’re thrashing your head back and forth and sobbing through your orgasm, pinned and powerless under him. Jean swears at the vice-like grip you have on him; it doesn’t take him long to follow suit, pressing himself as deep as he can go, cumming in you. He bends over you as he does, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to him, kissing you hard in a mess of tongue and teeth. You feel it warming your stomach, moaning appreciatively until you both collapse in a sweaty mess of limbs, gasping for breath and clutching onto one another.

Jean allows himself a few moments to catch his breath, and then he’s pulling out of you, leaving you empty and whimpering. He shushes you, holding you close to his chest and letting you work through the intense session in his arms. You’ve never been so fucked out, nuzzling into his chest and simply letting him hold you, letting the aftershocks wrack through your sore body. After a few minutes you’re coming to; the haze begins to lift, and you peek up at him, unsure of where to start after…that.

“You okay?”

You turn the words over in your mouth before you can get them out, still feeling a bit like you’re floating. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. That was…wow.”

Jean, the man that just held you down and forced what were probably life-threatening orgasms out of you, blushes. “Yeah, it was really something.”

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, giggling despite yourself. Your mind is still a little cloudy, a little soft after everything. “But it was good. So good.”

“Yeah?” Jean grins, hoisting you up into his lap so you can both sit up, still cradling you to his chest. “Not too gentle, was I?”

Your face grows hot, you want to hide it behind your hands. “No, not too gentle.”

“You were right earlier,” he admits, “I was definitely holding out on you just because the way I like to…I mean, I don’t think I need to get too into it, you were there. It can be a lot. Didn’t want to push you too far.”

You hum contentedly, playing with the little gold chain he always wears. “I understand that now, but I’m a big girl. I can handle whatever you want to give me, promise.”

“Don’t say that,” Jean groans, “too tired for round two.”

Your hand falls into the mess between your thighs, and you wince. “Maybe after a shower?”

“Greedy,” Jean tuts, scooping you up with him to make the journey over to your bathroom, “my greedy, pretty girl.”

[admirationandromantics]

Reading Material

This was not a request, sorry, but I have been a bit overwhelmed lately, so will not post as much as usual. Anyways, this story is based on the thought of Josh finding out about the sexy smutty book you're reading, and basically how he would react. Hope you like it!

Word count: 1,1k (unedited)

I open the book, resuming on the page I left off. Luckily for me, the cover of it is quite discrete. At the same time, the sex-scenes weren’t many. The book overall is interesting, and has a good plot, but those types of scenes last for at least two chapters in one sitting, so I have to be careful when I read them. Who knows who might be peeking. The only person who usually does is Ashley, but she’s in another room with Chris and Matt, talking about some series or movie she recently watched.

I make myself comfortable on the sofa, knees coming up, tightly pressed together. The page turns, tension building up as the main characters get into it once again. My eyes are glued to the ink, failing to see the shadow behind me. I take it all in, imagining it in my head as they do their thing. What kind of position is that? I turn a page back, trying to make sense of it. One leg there, arms around his torso. Before I can understand it all, a hand comes down, taking a firm grip on the top of the book, snatching it out of my fingers. I yelp at the suddenness, turning quickly while trying to grab it back. 

“Hey!” 

“What do we have here?”

Josh takes a few steps back as I stand up and walk around the furniture. He smiles, turning back a few pages to see the start. I run at him, but he easily dodges my attempt, using one of his hands to push me away. 

“I swear to God, Josh, give it back!” 

“Never knew you had such porn-fantasies” 

“You looked when there was that type of chapter, it’s a good book” 

“Hold up, things just got interesting” he continues, a smirk plastered on his lips as his eyes roll over the lines. I try one more time to snatch it back, but fail again. He starts running to the hallway, and I sigh loudly as I follow. This man will not go tell the others, I’ll make sure of that. 

“Don’t you dare!” I yell, turning the corner in the dark room. As I do, an arm captures me. He slams me against the wall, grabbing both of my wrists in one hand, holding them over my head. 

“I’m not done reading” he teases, eyes capturing mine before going back to the open book. I wiggle, hoping to get out of his grasp. Just as I’m about to make it, his fingers tightens, body pushing mine into the wall, using his legs and upper body strength. 

“Josh, I will literally kill you!” He laughs, gaze going over my form beneath him. 

“Sure you will, oh and look at that” he continues, tongue going over his lips. 

“What?” 

“We’re in the exact same position as those in your little fantasy” 

I can help the blush that spreads on my cheeks, face heating up as he draws himself closer. The other guys are two rooms away, talking loudly and unaware of the situation I’ve put myself in. I feel my breathing get uneven and heavy, chest rising and falling rapidly in response to him. He does the same, the smirk gone and replaced by a small surprised expression. Mouth slightly open, hot air being blown onto my face. I gaze into his eyes, lids low as he shifts his stare from my eyes to my lips, and then up to my eyes again. I can only describe it as a silent request, a question about the next part. I give a small nod, and he comes closer, noses brushing against each other. 

Before I can comprehend what’s happening, he changes positions. He turns us around, making him go against the wall with my back against his chest. I gasp, feeling the pressure on my wrists as he holds them tightly to my side, his muscular arm trapping me on him. Face buries itself in my hair, mouth making its way to my ear. He lifts the book in front of me, forcing my face forward to look at the page. 

“Read this passage out loud” he whispers, lips touching my ear. His fingers graze over the text, guiding me to the relevant sentences. I take a breath, sinking into him, head leaning back on his shoulder. He smells like oranges and bark, a comforting combination. 

“Come on, do it” he teases, using his head to move mine to the side. He starts kissing down my neck, small kisses and bites, not hurting. I look down on the text again, reading every word out loud between gasps of air from how he’s working on me. 

“I crave your tender touches, I want to feel all of you on top of me as I explore every part of your body with my mouth” I whisper. He lets go of my wrists, letting both my arms fall to the side. I don’t move away from him, but instead let his hand wander up my stomach, settling on one of my breasts. 

“Now read the next line” 

I look down again, his thumb caressing the paper, still holding the book firm. 

“I want you to fuck me like you mean it” 

He groans in my ear, chest heaving against my back, moving my body as well. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Matt asks, and we both jump away from one another. I look up embarrassingly, while Josh just stares with his mouth wide open. 

“What are you doing?” 

I’m about to stutter a reply, but Josh beats me to it, putting on his jokester-face and waving the book. 

“Just some light reading” 

“Really?” 

Matt comes closer, snatching the book from his hands. My instincts get the better of me and I yell out a loud “no” while trying to get it back. He holds the book high while reading, one hand holding me back. 

“Damn, this is some nasty stuff y'all” 

Josh looks down, tomato-red blush covering his cheeks. I keep persisting, wanting to get the book back. Bad enough that two of my friends saw this today. 

“Guys! You’ll not believe what I found these two horny fuckers reading together!” he yells to the other room, starting to make his way there. Josh and I give each other a look. This cannot be happening. We scream out protests, and Matt turns around in shock, starting to run when he sees us coming. This is not just a game anymore, we need to get that book back.

[solbaby7]

Calypso

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: swearing, angst, possible typos, violence

[ part 1 ]

—

Your family was hovering.

Exchanging worried looks amongst eachother as they partook in a mental conversation that you weren’t invited to but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The power inside of you had seemed to be asleep; tucked within the warmth of your vessel as you shuffled closer to Azriel.

His shadows were everywhere, pressing against every inch of available skin not only as a comfort but to shield your state from wandering eyes. Azriel knew his brothers meant no harm but his spine stiffened just a bit more when he’d catch them searching for injuries—as if some sort of explaination would be branded into your flesh.

He understood—really, he did.

Everyone wanted to know how you’d survived.

How you’d been hiding such power away for so long undetected.

But he couldn’t find the courage to ask any questions; too afraid he’d have to come to the horrifying realization that he’d almost lost you.

No. Azriel had lost you and yet some divine intervention had taken place, gifting him a second chance. His stomach plummets at the thought, shadows tightening their grip on you; tugging you in as close as you could get and still it didn’t feel close enough. “I’m right here,” You mutter just loud enough for your voice to break through the noise beginning to grow inside Azriel’s mind. A hand covers his own, a gentle squeeze to reiterate the words spoken but he can’t help but notice how cold your skin is.

You hesitate before crossing Autumn’s border, sparing a glance behind you when the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention, alerting you of a lingering presence. A brow raises, lids narrowing a fraction before the comforting darkness of Azriel’s shadows began to weave its web, calling you back home where you belonged. “I’ll find you,” A voice croons so whisper soft that you struggle to decipher if it was real or just a figment of your imagination. “You have my word.”

Protective instincts force you to answer the voice, nerves still raw from earlier and the rage refused to fully subside. “I’ll kill you. You have my word.”

—

The sterile stench of disinfectant burns. The walls are too white and everyone in it is entirely too quiet as they watch Madja work on you.

Sure hands run over the length of you, her powers searching for something wrong and yet after a thorough assessment—all she can offer the High Lord is, “Physically, she’s perfectly healthy.”

“You’re sure? Beron said that she—“ Rhys pauses briefly, painfully aware of Azriel’s eyes digging craters into the side of his face and he becomes more careful when he speaks. “You’re sure?”

“There’s not a scratch on her.” Madja shifts about the room, putting away equipment and removing sanitary gloves into the waste bin when she continues speaking. “I will say, her body is in a state of fight or flight. It appears as though her gifts are taking on new and unexpected manifestations—it’s morphed into some sort of defense mechanism that surpasses anything I’ve ever seen before. I couldn’t even get a needle to break through to draw her blood.”

You let out a humorless laugh, slouching further into the examination chair. “Seems a little late for that.”

Madja turns to face you, the picture of professionalism when she says your name gently. “How do you feel?”

“I feel…” Like you were still underwater. Like your body was still not your own, tainted by malice and such uncontainable anger. Shaky fingers curl into the fabric of Azriel’s cloak draped over your shoulders—the only anchor that seemed to keep the sensitive magic at bay. “Charged.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing. You’ve been through a lot and that could just be a side affect of the adrenaline wearing off.” Madja shifts in place, intentionally ignoring the surveilling eye of your mate tracking her every move—monitoring her every word like his life depended on it. “Can you tell me about what happened? Do you remember anything?”

Azriel bristles when your spine goes ramrod straight, subconsciously tucking the cloak closer to your body. “Nothing’s wrong with my head if that’s what you’re getting at. My memories are intact.”

“That’s good to hear,” Madja nods placatingly, fingers interlocking before her to seem less threatening and more comforting. “I was worried about possible brain damage which is consistent with drowning,” Your jaw clenches, a thick swallow rolling down your throat. “Lung damage as well but your breathing sounded clear and equal and there’s no obvious signs of residual deficits. I’d like to run just a few more tests, if that’s okay?”

A sharp nod of your head is the only answer you provide but when the door opens and one of Madja’s assistants is beckoned to come inside, the entirety of your body language changes.

Azriel feels his own hackles raise as you surveil the newcomer with a hunters eye. “This is August,” Madja introduces swiftly, moving the lean male to the left and its second nature the way he flits about her; retrieving paperwork to neatly arrange back in its folder. “He’s here because I’d like to see if your magic is just blocking me out—or everyone.”

Rhysand shifts in place as he watches you and the way you refuse to answer, utterly fixated on August and the nervous tremble of his fingers when he stands a bit too close. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“It’ll be fine,” Madja assures, standing right before you with her hands hovering at both sides of your head. “I have theory, I just need to try something first.” Everything seems to be going just as planned, the familiar push of healing magic creating a gentle pressure at the edges of your consciousness as it seeks out an injury to fix.

It’s almost soothing, enough to have your eyes fluttering shut and the rigid line of your spine starts to relax when a foreign touch is detected.

The reaction is immediate and completely involuntary. Madja is shoved out of your way as a gust of power projects from your form like a wave; providing the room necessary to pounce on August like a leapord who’d been stalking their prey and finally found the right moment. It’s borderline feral the way you snap at him, pinning his arms under your knees to ensure he couldn’t touch.

“Just as I suspected,” Madja doesn’t appear the slightest bit phased, quietly thanking Rhysand for breaking her fall.

Azriel’s reaction is less tame, his features clouded in shadows when he retrieves you, all the fight dissipating the second a fair distance is established. “Are you out of your mind? She could’ve killed him.”

“But, she didn’t,” Madja murmurs, scribbling words on a page while August dusts himself off. There’s no real damage to either of them but the intensity of your retaliation is enough to have Cassian and Rhysand creeping closer cautiously. “I suspect that her magic has gone on the defensive, almost as if it’s its own sentient being protecting its host. She sustained a trauma which pushed it to the forefront of her mind—taking the reins in a sense.” Madja looks up from her notes, curiosity shining in her eye when she examines you from afar. “It’s protecting her from anything it doesn’t deem safe.”

“Anything it doesn’t deem safe?” Cassian repeats, the hairs from his bun falling free and teasing at the stubble of his jaw. “That’s vague.”

“That’s besides the point,” Rhysand quickly averts, only stepping as close to you as Azriel will allow. There’s a softness to his expression, one that appears almost shy when directed your way. “This doesn’t sound anything like the power you’ve showed before. So, I have to ask if something else happened there—in Autumn?”

The examination room reeks of antiseptic but the low hues of the faintly glowing faelight is comforting enough. Either way, you can’t help the way your eyes flick to Madja and August but they too are soon ushered away the moment Azriel notices.

You gulp audibly, fingers fiddling in your lap as the tense posture you previously wore fades altogether. “I wasn’t lying when I said my memory is intact. Completely intact.” A shaky breath is inhaled, toes wiggling in the compression socks Madja had all but forced Azriel to shove on your feet the moment you’d stepped an inch within the doors. “I remember dying. But, I also remember someone else being there, a female who felt me and brought me back.”

“Brought you back how?”

Your eyes lock on your mate; the physical embodiment of strength and that alone encourages you to scrounge up the courage to continue. “She heard me somehow—I was screaming for help and she heard me and right when I thought it was too late, I felt this…surge.”

Rhys’ lids lower into a squint. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, it was just a feeling.” It’s difficult describing the exact sensation that had flowed through you, coating every limb in a caress that wasn’t quite caring. It edged the border of possessive when sealing up your broken pieces. “As if I’d been given more.”

Cassian’s head tilts to the side, arms crossed over his chest while he takes it upon himself to guard the door. “More power?” His brows scrunch in thought. “I guess that could explain what happened once we found you.”

“She did something to me out there,” You confess, staring at your hands as if the answers would somehow be deciphered within the lines of your palms. “My magic feels different inside me—like it’s changed.”

“Show me.” Rhysand demands without question, ignoring the low growl his brother releases, displeasure clear at the tone of his voice.

There’s a pause, slowly bringing your eyes to your High Lord. A shaky breath is released, hands wringing out stress as you lean into the warmth of Azriel behind you. “Respectfully, no.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’d never disobey a direct order so please don’t make me.” The struggle in your words is evident, limbs trembling as you strain to grab ahold of the leash within you. To wrap it around your fist and command the reigns but the leather fits differently than it did before, the aches and pains from such a growth spurt is thoroughly uncomfortable. “The answer is no. I’m not in control.”

Azriel’s gaze snaps down to you with an intensity you’re eager to avoid. “You’re sure?”

You shuffle under all the attention, desperate for a bath and a glass—no, pitcher of wine to drown out the buzzing beneath your skin. It felt too tight over your flesh; stretched thin and rubbed raw as the entity beneath acclimates to its new enclosure.

It makes it hard to breathe properly, each exhale just as sharp as your inhale. “Positive.”

—

The most fascinating thing about trauma, is the way it disperses throughout the body; it lingers in your tissues—saturates your bloodstream until your entire chemical makeup shifts.

It leaves a brand.

One that has your spine stiff with tension at something as normal as Cassian and Rhysand walking behind you. Before, it’d be comforting—their presence straying a few steps behind. But your ears keep fixating on the sound of Cassian’s sword shifting against its leather holster. Heavy boots crushing fallen branches and crispy leaves. Normal, mundane things that now have your heart smacking against your ribcage, palms sweating and instincts on overdrive with nowhere to release the accumulated adrenaline.

Suddenly, you’re grateful that there’s no way to directly winnow back home, greedily sucking up as much fresh air as possible in attempts to soothe the way your belly churns. The anxiety refuses to subside no matter how many calming breaths you take. Your chest begins to heave, the wind whistling white noise against sensitive eardrums and regardless of the steps you count, you remain uncomfortably aware of your stress.

“You okay?” Az prods, voice nothing more than a whisper.

Your grip on his bicep tightens, dread building in your gut with each passing moment until you’re physically unable to move another inch closer to the townhouse. “I can’t go home.” It’s said as more of a confession than anything else, drawing the attention of the two guarding your flank. “It’s not safe.”

Guilt riddles his features for a split second before it’s shadowed by something akin to determination. “I will never let anything happen to you ever again.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” You swallow thickly, sweat beading at your hairline with the effort it takes to shove that overwhelming power down into its box. Even then the lid refuses to close, the entity within banging against the walls and thrashing its fists for release. “I’m saying, you won’t be safe there with me.”

[sweetieviktor]

"take me back to the night we met", feat. viktor.

summary: you knew he was dieing, but seeing him using shimmer was too much to bare . based on the song "the night we met", by lord huron.

word count: 720.

content warning: season 1, act 3 spoilers! idk if shimmer use count as a cw, but anyways this is angst and it doesn't have a happy ending!

author notes: there's so much time since i've written fanfiction!! but i loved doind this one and i swear that i cried while writing this. and this may be very ooc and doesn't match the scenes in season 1, act 3, but i dont have time to watch it again now and i was so hyped up bcs of season 2 that i just had to write something, yk? also, there may be some typos or grammar errors even though i re-read this like 3 times i think lol. but yeah, here it is!

you came back to his lab expecting to see him doing good, maybe working on his research, too focused on any stuff he was doing at the moment and not noticing you by the door, but he wasn't in there, or so it looked like.

he was hunched over his desk, in his hands was a glass tube, the remaining of the purple liquid shimmering in the dark room, illuminating just enough to draw his weak silhouette amongst the shadows.

“viktor…?” was everything you said while getting closer to him, walking with slow steps, trying to make no sounds to alarm him.

“stop.” raising a hand, that was all he said.

just as you were told, you stopped on your tracks, observing that, his once perfect hand, was now painted in a shade of purple, the same that was inside the glass recipient.

it can't be. right?

“what you did to yourself?”

“i did what needed to be done.” he was so baretoned, you didn't understand why he seemed so rude, so crude, so… unlike him.

when his words settled in, it felt like your stomach was turning, wrapping itself around your guts, making you sick. you felt sick, for him.

“please, please, viktor, don't tell me that you're using sh-” “yes.”

of course you knew about his condition, of course you knew he wasn't doing good at all, and mostly, you knew that things were meant to end, one way or another. but you didn't think he would kill himself like this.

and this was all you needed to break.

“why you didn't told me? i could have helped you, we could find a way to work through it,” the tears started to prick on your eyes, your voice breaking, the anger at yourself pooling into your core. “you wouldn't need to use shimmer, vik...”

the feeling that the universe stole and took all that once mattered to you was what drove you insane. the feeling that you could make things different, make things better, the oh so simple solution that you could find, if only he had told you.

“it’s not that easy! you wouldn't understand if i told you sooner. no one would understand it, even if they tried really hard to.” he turned his head towards your direction, looking at your face for a brief second, before turning his gaze back to the ground, his purple irises trying to focus on something that wasn't your saddened face, now, feeling his own eyes burning, burning even more than the blood running in his veins. “we are in piltover, the city of progress, and yet, i am stuck behind, and i'm dieing. so, i needed to do something, and i did.”

“what you don’t understand is that you're destroying yourself, viktor. destroying yourself so slowly that it almost feels like torture. i fear that i wouldn't be able to see you for another day.” you sobbed, the tears rolling down and he didn't dare to look at your eyes again, he knew that you were crying. he knew it and he couldn't bear the thought that he was the one that made you cry. “if there is a god somewhere, i wish they could turn back time and take me back to the night we met. maybe things could be different, right?”

looking at him, a weak, nervous smile was all you could get out while crying, thinking to yourself when things started to get this wrong and how you let it happen, without even realizing what was wrong. how could you let him do this to himself?

your body was shaking, it felt like the whole world was trembling. the nonstoping thoughts hammering your head, your heart a mile per minute, the air in your lungs wasn't enough. everything, everything seemed like it was crushing down on you, right in this moment.

“i'm sorry. i'm so sorry... i need to go. now.”

you needed to get out of here, you needed to breathe.

you headed back to the door, wishing that some cold breeze would cool you down, would just stop your mind and racing heart. wishing for him to be fine again. praying for any and all gods that lived in the skies and beyond, praying for him to be alive. just for a bit more.

[themissinghand]

hallo!! hope you're having a wonderful day and your works are just so good!!!

can i request for jinwoo with a photographer male reader that like works for events and stuff. plus, he always gets complimented by people, and even jinwoo, by how pretty he looks and asking if he ever gets photographed to which reader denied because he's actually camera shy

now, he's in an event at a park and jinwoo is there and sees reader taking photographs and jinwoo decides to be sneaky and tries to get a photo of reader but reader caughts him and just smiled at the camera before telling jinwoo to delete it.

jinwoo, in fact, did not.

im so sorry if this is too much or long JASJS

Solo Leveling: A Snapshot in Time

Summary: In which a picture is a thousand words, and Jinwoo wants to capture every moment with you.  

Or, just domestic fluff between two loving husbands, from the beginning to the end. 

Pairing: Husband! Sung Jinwoo x M! Photographer! Reader

Note: Thanks for your support! I’m glad that my stories are making you happy as I am writing them. One of my ways to de-stress honestly. Hope everyone is having a good day! 

Warnings: A bit of angst, because time waits for no one. 

★・・・・・・★

“Smile!” 

Click! 

“That’s it for today. Great work everyone.” 

Jinwoo watched his husband scramble everywhere with your team to take wedding photos with a big smile on his lips. 

No, Jinwoo is not jealous, after all, he has wedding photos of both of you. 

Instead, he was simply awe-struck by how pretty his husband looks, especially when he’s passionate about his job. 

“See you tomorrow at the office everyone!” You waved off your children (employees) and jogged towards Jinwoo who popped out from one of the shadows.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you would come so early to pick me up.” Jinwoo pulls you close and kisses your forehead, and you tippy-toe to return a kiss to his cheek.

“It’s okay, I got off work early. I love watching you work anyway.” 

The two of you caught up with each other about your days, and you especially liked to hear about Jinwoo’s work considering he was a detective. Jinwoo however, does his best to avoid all the…graphic details of his work. 

Even though Jinwoo knew you wouldn’t mind (you never did), he wanted only good things to happen to you. 

(Because you were always there for him - until he couldn’t protect you) 

“Jinwoo?” 

“Can we take a selfie?” Jinwoo pulls out his phone to change the topic, but his husband quickly turns the other way and covers his face. 

“Jinwoo! I don’t look good right now!” You shyly exclaim, but you couldn’t escape since Jinwoo held onto your shirt. 

“Don’t worry, you’re beautiful.” 

“Maybe next time Jinwoo.” Seeing your flustered expression, Jinwoo decided not to push further, instead he raised a pinky.

“Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

“Jinwoo…I love you.” 

The Monarchs had targeted you, leaving you in such a bloodied state. 

“No. No!” Hearing your faint heartbeat, Jinwoo quickly pulled out his Holy Water of Life.

But it was too late. 

“Why, why isn’t it working?!” But Jinwoo knew why - the Holy Water could not cure the dead.

“My Liege, His Highness has passed away.”

“Why…what happened.” Jinwoo crushed the empty bottle of Holy Water with his bare hands as he held you. 

“It was an ambush. Multiple Monarchs have targeted His Highness in an instant, and we could not protect His Highness.” 

All of his soldiers knelt down in shame.

“Please punish us My Liege. We fail you.”

Jinwoo held your body close as he shed tears, before his tear turn into fuel for his rage.

“Your punishment will be due later, we will hunt down the Monarchs.”

“Yes My Liege!” Jinwoo saw your peaceful expression, as if nothing had gone wrong. 

“If…we meet in our next life, I swear I will protect you.” 

Carrying your body into his shadow realm and resting you in a casket, all of his shadows knelt in respect. 

“Wait for me, (Y/N).” 

“Honey? Another nightmare?” Jinwoo felt a finger gently pressing on his forehead, and drawing on his arm. 

He slowly opens his eyes, his breathing shaking as he pulls you close. 

“Oh dear. Was it bad?” 

He nods, and hugs you tighter. You pat him on the back and whisper sweet words to him.

“I love you.” 

“Whatever you do, I’ll support you.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t leave you.” 

Do you know? Of course not. 

All of it was in the past, and Jinwoo hopes it stays that way. 

Even if the world is peaceful, he knows how cruel people can be, that’s why, he’s learned his lesson and stationed many of his shadows around you. 

Never again. 

Click! 

“Okay, a few more before our break!” It was a fashion shoot, and you even dressed up a bit more to match the elegant theme. 

Dressed in a fancy blue suit, Jinwoo believed you too could stand on stage. Even the director of the shoot itself invited you, but you didn’t dare considering you were camera shy. 

But Jinwoo knew it would be such a shame if no one captured this moment. 

“(Y/N).” Jinwoo called out, quickly whipping out his phone. 

“What-” You were surprised, and before you shield yourself from the camera, Jinwoo winked. 

“Promise.” 

He could see you muttering “fine”, before a gentle smile graced your lips. 

Click!

“You have to delete it okay?” You whispered, and Jinwoo nodded.

But if fact, he did not. 

After all, he knew it wasn’t just him who took photos of you, so of course that wouldn’t do. He immediately had shadows mess with those photographers and steal some of the good ones for himself. 

The photo became his phone screen. 

And Jinwoo makes sure that he captures every moment, because unlike him, you were not immune to time.

“Jinwoo…thank you for loving me. I don’t know why, but from the moment I met you to now, I always feel like I’ve known you for a long long time.” 

Jinwoo sits by your hospital bed, holding your wrinkled hand. 

“Maybe because we met in our last life.” You chuckle, before coughing. 

“Even when we’re old now, you still look so handsome.” Jinwoo chuckle lightly before pressing a kiss to your hand. 

We promised we'll be together forever.

“No, you’re more beautiful.” A bright, youthful smile rose to your lips, making Jinwoo reminisce to the past as young adults. 

But alas, time is so cruel.

“Jinwoo, I pray that we meet in our next life.” 

Jinwoo decided to respect you and let you go. 

“I love you.” With a final breath, your hand remains limp in his, and tears rolled down his cheeks. 

“I love you too.” 

Jinwoo’s phone lights up with dozens of missed calls and messages, but he doesn’t mind, instead, he removes them all to reveal a timeless treasure, a photo of you smiling at the camera.

“Wait for me, (Y/N).”

[obriengf]

Empatheia ✽ Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Summary: The trio investigate the meaning behind Scott’s dream, while Y/N searches for her own answers from Derek Hale.  Words: 9.8k Warnings: swearing, awkwardness, not proof read ✽  Series masterlist  ✽  

Chapter Three: 𝐏𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 /Part 1

Exhausted was beyond an understatement when it came to the way you were curled up against the pillows of your bed; textbooks were found discarded by your feet and the soft glow of your bedside lamp created a gentle yellow haze over your face. You were lacking peacefulness in your slumber, as seen in the way your heavy eyes clung with scrunched edges and your pursed lips that quivered every so often in time with a disrupting element of your dream. Your new life didn’t account for worriless sleep and easy days, neither did it give room for you to take a deep breath and embrace somewhat of an eventless few hours. No, your life was now branded by a thick fog and clouded by shadows, everything of which you knew was now questionable, and the people that you once assumed had since been altered by new elements and revelations. This life was difficult and sceptical, and maybe that’s why you just simply couldn’t get enough. Valerie was more observant that you were giving her credit for - always watching, always paying attention to how you’ve changed so dramatically over the past couple of weeks. She took notice in your new company and how conversations were now hushed when she was near, even how you took more frequent journeys in the neighbour’s old blue Jeep rather than her car when it was offered to you instead. She saw the more prevalent darkened circles that tore down your eyes more and more each day, and how your face refused to settle when you managed to sleep. But what she especially discerned the most, was the way you flinched at any present emotion that was, at first, not of your own. She couldn’t quite tear her gaze away as it settled with discomfort over your sleeping stature – reminded of the nightmares that would plague your dreams and how they twisted their way into a scar that she hoped you would never have to bear. History repeating itself, she thought.

The only sound that could be heard between the walls of your house was the gentle creak of a door closing behind an anxious Aunt. She wandered with soft steps downstairs, hiding herself in the furthest corner of the kitchen. You were out like a light, but she couldn’t risk being overheard as she flicked through her phone, selecting a contact that she hoped she wouldn’t need to call upon. Valerie took a deep breath as it rang through, repeated tones sounding against her ear that built uneasiness with every loop.

“Hello?”  The voice was rough, raspy as if interrupted from a sleep stage. Valerie nearly felt bad for calling at such an hour, until she remembered the reason.

She drew a deep breath, eyes closing momentarily as her head lent back against the fridge door, “You told me to call you when it was happening again.”

“Who-? Valerie?” A sigh was released in reply, shuffling through the receiver following next. The voice stilled for a second or two before it returned, “I’m guessing you’ve noticed it too.”

“Noticed it? It’s hard not to notice! It’s starting to control her life!” Worry got the better of her as your Aunt snapped, mentally cursing at herself at the volume she didn’t intended on amplifying.

“- Val, calm down.” She didn’t how the other voice remained so steady, but it prompted her to draw a deep breath and lull her head back once more. The voice was losing its roughness; becoming more alert, more awake, “We’ll figure it out, we’ll help her… she won’t reach the same fate, I promise.”

“Is that a promise you really can keep, Derek? From what I know, she’s just like her mother, and you know damn well more than anyone else how that played out…”  Valerie was growing protective – more so than usual. It didn’t help in the slightest that you are the spitting image of your mother, and every time your Aunt closed her eyes, all that she can picture is you in that hospital stretcher instead, covered in blood and grasping at the thin thread of life that happened to slip through your mother’s fingers. Destiny had a funny way of making things happen, but she would sell her soul if it meant that you didn’t have to end on that same fate.

Derek sighed once more, agitated at his inability to guarantee safety and happiness. That’s all he wanted for you, but the chance was growing slimmer by the second. “I’ll look again, alright? My mom’s journal has to be here somewhere.” The man glanced around the charred remains of his family home, flickers of candlelight creating shadows among the dilapidated structure, “She would’ve hidden it, the fire… it would have been safe from the flames. That’s something I can promise.”

“Just look out for her, please, Derek.”

He wouldn’t find that difficult – you were nearly glued to Scott McCall’s hip now and that young wolf was tying with you for first place on his list of things to stress about most. Kill two birds with one stone. Derek chuckled lightly, “Won’t be an issue.”

You would hardly deem yourself as ready when you heard three loud rasps of knuckles against the wood of your front door. Slightly charred toast half hung from your filled mouth, hands busily working to tie the laces of your sneakers, and you were glad that you weren’t hardly uncoordinated enough that you couldn’t multitask. Valerie snorted in amusement as she watched you; the same expression she wore when you were bumbling down the stairs not even twenty minutes ago, cursing about how you nearly missed your alarm. Not that she could blame you, really – your Aunt heard the softened whines from the nightmare you were having last night, but knew better than to wake you. Some things just need to be sought through instead of interrupted.

The knocks were heard again, and it made you groan, peering to your Aunt as she coddled the coffee mug against her smiling lips. Your eyebrows rose, voice muffled, “Drrr.”

“What was that?” She questioned, fake obliviousness in her tone.

“Drrr. Kh new get uh drrr?”

She nodded as she snickered at your reply, “Ah, would you like me to get the door?” And your eyeroll was enough of a confirmation before she sauntered to the front of the house, smiling as she shortly became face to face with the neighbour’s kid.

“Mornin’ Valerie.” Stiles chirped, hand straight as it pulled away from his forehead in a welcoming salute.

Your Aunt simply copied his gesture before moving to the side, allowing a space just large enough for Stiles’ frame to fit through. “Hello, Stiles. C’mon in”. The dainty steam from her mug continued to dance over her face, prompting her to blow gently for it to waft into the hallway. She peered over her shoulder at the boy, lips curling at the corners, “You might as well just have your own key at this rate, seeming you’re here every day.”

“Oh, I already have one.” The boy let slip, his tone quiet as it absentmindedly fell in a mumble. It was loud enough, however, for Valerie to stop and twist her torso just enough to nearly face him. Her eyebrow rose in question and Stiles couldn’t hold back the awkward chuckle that he released, “Ya know, for emergencies!”

Valerie hummed, seemingly not convinced, but found the subject better to leave as it was. She always knew that Stiles Stilinski was an odd kid – he was too smart for his own good, but he exercised it in ways that made her wonder how Noah was still clinging to threads of sanity. His attention deficit disorder made him very vigorous, and she was used to seeing him as a young boy ride his bicycle up and down the street for hours, just to release said energy. He was constantly on the move and never seemed to slow down, using his intelligence to cause harmless mischief and drive his parents completely crazy. Valerie had also always known that Stiles Stilinski was a good kid. He was thankful for his parents, polite when his mother used to strike up conversations with Valerie in the driveway, helpful when asked for assistance, and overall kind-hearted. Your Aunt saw this more after your mother died – when you moved into the bedroom across the fence from Stiles’, he became an instant friend. She saw him care for you and pick up pieces that continuously shattered. He was your rock, your comfort, and he eventually became your light.

So, in truth, Valerie would always view Stiles as that weird kid next door, but she also held him highly for the large heart he carried so well.

 “I’m ready, let’s go.” Your voice interjected from the living room, bag slung over your shoulder and just enough concealer to cover the purple rings that pulled down from your eyes. The attempt to cover your exhaustion and lack of peaceful sleep was good enough to the unknowing – but Valerie and Stiles’ smiles fell just slightly, the truth clear as a sunny day, as they briefly scanned over your face.

It was your cue to shift your gaze to your scuffed sneakers before a cough cleared your throat and you pushed between them both. You knew that they provided you with looks of concern, and somewhat even surprise, but the last thing you wanted was the be the centre of some very unwanted attention. It was best to escape the awkwardness before it settled. With an arm effortlessly linking with your neighbour’s, you pulled him toward the front door with a goodbye call over your shoulder to your amused Aunt.

Slight anxiousness bubbled in Valerie’s chest, and you could’ve sworn you tasted it briefly on your tongue. She called after you, “Have a good day, and be safe!”

It wasn’t too long until you had crawled into the backseat of the Jeep, Scott slipping haphazardly into the passenger side you nursed for a mere ten minutes beforehand. He immediately dropped his head to the window, a guttural groan easily filling the space around you all and creating weak condensation against the glass. Stiles’ thick brows rose to his hairline in question as his eyes caught yours through the rear-view mirror – all you could do was shrug in response.

“You, ah…” Stiles started, reversing out of the McCall driveway, “You all good there, Scotty boy?” He was met with muffled speech, the glass once again fogging due to the inaudible response. Stiles pursed his lips, “Can you repeat that? Away from the window?”

Another groan was exhaled, “Couldn’t sleep last night.”

Stiles hummed, his head dropping into a nod of acknowledgement, voice quieting as he flicked on the indicator and peered down the street for morning traffic, “Seems to be a common thing around here.”

It was difficult to not conjure a bit of remorse for your werewolf friend. Sleeping wasn’t something that you could call a prize possession during these times; your eyes, even now, still fluttering from lack of slumber as you tried to hold back a yawn. You sighed, leaning in between the two front seats, “What happened Scott? Did’ya have a bad dream?”

His head lulled to the side, rolling over the headrest so lazily until his gentle gaze peered into yours, “I-I don’t know… it felt so real, whatever it was…”

Silence enveloped the Jeep for a brief moment; aside from the clutch grating whenever Stiles changed gears, and the morning tunes of the radio murmuring weakly. You could see the stress stem so easily from Scott’s eyes and it made you worry, trauma peeking through due to whatever horrors he saw.

Your lips curled in as your face softened, an attempt at holding back your sympathy was made so that it wasn’t mistaken for pity, “Well, how about you start with what your dream was about?”

“I was with Allison, we were… looking for somewhere private –“The boy started, his view tipping to look out the windshield as the Jeep navigated Beacon Hills’ suburbia.

He was interrupted, however, as you held up your hand and scoffed “I swear, Scott, if this is some kind of wet dream, I will hit you - “

Scott jumped, the accusation prompting his body to jolt awake before his jaw was dropping and his tone spiked highly, “-NO! No, let me finish” The young wolf’s head shook with incredulity, ignoring Stiles as he chuckled beside him. Scott’s breath drew deep, “We were at the school, just hanging out… and maybe making out, b-but that’s not the point!”

Stiles’ sounds of amusement died quickly, his eyes rolling, silently mocking his friend until he caught Scott’s judgemental glare beside him, “What? I didn’t say anything!” He muttered as the Jeep edged closer to Beacon Hills High. The sunlight was sharp; beams of gold flickering through the windows, filling the cabin of the Jeep with the Californian warmth, whilst also creating sparkles of mischief within Stiles’ delinquent wink into the rear-view mirror. You always wondered why his middle name wasn’t troublesome.

“Anyway…” Scott dragged, “We were both on the bus, and everything was great… so great, but then I just – “ His lips pursed as discomfort clouded his gaze, “I started to turn. I tried to control it but I couldn’t. I yelled at her to get away, but it wouldn’t stop!”

You could sense the anxiety. It was a common occurrence with Scott now – the uncertainty, the worry, the panic. He was bathed in it, and that’s how you knew that whatever went on within those night terrors of his must’ve been the worst case of bad. You looked up in time to see Scott’s head in his hands as was slipping lethargically from the Jeep, surrounded by fellow students as they made their way across the carpark. Stiles was next before he flung his seat forward for you to vacate.

As you swung your bag over your shoulder, Stiles turned to the side as feet directed him to the School’s entrance, his hands warming in his jacket’s pockets with a once furrowed brow now rising in question, “So, what? You bite her, or something?” He was wearing obliviousness like a new trend, completely unheeding to the trauma clawing into Scott’s mind until he saw the despair dragging down his friend’s usual lopsided grin, “Or… hang on, did you kill her?”

The two boys pushed open the large doors; your now intrigued senses heightening as Scott exasperatedly shrugged his shoulders alongside rounded worried eyes, “I don't know! I just woke up… and I was sweating like crazy, and-and I couldn't breathe!” He visibly shuddered and it provoked a chill to run down your spine at the small crack within the boy’s voice, “I've never had a dream where I woke up like that before.”

You wanted to reassure him – you’ve woken up like that, plenty of times. It started when your mother died and had reoccurred recently much to your dismay. It sucked, and it physically hurt, and it got to the point where you couldn’t recall what was real or fake anymore. Dreams were bleeding into nightmares, and they were determined to make themselves known whilst you were awake. You desired to reach out to Scott and tell him that he’s not alone, but any seriousness was so easily removed from the situation as Stiles stopped in front of you both, back to the remainder of the corridor.

“Really? I have.” Stiles replied for you, and for a miniscule moment you considered that he would be earnest and thoughtful toward Scott. But instead, his hands fumbled into strange gestures until he was making his point very cringe, and very clear, “Except it usually ends, uh… a little differently.”

“Oh my god.” Your eyes rolled quite distinctly as you pushed past Stiles, words muttered with incredulousness. The boy snorted, rascality etching deeply across his features as he watched you venture forward with Scott hot on your heels.

Scott groaned, new images flashing through his mind, and they were beyond not wanted, “A… I meant, I’ve never had a dream that felt that real…” He began, turning to look at Stiles with utter disgust contorting his expression, “And B… never give me that much detail about you in bed again!”

With a nod of his head and whispered affirmation on the edge of his breath, Stiles managed to take a deep breath, the corners of his mouth dropping as he worried about how Scott will react next, “Let me take a guess here – “

“No, I know. You think it has something to do with me going out with Allison tomorrow… like I’m gonna lose control and rip her throat out.” An accusatory finger was directed in Stiles’ direction, Scott sneering at the offence his friend was wearing too well.

Stiles’ mouth gaped, lashes fluttering uncontrollably against the sharpness of his cheekbone. The boy stuttered, “N-no, of course not!” He exclaimed, hands held in front of him. Your lips curled slightly at the twitch of his eyes as Scott stared intensely at him, scepticism also driving the jump of the young wolf’s brow. Stiles conceded, too easily, “Okay, yeah. That’s totally it.”

Stiles peered to the other side of Scott as the wolf sunk his head in glumness, managing to catch your sympathetic eyes. You weren’t sure how to help besides providing a few words laced with wannabe optimism, simply hoping that Scott can’t see past how hard you were trying to appease him, “Hey, come on, Scott. It’s gonna be fine, alright?” You smiled as you lent in closer to him, softly nudging his side with your elbow before ducking to catch his view. Your voice quietened into a whisper, “And personally, I think you’re handling this pretty freakin’ amazingly.”

“You know she’s right, Scotty.” Stiles chimed in, his arm leaning on Scott’s shoulder, “And it's not like there's a Lycanthropy for Beginners class you can take.”

The atypical sarcasm prompted Scott to raise his hands, the dark brown of his irises squinting, showing a forlorn expression in his frown. He appeared pitiful before a sudden change made his head raise, his eyes widening as if a metaphorical lightbulb lit up behind them, “Yeah, not a class… but maybe a teacher…”

Stiles scoffs almost immediately, “Who, Derek?” His words didn’t hold much meaning until he properly looked at Scott, all seriousness remaining in the young wolf’s face. Stiles spluttered nonsense, baffled by what he had heard before his hand whacked the side of Scott’s head. You cringed, trying to ignore the strange looks from your classmates before you heard Stiles’ voice pipe up again in exasperation, “You’re forgetting the part where he got him tossed in jail.”

Scott’s tone matched Stiles, of not with more urgency, as small cracks settled in the base of his words, “Yeah, dude, I know. But chasing her… dragging her to the back of the bus…” He sighed, a hand rubbing tiredly at his face, “It felt so real.”

You pursed your lips as the three of you continued walking the halls of Beacon Hills High, a heavy heart weighing down your chest as sympathy began to flood your system – an emotion, that for once, was purely from your own conviction. You looked to Scott, “How real?”

He drew a deep breath and shrugged, “Like it actually happened.”

Stiles reached out in time with you as you both pushed open the large doors at the end of the hallway, exposing the rear of the school, and greeted unexpectedly with crime scene tape and sirens. The three of you froze in time with the students pushing out from behind you, shocked and slack jawed as you looked at the horror scene that plagued the bus bay. One of the yellow school buses was tainted with a thick red spray and the back door just barely hanging from its hinge after being torn off. There were deputies ushing away growing crowds, and a well-dressed member from the Sherriff’s station taking crime scene photos of a torn back seat, with white cushioned stuffing spilling to the floor.

It was straight off the set of a Hitchcock film, and much to your despair, a perfect description of the nightmares that plagued Scott only a few hours ago.

Stiles gulped, “… I think it might have.”

You almost didn’t feel Scott’s hand as it secured around your bicep until the nausea began to light in your gut, the bubbling of acid and fear rising to your throat. Slowly, you peered to the side, and although your friend wasn’t looking back, you knew that this was Scott needing you to feel how he felt.

“She’s probably fine…” None of you truly knew at this point – initially unsure after Scott expressed his nightmare, and even more after the scene you’d just witnessed outside. Stiles’ words rang clear enough to hear, but Scott was far from listening as he pushed anxiously through the crowded halls, his thumbs racing as he sent multiple messages to Allison.

His teeth were clenched and knuckles white from the grip he had on the small device, “She’s not answering my texts, Stiles.” Scott stood as high as he could, attempting to look over the other students in case he spotted Allison. His features contorted frantically, heart hammering in panic, frustrations expressed through small grunts.

Stiles sighed as he tried to reassure his friend, “Look, it could just be a coincidence, alright?”

“A seriously amazing coincidence.” You muttered, not realising that you voiced your thoughts, and the defeated sarcastic tone that came out with them. You stopped, guilty as you passed over Scott and focused on Stiles and his lack of amusement. His bow raised, and you shrugged, “What? I’m just saying.”

“Guys! Just help me find her, okay?” Scott intercepted, evidently exasperated to the point where you swear he nearly reached for the pocket that once housed his asthma puffer. You all turned and scanned the hallway, beginning to make your way past students as you tried not to veer too far from one another. Class hadn’t started yet, and you were only feet away from her locker, but the girl was nowhere to be found. You pulled out your own phone and sent off a brief text, one to say good morning and ask if she wanted to meet for lunch – surely, much more toned down than what you imagined Scott’s anxious messages to read.

“Do you see her?” He eventually asked after the crowd was recycled, bringing in a new lot of students as they gathered their books and moved toward their first period.

You sighed in time with the slumping of Stiles’ shoulders, your voices in unison as they relayed the bad news, “No”.

Fingers dragged through shaggy brunette locks with jittery movements, and soon, Scott’s feet were moving just as fast. He was on autopilot and the spontaneous need to bolt made it hard for you and Stiles to follow him. He ducked and weaved, using his enhanced speed to escape the ruckus of the situation. It had only been mere seconds before he had disappeared from your sight.

You could feel Stiles grasp onto your shoulder, digits digging into the soft material of your jacket, their strength tense as his own state of worry started to increase. He didn’t ease the further you two moved but it was too late to catch a glimpse of Scott – the halls were too congested. He groaned as he pressed his chest to the back of your shoulder, “Where is he?”

“He might just need time to chill, Stiles.” You replied, trying to lead the boy to a space that was much more capacious.

He grumbled against your ear, “Chill? Do you remember the last time he freaked out like this? He nearly ripped our faces off with his little wolfy teeth.” Which was much more real than you’d like to admit, but instead you just huffed, a deep exhale, remembering the events clearly as they happened in the room just down the hall. It was absentminded as you reached to your shoulder to take hold of Stiles’ hand, squeezing tightly as you pulled him through the doors of the girl’s locker room. The boy made a small sound of awe, “How is this nicer than the boy’s one? Mm it smells nice.”

Nearing first period usually meant that nobody would be in here for hours – a space baron, vacant, and especially private. Thoughts ran wild in your mind on whether what you had planned would work, you could feel from near, but could you do it from afar? It made your chest fill with your own anxiety now, a thickness that was heavy in your throat and a throbbing in your head. Turning slowly, you glanced up at Stiles, who had finished examining the foreign room and whose large brown eyes had already settled on you with much curiosity.

Your lips pursed hesitantly, “I’m going to try something, okay? But I need you to just… trust the process.”

Stiles’ thick brow rose, perplexed by the process you were referring to. He didn’t get the chance to ask as you dragged him to a bench that sat between two rows of lockers, sitting in time with you as he watched a deep shaky breath being drawn. He could see the way your eyes creased with a lack of assurance and how your hands were rung the same way his did when he fidgeted out of uneasiness. He smiled softly, sympathetically, before he took your hands in his and held them gently in your lap.

This pulled you further to him as the apprehensive flutter in your chest began to die down. You drew another deep breath, this time, much steadier as you began to calm from Stiles’ hold. You sighed, “Scott can hear things, right? Far away. He can do this thing where he cuts through everything else and just zones in on a particular voice or sound. Like on the lacrosse field last week.” Stiles nodded, understanding what you were saying but not where it was leading. It prompted his head to tilt slightly to the left after he twisted his frame, now directly facing you front on with his legs either side of the bench. Your tongue darted out quickly to lap at your lips, “Well, what If I can do that too… but with emotions. What if I can feel Scott?”

“You’ve never done something like that before, how do you know if it’ll work?”  The boy questioned, eyes never leaving yours as he observed the desperation to try. His shoulders slumped, thumbs absentmindedly rubbing against your hands as they remained within his grasp. He could see your concern, as bright as day.

“You said it yourself, Stiles. Last time he was this worked up, he wolfed out on us. We don’t know where he is but I can at least try and see if he’s okay.”

Stiles agreed immediately – the line of his lips steady and straight as he nodded his head again. He wanted to help Scott, but he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t the tiniest bit curious just how far your new quirks can go.

You smiled as you pulled your hands away from his, sitting them flat on your knees, “I need you to be the lookout, and wake me if anything goes wrong.” When you had the go ahead from Stiles, you breathed in through your nose and fluttered your eyes closed.

You didn’t know if this was possible, or how to start it off, but you tried to focus purely on Scott. You thought about the distress he felt only moments earlier and how upset he was in the Jeep this morning. You thought about when you felt his anger on the Lacrosse field, and even more so when he held Stiles up against the wall in his room – how you voice made him stop.

Scott.

Stiles jumped when you opened your eyes, only to be met with that familiar white glow. It terrified him but he couldn’t look away, mesmerised by their tone and ethereal qualities that made you appear so oddly celestial. He waved one of his large hands in front of you but elicited no reaction, and it made him wonder just how this was truly working.

“He’s turning.” You said softly, brows furrowing, feeling the red-hot course of adrenaline that settled in your chest whenever you felt Scott turn before. It was as if he was clenching your own teeth as your jaw began to ache, worried that fangs were going to protrude. The inability to see just what you were focused on only made the feelings stronger. It wasn’t until your fist flew back and the muscles strained with such force that you knew it was getting too much, like Scott hit something, hard. You could barely hear as Stiles asked if you were okay, nor did you notice how he was quick to hold your still balled-up fist and inspect your knuckles. With a shaky tone, you whispered, “Scott, stop, come on… take a deep breath, snap out of it.”

It was a relief when your heartbeat began to drop as instant calmness loosened your tense muscles and relaxed the thumping in your head. You closed your eyes and smiled, sitting in disbelief that it worked, and that your friend was okay.

“Y/N?”

Stiles’ voice rang clearly, a soothing sound as it coaxed you back to consciousness. Your lashes danced over your cheeks for a moment as you gathered yourself, gentle as they opened to see Stiles shaking his head with a wide toothy grin.

He chuckled, “I can’t… you just did that, I mean… you’re amazing –“

“Attention students, this is your principal.” The PA system suddenly sounded, shaking you two out of your bubble as your gazes focused on the speaker. The announcement continued, muffled and crackly from years of going without a system update. You both furrowed your brows as you tried to listen, “I know you're all wondering about the incident that occurred last night to one of our buses. While the police work to determine what happened, classes will proceed as usual.”

You turned to Stiles in perfect unison, a look of disappointment dragging down your features as your bottom lip jutted out, “I can’t believe they’re still making us go to class.”

Stiles hummed, slapping his thighs as he stood from the bench before throwing a hand in your direction. His fingers wiggled, an invitation as he insisted on helping you up, “Yeah well, I wish that was the least of our worries.”

“You’ve got first period with Scott, right?” You asked, to which he nodded as he offered enough strength to pull you into a standing position. “Make sure he’s okay. It’s crazy just how much his body goes through when… it happens. Poor guy – “

“– your eyes glowed again.”

“What?” Your bag slid onto your shoulder, body twisting as you looked over your shoulder at Stiles. You pushed out your lips, voice hinting at tones of disappointment, “My eyes were closed; all I saw was darkness the whole time.”

“No, they glowed. They were bright… shining. Just like the other night at the Hale house.” He replied with so much excitement, hands moving in explanation. “It was actually pretty awesome.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. The more you use your abilities, the less you seem to understand. The unknowing was a never-ending fog and when you tried to decipher an explanation for the things that you could do, it only ended in getting lost even further – unlike Scott, he has a label, he was a werewolf. There was lore and expectations, books after books with detailed descriptions. But you always came up short, and the optimism that Stiles carried so well on finding an answer was just ever so tiring.

A huff passed your lips, “Can we talk about this later? We have homeroom.”

“Uh, yeah?” The boy replied, deflating immediately as you brushed him off. He didn’t look away as you made your way from the room; eyes wide as they followed you, trying to contain the pity he felt so strongly in case you could sense it. Stiles knew this was hard on you – whatever this truly was – but his determination would never falter. Never for you.

Leaning against the metal doors of some lockers on the first floor, you continued to stare at your phone screen – the text conversations fuelling the thoughts that run over again in your mind. You were in a daze; inattentive, distracted, engrossed in contemplations that you simply couldn’t control. It was the reason that you haven’t been sleeping and now it was taking over your daily life too. There was futility in focusing on one thing at a time. But how could you, with the added dramas from this morning.

You made an excuse to leave your class early when Stiles told you that they recovered a body from the bus. The ambulance rolled him out, and he was believed dead by your friends until the man jumped up in fear. Stiles told you that Scott was even more shaken than before and that second-nature feeling of dread had returned to the pit of your stomach. It was the softened call of your name that broke you from your pondering, to which you glanced up to be met with the two boys – one with a smile of sympathy, and the other with all of the devastation in the world sitting upon his shoulders.

“This probably isn’t going to help, but at least he isn’t dead.” You spoke quietly, your hand sitting upon Scott’s shoulder as you ducked to catch his eyes. You could see Stiles shrugging, hands sinking deep into the pockets of his hoodie as he claimed that he tried that, too. You moved until you could properly see Scott’s large brown eyes and a sigh pushed passed your lips, “Okay, at least it wasn’t Allison.”

“No, but someone got hurt, because of me!” Scott groaned, his face falling into his hands as you began to gently rub at his back.

Stiles piped up as he began to guide you all toward the cafeteria, attempting to bring some sort of contentment to his best friend, “We don’t know for sure that it even was you.”

“This is why I need Derek’s help. I need to know about this dream, what I did last night... I need to know what the hell is going on.”

You were first to the lunch line, trying to muster a smile as you accepted the assortment of food for the day. Looking to your side, you could see Stiles trying to push Scott along as he began to wallow once again in his distress. This was too much for him to handle, for anyone to handle, and you were starting to wonder if Derek really would have the answers for Scott after all.

“But dreams aren’t memories.” Stiles spoke again as you all were huddled together, locating an empty table. Stiles took his place first as you sat opposite him, Scott slipping into the seat next to you.

The wolf sighed and placed his backpack in the chair on his other side, “Then this wasn’t a dream.” He rubbed at his face again, anxious movements as he let out his frustrations, his voice cracking in what you could tell was plain exhaustion, “Something happened last night, guys, and I can’t remember what”.

Taking a bite of your apple you watched as your two friends spoke back and forth, a tennis match between scepticism and rationalising. It would be more amusing to watch if the topic of conversation wasn’t literally revolved around life and death. Stiles rolled his eyes, his body leaning back in his seat as arms crossed over his chest, “Uh huh, and what make you think Derek even has all the answers?”

“BECAUSE –“Scott began, already overwhelmed as his voice rose in anguish before the silent scolding from Stiles prompted him to settle down. He looked around bashfully, hoping that nobody could hear as he continued with a hushed tone, “because… during the full moon he wasn’t changed. He was in total control, while I was running around in the middle of the night… attacking some totally innocent guy!”

A coo pushed through your lips, a sort of sigh, as you lent slightly on the table to face Scott, “You don’t know that.”

But he shook his head, putting his metaphorical foot down, “I don’t not know it.” He stopped; eyes moving in thoughts as he bit roughly at his bottom lip, tugging before breathing out in defeat, “I can’t go out with Allison. I have to cancel.”

“What? No, you’re not cancelling, okay?” Stiles shifted forward in his chair, his crossed arms now settling on the tabletop. With a serious gaze, he looked at Scott, voice beginning to nag, “You can’t just cancel your entire life!”

You intercepted, a hand thrown in Stiles direction to agree with his sentiment, “He’s right, we’ll figure it out.”

“ – Figure out what?” Her voice was one that you didn’t expect, especially as it was followed by her sitting next to Stiles on the other side of your table. Lydia smiled brightly as she saw you, her fingers lifting into a small flutter of a wave, and you were happy to smile warmly back at her. You just hoped that she didn’t hear anything else before she made herself known.

Your greeting with your friend was interrupted by odd noises, fractured syllables and stammering sounds as Stiles grew nervous from being so close to his crush. He was at a literal loss for words as his mouth gaped and he smiled with bashful rosy cheeks. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Just, uh…” Scott jumped in, trying to fill the void that Stiles left when answering Lydia’s question, “Just homework.”

She took that as a good enough answer before looking to the other students that began to sit around the table with you, starting small friendly conversations that you and the two boys felt out of place within. It prompted Stiles to incline across the table, close enough so only you both could hear, his brows furrowed and tongue lapping at his lips, “Why is she sitting with us?” It was a question that you didn’t have an answer to as you shrugged in reply, side-eying Scott that did the same thing.

You smiled at Danny when he sat on Stiles’ other side, his greeting followed by a reciprocated grin and small nod of his head, and when you looked around nearly every seat was occupied by students that you didn’t have very much to do with. Harley slipped into the spot on your right as Allison settled next to Scott. It was a strange experience, and you managed to share your expressions of confusion with Stiles as he pouted from your conversation being interrupted.

“Get up.” Jackson scowled at the head of the table to a poor student, and you were close to banging your head on the surface in front of you just by the sound of his infuriating voice. Today just wasn’t your day, or Scott’s, or Stiles’.

“How come you never ask Danny to get up?” The kid argued, only maiming his case to stay.

Danny smirked as he bit into his apple, “Because I don’t stare at his girlfriend’s coin slot.” He spoke, matter-of-factly, and most of the table chuckled as the kid left in embarrassment and Jackson took ownership of the seat. You wished that your table has just been left alone.

You were looking between Scott and Stiles, thinking of an excuse for you all to leave, until Danny began a conversation about the morning events, “So, I hear they’re saying it’s some type of animal attack. Probably a cougar.”

“I heard mountain lion.” Jackson added, poking at his food with a disapproving glare.

You wanted to correct them both, but a disgruntled Lydia beat you to it with an annoyed tone of voice as she kept her eyes downcast, “A cougar is a mountain lion.” Your space was quiet as others observed her oddly, Jackson looking to her with a blank stare, and it provoked the redhead to tilt her head and speak once more with an airy high-pitched voice, “… Isn’t it?”

Her boyfriend scoffed and you started to imagine what it would look like if you just knocked him off his chair with a well-thrown water bottle aimed straight between the eyes. If only.  Jackson groaned, his voice uninterested, “Who cares? The guy’s probably some homeless tweaker who’s gonna die anyway.”

“Actually…” You flicked your focus to Stiles as he peered down to his phone, turning the device around for everybody to see, “I just found out who it is. Check this out.”

It was coverage from a local news outlet, the reporter seen speaking before the screen flashed to video footage taken this morning at the school, “The Sheriff's department won't speculate on details of the incident but confirmed the victim, Garrison Myers, did survive the attack. Myers was taken to a local hospital where he remains in critical condition.”

“Wait, I-I-I know this guy…” Scott shuffled in his seat, gasping at the recollection of the name, “When I used to take the bus, back when I lived with my dad, he was the driver.”

Everybody faded away as you, Scott and Stiles shared a pointed look between each other. With every new article of information, the tension would grow stronger, and it meant that it was gradually getting more difficult to piece together the puzzle.

Your sombre expressions were ignored as Lydia sighed loudly, indicating her boredom in the conversation as she examined her perfectly manicured nails, “Can we talk about something slightly more fun, please?” You watched as she jumped, gasping loudly as she looked across to Scott and Allison before sitting her chin atop her now folded hands, “Like, where are we going tomorrow night?” Their lack of reply made you wonder if they were on the same page as Lydia, so she took a deep breath, and spoke slower to clarify, “You said you and Scott were hanging out tomorrow, right?”

Your throat felt tight, and you knew that it certainly belonged to someone else. Leaning forward you could see Allison’s worried eyes, and as if on cue, the fluttering started in your chest as she grew nervous. You could noticed as her hands rung under the table, and Scott wasn’t any better as his shoulders tensed alongside the clenching of his jaw.

Allison coughed gently, a clear of her throat before chuckling nervously, “Um, well, we were still thinking of what we were gonna do…”

You recognised the way Lydia’s eyes lit up – how they glinted with eagerness, rascality, good intentions with a twist of trouble. She was eying off Allison and Scott and you knew that it wouldn’t end as ideally as they’d like. Stiles seemed to be thinking the same thing as he caught your focus, a joint wide-eyed look expressed between you both, a small smirk tugging at his lips when he caught sight of Scott’s apprehension of being put in the spotlight.

“Well, I am not sitting at home again watching lacrosse videos, so… if the four of us are hanging out, we are doing something fun.” Lydia’s tone was frank, the flow of her words spoken so candidly and confident with no room for dismissal. It was the total opposite to Scott’s ambivalence as he sat there, stunned, and slack jawed. Your space silent enough to hear a pin drop.

“H-h-hanging out? Like… the four of us?” He stammered, immediately turning to Allison and watching as she covered up her disappointment with a large drink from her water bottle. Scott lowered his voice and raised an eyebrow in question, “Do you wanna hang out? Like, us, and… them?”

A small, choked sound from Stiles forced your eyes away from the trainwreck in front of you to watch him cover his mouth, clearly taken aback by the scene you were both agonising over as mere spectators. He looked at you once more with those wide caramel eyes as you both shared a silent conversation – consisting mostly of ‘what the actual hell is going on right now’.

Allison chuckled in discomfort, but shone a lovely smile nonetheless, “Yeah, I guess. Sounds fun…”

“You know what else sounds fun?” Jackson interrupted, annoyance exuding from his voice and his features contorted into an unimpressed expression. He held his fork in the air, shaking it with his words, “Stabbing myself in the face with this fork.”

You thought that Stiles was moments away from spitting out his water as he took a large gulp; hoping it would stop him from interfering in whatever was going on in front of you, his eyes rolling dramatically and hand motioning wildly. Lydia, completely unaware of the interaction between you and Stiles, reached for the fork clutched in Jackson’s hand as she sent him a scowl at his rudeness.

She huffed, a manicured finger pointing in her boyfriend’s direction, “Well, how about bowling? You love to bowl.”

Stiles shook his head violently as he tried to gain Scott’s attention, but the werewolf simply just shrugged as he felt helpless in the situation. This made you drop your head to your hand, groaning softly under your breath. You changed your mind – this alone was way more dramatic than the events this morning brought you all.

“Pft, yeah. With actual competition.” Jackson continued his tirade of needing to be the best with a loud huff, his tone purposeful to deride the others.

What you didn’t expect to come next was Allison to speak with such enthusiasm, confident to hide the offence that the jock left them with. “How do you know we’re not actual competition?” The girl sat up straighter, causing her brunette curls to dangle over the back of the seat as she turned to Scott, hope sparkling in her eyes, “You can bowl, right?”

Scott shrugs, uneasiness dripping from his words, “Sort of…”

“ – Is it a sort of, or is it a yes?”

“Yes.” Your friend was quick to reply to Jackson’s patronising tone, his frame matching Allison’s as he sat tall and courageous with a smile curling his lips, “In fact, I’m a great bowler.”

You have never facepalmed so fast in your life.

Your afternoon classes went smoother than you expected. It seemed that everything that could be deemed eventful happened before the end of lunch, and the rest of the day went past as if everything was, dare to say, normal. You managed to filter out the background chatter about Mister Myers as you moved around the school halls in between your classes; only hearing the odd pieces of gossip speculating different predatory animals and scenarios that led to his attack. It was hard to pay attention to the different opinions when you knew the truth, or the somewhat truth, as you wholeheartedly believed that Scott was innocent in this matter.

You didn’t realise you were so distracted – staring out the window of your math class with such obliviousness – until you felt a tap on your shoulder. It provoked a small jump from you as your arm dropped to the table and your eyes growing wide and alert. As you turned, a concerned-looking Scott McCall was leaning toward you with his grip slipping to your bicep, squeezing with reassurance.

“You good?” He quietly spoke to avoid detection from your teacher, and you were glad that you both decided to sit toward the back of the classroom today. You replied with a soft nod of your head, unconvincingly, but your friend let it slide as he offered a thin-lipped smile. You could see from your peripherals that he seemed to be in an internal battle as he sat back into his seat, deep thoughts scrunching his brows and slack-jawed as if he was trying to think of what to say. You’d be lying if you didn’t find it somewhat amusing until he turned around to face you, his lips pursed in question, and momentary awkwardness in his eyes.

“So, uh… I think you were in my head earlier. Ya know, this morning…”

You hummed in reply, pen inattentively tapping against your page, “I honestly didn’t know how far I could go with it, but yeah, I guess so.”

Scott nodded as his focus flickered toward the front of the room and back to you when you were clear to continue talking, “It was weird. Like, I knew you were there and I could hear you, kinda… it was quiet but I knew it was you. I knew you were trying to calm me down.” Scott sighed under his breath, his hand running through his hair, “Reminded me of the first full moon, and you – “

“ – I thought the same.” It was a night that still made you uncomfortable; the first time you saw pure anger exude from Scott, how his eyes grew dark with harmful intentions despite the immense struggle he faced to keep them at bay. You remembered how he was trying to stop the anger and hold onto his humanity, but the moment he held Stiles against that wall… when he threw that chair at you… you realised that what Scott McCall had become was something way beyond what you could properly fathom at that time. Even still during this time.

Scott understood your choice to cut that memory, his head nodding again as he offered a sympathetic smile that was intertwined with all things apologetic and sweet. It hurt him more than it did you that night, and you could never stay mad at such a kind soul, always forgiving for what Scott does unintendedly.

“Another thing…” He began once more, only this time his voice wavered as if he was testing the waters. It made you wonder just why he was holding such hesitancy. Your friend cleared his throat, “How, ah… how are you feeling after doing all that? Your eyes glowed, you’re getting more into whatever abilities you have. Kind make you wanna find out what else, is uh... what else you can do… right…?”

The fractured sentencing was an indicator, but the way his eyes suddenly couldn’t focus on you and how he was uncertain with his speech – you knew that these words weren’t those of Scott’s.

“Did Stiles put you up to this?” You asked, point blank. Theories were proven correct when Scott’s eyes grew wide and his jaw slammed shut. As if he was caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar, a deer in headlights. He wasn’t very subtle. “Scott… I’m pretty sure I’ve made it clear to Stiles that I don’t really want to get into that right now.”

“But he worries about you. We both do.” His voice strained, and you tried to not feed into his physical emotion by taking a deep breath and closing your eyes for a mere moment. You weren’t ready to know what you were, or how you could do these things, because what if you didn’t like what the truth held? You can’t go back to an image of normalcy once it is all out in the open.

Your stare held notes of solace, a comfort in knowing that you weren’t alone; and that even though you sometimes felt as if you wanted to give up, the two unlikely friends that wondered so effortlessly into your life wouldn’t dare let you slip, not even in the slightest. You smiled at Scott in perfect timing to the last bell of the day, and he continued to smile back.

“So? Are we going to talk about earlier?” Stiles started immediately as you and Scott met him at the staircase, ushered along with the other students that were preparing to leave school for the day. You both provided a questioning look, and it provoked him to throw his hands up, still appalled by the scene in the cafeteria, “You know, the fact that you’re a terrible bowler!”

Scott turned to see Stiles glaring at him with all of the incredulity he could muster, and it caused a low groan as he remembered the bright white lie he presented so confidently, “I know! I’m such an idiot.”

Stiles continued ranting as he ignored the discomfort etched deeply on Scott’s face, “God, it was like watching a car wreck. I mean… first it turned into the whole group-date thing, and out of nowhere comes… that phrase – “ 

“Hang-out?” You chimed in, finger lazily pointing in his direction, and Stiles reciprocated your gesture and a complementing wide grin.

“Yes! You don’t hang-out with hot girls, okay? It’s like death.”

“Wait –“ You stopped him from proceeding, your body standing still in the middle of the hall as feet planted themselves still. Your brows were furrowed, contemplating the boy’s words, Scott looking between you both in the utmost confusion. You pushed out your lips, ready to press a query, “But we hang out all the time.”

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest as his head fell into an impatient shake, dumbfounded by your statement as he lacked the social cues to understand where this was going, “So?”

“SO… Does that make me not hot?” Your facial features contorted into a grumpy pout as you glared pointedly at Stiles. He immediately stammered, disconcerted with your words as Scott simply just stood to the side in immensely amused shock. It was a well-needed break from his own stresses as he instead observed Stiles making a fool of himself.

Stiles’ pitch increased as he jumped on the defence, hands held high and waving wildly, “What? No! That’s not what I meant!”

“So, you do think I’m hot?”

He was a blubbering mess – caramel eyes large and doe-like when they looked to you in nervousness, words heavy on his tongue as he tried to shake them out. Stiles was digging himself a hole, a deep hole. “Uh… just, let me finish… what I was trying to say is that once it’s hanging-out, you might as well be her gay best friend.” Lengthy fingers wrapped around each other before he shot his hold toward Scott, his attention span providing a clean getaway from the mess he was creating by shifting the conversation from you to his best friend instead, “Hey, maybe you and Danny can start hanging out.”

With squinted eyes you continued to watch Stiles and how he purposely avoided your attention. There was lack of offence on your behalf, it was just funny to watch him squirm. But a small part of you did wonder if you were viewed in this three-way relationship as simply just ‘one of the guys’ – and if you were, is that something you were completely content with.

Scott’s loud groan broke you from your thoughts as his head fell back, eyes closed and hands cupping his face, “How is this happening? I either killed a guy, or I didn’t…”

You were ready to console the young wolf but was cut off by Stiles’ own tangent, his overly-energetic mind already moving way past your previous topic as he began to mumble to himself, his own eyes unfocused as he peered into the distance, “I don’t think Danny likes me.”

“ – I ask Allison on a date, and now we’re… hanging-out…”

“Am I not attractive to gay guys?”

“ – I make first line, and the team captain wants to destroy me…”

“Surely I’m attractive to gay guys.”

You moved yourself so that you were standing before the two boys, your hands held in front of you as you raised a stern voice, “Okay, stop! You’re driving me freaking crazy.” Their heads perked up – like meerkats, cute and sweet and unknowing, bobbing around until they found the source of the noise before settling under your frustrated gaze. You released a softened groan as you rubbed at your temples, firstly looking to Scott with your hands now settling on your hips, “Scott, you need to breathe. Calm down. You’ll get yourself into a panic again.”

You could see as his shoulders slumped, tension slipping away and dropping to the floor. He glanced absentmindedly at his phone before doing a double take, the anxiety back as quick as it left, “Shit, now I’m gonna be late for work.”

A positive from gaining werewolf movement would be his ability to dodge with pure flawlessness. You usually saw it on the Lacrosse field, but now twice in one day as he bolted down the hallway to make it to work on time. You huffed, standing on your toes to see over the crowd as if it would magically help your projection as you called to him, “Don’t forget to breathe!”

“Wait, Scott! You didn’t say…” Stiles called exasperatedly after you, but his friend was already gone. “Am I, am I attractive to gay guys, I just… you didn’t answer my question.” His arms raised on either side of his frame, a deep sigh slipping in annoyance with muttered words. Stiles turned in frustration before seeing you, his face lighting up, “Y’N! Am I attractive to – “

“Nuh uh. You never answered my question from before.” Mischief glinted in your eyes, arms crossed over your chest. Stiles’ jaw slammed shut instantly. “Do you think I’m hot? Or not?”

You had never seen Stiles Stilinski so quiet before. He started at you with a now dropped jaw, unsure of which direction he should take in replying to you. You could feel the restless fluttering, however, in his chest. Or maybe that was just your own butterflies, teetering on the edge as you awaited his answer. Either way, it was affecting you both much more different than you anticipated.

Whether you were joking around or not, you didn’t expect him to take this long to answer – perhaps, he was thinking of a way to let you down easy. Yeah, that must be it. With a loud clearing of your throat, you plastered on a smile, trying to chuckle away the awkward silence.

“I was joking. Come on, weirdo, you’re my ride home.”

[leaawrites]

hellooo, It's me again, and with a request from Graham again, only this time it would be something more romantic. Graham and the reader are going to be parents, and if the request would be of what a normal day would be like for her living with the band (enduring the teasing about her pregnancy and Graham) and Graham being the most romantic at the end, he doing a small photo session with a disposable camera and giving her some drawings that he did of her during the pregnancy

Best Days

Graham Coxon x pregnant!reader

summary: a day in the life, of graham and pregnant reader.

Warnings: pregnancy, swearing, arguing, angst, fluff, This is a bit more Damon Albarn x sister!reader, but I hope it's alright still. Honestly, it feels a bit rushed but I tried getting something out of it.

Wordcount: 1.1k

Masterlist

The arguments about music were something she could recite in her sleep already. Something she could hear without having to be awake just yet. It was there as a constant in their household of five, six soon.

Leaning against the door frame that separated their bedroom from the living room, Y/n watched the chaos unfold once more. Alex was saying something about his bass line, which Damon absolutely disagreed on based on his facial expression, all while Dave and Graham were simply enjoying the show.

Both a different one though.

Dave’s focus was on the chaos unfolding in front of his eyes, the wild hands that were thrown around the air in frustration and the rolling of eyes as the other person spoke.

Graham though was watching the woman leaning against the door frame - her eyes too glued to the argument - while he let his mind bath in tranquillity. Admiring the way the sun cast a shadow on the floor from her growing stomach and how it already was big enough to make the long shirt seem shorter on her.

“What do you think, Gray?” Damon asked, looking up as he got no answer and seeing the boy stuck in a haze of love. Following his gaze, a smirk formed on his face when he saw the prey of his friend’s love. “Ah, Y/n,” Damon mused, making the girls eyes snap over to him. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I literally live here too, you know?” she shot back

“Right, forgot about it,” Damon said, his smile widening. “It’s not like you and Graham are all over each other now that you’re having a kid.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for wanting to express my love how I prefer to,” she said back, all the other guys stifling a laugh as they knew that this could go on for hours between them. Typical Albarn-sibling behavior. “At least I got someone to love.”

“Alright, alright, woman. Calm down. I was just saying that you have a baby soon, no need to rush for another one.”

“You know? If we’d had known that letting Damon’s sister stay in our apartment for a bit would lead to this, Damon would’ve strangled Graham himself,” Alex laughed at the scene as they sat together, eating breakfast.

“With greetings,” Damon added, half of his mouth stuffed full with cereals.

He always hated the idea of them becoming more than a one night stand that one time at a party, but he couldn’t deny how happy he was about becoming an uncle. No matter how hard he tried to sell the image, she could see right through him.

Sitting in the living room all alone, Y/n started tracing outlines on her belly, little drawings she hoped would cheer the baby up from where it was stuck in her. Ever growing, ever evolving. The guys just made their way to the studio, leaving her to her own devices once again.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, I bet you don’t,” she started talking into the silence. “But for what it’s worth, I promise to not let you become like me. No mater what might happen in the future, I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever. I just really fear Graham becoming scared and running off, I really do. Graham, he’s your daddy by the way. I couldn’t even blame him, quite frankly. I mean, he’s just at the beginning of his career and I wouldn’t blame him for taking that over this. I wish I could, but I just can’t.”

Tears were running down her face, dropping down her skin on her stomach. Unbeknownst to her, the door opened about five minutes ago, a bewildered Damon now standing in the door frame, watching his baby-sister talk like no one was there, because technically there shouldn’t be.

“I would kill him if he ever even thought about doing such thing,” Damon let out, making his presence known. Y/n spun around, her eyes widen in shock.

“Damon, I didn’t-”

“You know I would make sure that he’s staying, even when I make such a drama about you two all the time, right?” It was important to him that she knew, that he still cared for her, no matter what happened between her and Graham or any other person for that matter.

“I know.”

“And you know, that he wouldn’t do such thing, right? I mean, we’re talking about Graham, out of all people. That boy is in love with you since sixth form.”

“I know.” She knew. Deep down, she knew.

“Now get some rest,” he said finally, smiling at her and kissing the top of her head before disappearing out of the front door again. He would definitely have a talk with Graham about that topic later.

With the sun already setting, casting a shadow over her frame and displaying the way her body was shaped on the floor, Graham couldn’t keep himself anymore from pushing the thoughts away. An idea that ran through his head since the bump in her stomach started showing. A vivid image he’d see whenever he closed his eyes. It was true, they couldn’t just rush and make another baby right after having the first one, their life’s weren’t even planned for a first one, but he loved watching her like this. He loved seeing her pregnant, knowing that whatever she was carrying was his. It was theirs.

Slowly creeping out of bed, Graham tried his hardest to not wake her up. Walking over to the little dresser that was placed opposite the bed, he picked up the Polaroid camera she bought a while back to capture the process of their journey. Holding it up to his eye and finding a right ankle, he pressed shutter and waited for the little image to print.

His eyes scanned over the photo before he finally decided, he needed more of that. More of her.

“What you looking at?” Her voice sounded from the other side, pulling him out of his daydreams.

“Wait,” he quickly said as she started moving and tried to sit up. Halting in her movements, she waited for him to continue talking. “Stay like this. I know this may seem weird, but you look so fucking beautiful like that. Your belly and all.”

“Do you wanna photograph me, Coxon?”

“Only for private entertainment.”

“Pervert,” she laughed at him before laying down again, fixing her hair and clothes. Looking up at his almost hungry eyes, standing with his mouth agape, she blinked up at him innocently. “What you waiting for?”

[alessiathepirate]

Creep 2014

THE CONSEQUENCES OF A SMALL MISTAKE: Josef x fem!reader

Summary: The butterfly effect - the idea that small things can have big consequences. In her case, a small mistake gave her the opportunity to escape death.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I may have made while I wrote this short story.

I didn't really plan to write any type of fanfiction or oneshot for this movie, even if I think it's fantastic (including the sequel) and unsettling, but there aren't many works out there for it - so I thought I'd try my best. And after some ideas and motivation, here it is! I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)

Warnings: swearing, implied stalking, slightly referenced violence and/or murder, attempted murder

•••

the butterfly effect:

the butterfly effect is the idea that small things can have non-linear impacts on a complex system

or: the idea that the smallest things can have big consequences

°°°

She ran out of coffee. There was none left in the small metal container she usually kept the coffee beans in, and the cheap three in one box was empty as well.

That realization hurt in the morning, especially when she woke up late and knew that she'll be late for work. And the fact that the coffee was gone made the already bad day even worse.

She should've checked it, that's what she told herself as she went through her day without her usual, great cup of coffee. The one they make at her workplace couldn't be called coffee at all and the nearest coffee shop was too far away to go there during her break.

So she had to survive without the coffein she loved.

Such a small thing. A small mistake, a usual occurance - something what can happen to anybody anytime. Yet the consequences of her not checking on the metal container on Sunday were greater than she could've ever imagined.

She was home just before seven. It was already starting to get dark and she was tired. Way too tired to care about anything, to notice the unusual things happening around her or remembering the things she had promised she'd do. She didn't notice the package on her porch, even if the box was big enough to reach past her knees. She walked past it, trying to grab her keys from her bag to open the door.

"You didn't answer my calls..." the voice was so sudden she dropped her keys as her hands shook violently, her eyes no longer tired, but wide open. Her throat felt tight as held onto her bag tightly, her knuckles turning white as she looked around on the porch, examining all the dark corners to decide where to aim with it.

It took a few seconds for her to realize she knew that voice. It wasn't a stranger even if his voice did sound strange from time to time, it was high pitched when he was excited and he was excited at the weirdest moments.

"For fucks sake, you scared the Hell out of me!" she spoke up, her voice rough - then, after she realized how rude she must've sounded, she apologized with a small, tired smile: "I had a long day, I didn't mean to shout at you."

Her expression changed, going back to its exhausted self. She let go of her bag, letting it sit on her shoulder as she crouched down to find her keys.

Then the guy she knew as Josef walked closer to her, showing her which dark corner he was hiding in. He let the shadows draw dark shapes onto his face before he too crouched down, immediately finding the keys she was looking for.

"Thank you." she said as she took them from him, standing back up to open the door.

"It's okay." he was unusually quiet as he observed her every move, even after she stepped inside, leaving the door open for him. "No movie night then?"

She stopped, for a second feeling very much awake as she gently hit her forehead with her hand.

"Fuck, I totally forgot about it." for a moment she looked like she's about to cry. "I'm one poor excuse of a friend." she kicked her shoes off and let her bag fall to the ground as she quickly disappeared into the house - her voice had an unusual pitch to it as she shouted back: "Do you want some tea or something? Hot chocolate maybe? Heck, that's the least I can do - I'm so sorry."

Even in her tired and pityful mood she still knew that in the next few seconds Josef will turn up somewhere - behind her, next to her, in the other room when she leaves the kitchen. He did that a lot, scaring her either as a plan or as an accident. This was the case that time too.

"Hot chocolate's fine." she jumped a little, her heart beating faster as his voice came from directly behind her; she could feel his breath on the back of her neck.

Although she said nothing to it, because it had became an everyday thing, she still needed a few moments to collect herself.

"Okay. Give me a moment." she whispered, the sentence having two meanings: Give me a moment to get the hot chocolate done and Give me a moment to collect myself after you scared me.

"Did you order something?" Josef asked as he walked around the kitchen, looking at all the appliences and touching some of them even if he's seen them many times before.

"What do you mean?" she furrowed her eyebrows as she got the mugs ready, not understanding his question. She didn't order anything.

"You have a package on the porch."

"Great." she muttered, her tiredness showing once again. "Must be the wrong address. But whatever, I'll deal with it tomorrow."

She couldn't see him, but she heard his breathing and his steps as she melted some chocolate and poured some milk into the mugs.

" 'You sure?"

Why wouldn't I be?

"Yeah. I've got a movie night to make up for." she smiled as she added some cream to the drinks; she then turned towards him, her smile not disappearing at all even her eyes hurt a bit. "I don't have any popcorn, but we can still watch something if it's okay."

They both looked at the other, neither of them blinking as if they'd like to win a sudden challenge. He tilted his head, examining her posture or gestures - she couldn't tell, but she felt like she's telling him more than she'd like to.

His gaze was strange. Everything was more unusual about him ever since he turned up on her porch. She didn't necessary like it, but she didn't dare to point it out either.

And then suddenly, as if someone just pressed a switch in him, he smiled. More like grined. His whole mood changed in a second - and the oddness of it activated her fight or flight reflex. The fear ran through her fast, it made her shiver and her hands twitch slightly.

She has never been afraid of him before. Maybe she should've - her instincts told her.

"It's okay." his grin stayed and it made her feel like prey. "Let's watch something."

"Yeah." it wasn't more than a whisper for herself to gain her strength back as she watched Josef leave the kitchen - she soon followed him with the mugs. "So- what'll we watch?"

"'Interview with the Vampire'?" she looked at him as she put down the mugs on the coffee table right in front of the TV, and she couldn't help but let out a tired, half-annoyed sigh despite the coldness that ran through her back.

"Again?" she asked with a small, but knowing smile and even if the weird feeling didn't leave her chest, it was still an honest one. "We watched it last week too."

"Please?"

She just shook her head with a weak smile and was already on her way to connect the old DVD player to the TV, and then look for the cheap copy of the movie. She didn't have to look for long. It was right where they left it last week after he had gotten bored and pressured her into taking a walk around the neighborhood late at night.

"All right. Just because I owe you- and you're one of the few people I actually care about."

After everything was set and the first shot appeared on the TV, she finally sat down on the couch and leaned back - both her worry and hot chocolate forgotten as her limbs were finally stretched and resting. That was when she really felt the missing doses of coffein; her whole body felt heavier than usual now that she was past the hard part of the day. Now that she could see the familiar actors and hear the familiar lines; now that she could feel Josef's thigh against her own, she finally started to give up.

It felt too nice and comfortable. She doubted that she can wait out the whole two hours and two minutes - she had seen the Interview with the Vampire so many times she knew everyhing about it by heart - without falling asleep.

But until then, she could talk, to keep Josef entertained. He had to be entertained unless she wanted to wake up to him scaring her and having a heart attack.

"Did you do anything interesting today?" she asked as she slowly sat up to reach her drink.

"Sure. I shot a short film for the collection."

"Well, at least you had a more exciting day then I had." she yawned. "Will you show me some of it? Someday..."

"Someday." maybe if she was more alert, she would've seen the change in his tone and gestures.

She put the mug back down. The movie continued. They stayed quiet.

Unusually quiet.

Josef is very rarely calm and silent. He either has to be in a bad mood or has to be very tired. And as she looked at him from the corner of her eyes she couldn't see any of it.

And then, later, the more tired she was, the more alert he became. His back straightened, but not from the excitement she came to know - from something else, something new; something she hasn't seen before.

Seemingly, he was thinking. She knew it from the way the muscles around his mouth moved. But she couldn't tell what was on his mind. It must've been something big and serious. She didn't dare to ask.

"You know..." her eyes were halfway closed when Josef spoke up. "I really thought you wouldn't care if we missed this movie night."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You're tired."

"So?" she asked. "I'm always the tired one. You simply have more energy. Besides, it's just the addiction - coffee is a pretty strong drug." she chuckled quietly.

"I was thinking, maybe I'll keep you as my friend." if she noticed the dark tone of his voice, she didn't give it away at all.

"Well it's really nice of you to think so Josef, since we've been friends for the last two months." she turned towards him, her lips slightly curling upwards. "But I'll be happy if you keep me."

"I might."

And then soon, she was gone.

Her eyes closed, because she couldn't keep them open any longer and her whole being relaxed; her body didn't feel heavy anymore.

Perhaps she should have been worried. Scared - to fall asleep. But that's not how it went down, she gave up the fight with sleep and even if she lost, that's what saved her life.

The Interview with the Vampire kept on playing on the TV, the light from it made it possible to see in the room. Five minutes went by, then ten. And suddenly her head was resting on Josef's shoulder.

If she was awake, she would've noticed how stiff his posture has become or how he almost moved further away from her. But in the end he stayed and after he worked on his position on the couch, he decided to put aside the knife he had in his hand.

He slightly moved his head so his chin wouldn't touch the top of her head as he found the right angle to examine her from. He had seen her do a lot of stuff. He had seen her cook and clean, go to work and to the store or do whatever she liked to do in her free time - all without her knowledge. He hadn't seen her sleep yet.

She seemed calm, trusting. But then again every single person looks calm in his or her sleep. Trusting on the other hand - not many people would put their trust in him. Only the very naive or stupid ones. But he knew she wasn't stupid, nor naive. She had a decent job, a decent life and she didn't talk to everyone. Yet she talked to him.

He raised one of his hands and took hold of a lock of hair softly. He twisted it around his fingers and then awkwardly petted her head.

There was no fun in killing her in that moment. She was asleep. She hadn't seen the package yet. She hadn't seen the VHS tape he put in it. There wasn't enough fear in her yet.

But then again there was something else. There was trust and perhaps, just perhaps it may be more interesting than fear. It for sure felt nicer than her fear.

He brushed his fingers along the outline of her face as if he'd like to know every single bone or wrinkle. He stayed there and raked his fingers through her hair and smelled it too.

Later he put his knife away.

And after he put her in a more comfortable position on the couch, he went outside to get to the package before she does. He cut it open and after he retrieved the necklace he put in it, he set the rest of it aside. He'll get rid of it before she wakes up.

Maybe if she trusts him this much she'll like it.

If she likes him this much she'll definitely like it.

He sat down next to her on the couch again, his gaze was once on the movie and once on her.

That's what it took her to avoid death.

Her forgetfulness, her addiction and her trust. One simple mistake.

And after unknowingly escaping death, she's got an even clingier and stranger Josef than before.

But then again, it's still better, isn't it?

[pascaloverx]

Forbidden Romance

Summary: You are in love with Prince Thor. He will soon be King and is hosting a ball between Kingdoms so he can find his future bride. Unfortunately, the Kingdom of Asgard is not ready to accept the Chief of the Royal Guard as the new Queen.

Warnings: inappropriate language, use of violence and adult content in the future of fanfic. some characters belong to the Marvel universe and others were created by the author. this chapter has a slightly steamy part but nothing heavy.

chapter one chapter three

Chapter Two

"Your Highness." You say looking at Thor with a meaningful look. He knows it's important not to give away the idea that you two have an affair. Especially in front of important people. And certainly Steve was important.

"Thor tell me, how did you get a Royal Guard so efficient? She was the first to question my presence here." Steve says looking impressed, which makes you curious. Have you won the admiration of yet another prince?

"She is extremely efficient at what she does. That's exactly why she's head of the Royal Guard and my trusted person." Thor responds by trying to appear more authoritative than usual.

"And she's about to give your royal highnesses privacy. If I may." You say, bowing in front of the two and turning to leave. But from afar you see a shadow and decide to check the corridor.

"I hope you know I can have your head for eavesdropping on a royal conversation." You say to whoever might be in the hallway, but before you can draw your sword to threaten the person, they reveal themselves to you.

"I see that Asgard's training is still as good as it was when you were a simple guard." James Barnes speaks as he looks worried that you will stick your sword in him.

"What is the biggest idiot of all time doing so far from his kingdom?" Your speech seems a bit mocking and James laughs. You and Barnes used to train together when you were younger. He, who was born in Asgard, decided to explore other kingdoms.

"I came after my favorite pupil. It seems you are protecting the future King." Barnes speaks pointing his head towards the two princes who are inside the trophy room.

"You know very well that I wanted to be head of the Royal Guard. And you, I assume, are accompanying Prince Steve." You say as you analyze Barnes. He looks just as hot as the last time you saw him. You and him had an affair before he turned his back on Asgard.

"You won't be surprised to know that I am the Chief of the Royal Guard of the Kingdom of Kyrax. I always knew Asgard already had the perfect Chief of the Royal Guard, so it's my luck to have decided to serve in another realm." Barnes says, trying to flatter you. The truth is, the two of you used to compete to see who would become the Chief of the Royal Guard ever since you met.

"I hope it was worth it, leaving your kingdom to serve another is extremely foolish. But I'm glad Prince Steve has you around. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to prepare for the Royal Ball that's happening later." You say, petulantly. You harbored a certain resentment towards James. He betrayed the kingdom that you both valued so much because he was sure he wouldn't be better than you.

"I missed you." James murmurs as he grabs your arm. The clanking of his armor against yours makes a horrendous, skin-crawling noise. You look at him, without a reaction. As you're about to respond, you notice Thor and Prince Steve are behind you. You move your arm away from Barnes' hands, wondering how long they've been there.

"Are we interrupting something?" Thor asks, clearly annoyed, while Prince Steve strangely seems to just be observing your reactions intently. You could swear you saw him smile slyly.

"Your Highness. Y/N and I were just talking about old times. I must say, it's a pleasure to see you both together." Barnes says, composing himself and stepping back a bit from you. He seems to seek support from Prince Steve, who nods slightly as if to say 'I'll get you out of this.'

"Indeed, Barnes, it's a pleasure to stand beside Asgard in moments like these. That being said, I look forward to seeing you at the Royal Ball later, Prince Thor. And you too, Chief of the Guard. Now, Barnes and I will retire to my luxurious chambers." Prince Steve says strangely, keeping his gaze on you. As if you intrigued him. Thor, like you, seemed to have noticed and appeared bothered, but he only nodded and let Steve lead Barnes away. When you turned to leave, he grabbed you. Your body was pressed against the cold wall of the Grand Asgardian Castle while the future King was extremely close to you.

You had two options, to give in or resist. But something inside you, like a warning, reminded you that this could be one of the last times you could do this. So you pulled Thor towards you with all the strength you had and kissed him. It was almost a violent kiss because in a way you're angry with Thor. He acts as if he has no choice at all, but he doesn't allow you to move on. Thor however seemed to like it, he held you firmly by the waist as if he wanted to grab you and never let go again. The taste of Thor's mouth was almost etched in your mouth. You felt your intimate area becoming increasingly wet as Thor's firm hands passed through your armor. Damn that fucking armor. Not that the royal robes allow you to play Thor the way you'd like. You then nibble on Thor's lips as if you want to tease him at the same time as you want to leave him wanting more. You bite his bottom lip hard enough that it bleeds a little but that only turns him on more. Your kiss, besides taking your breath away, now tastes like blood but that doesn't stop you from continuing.

"Is this all jealousy?" You ask as Thor kisses your neck, almost kissing the armor, and he smiles.

"She says while almost devouring me for being about to spend a night surrounded by women. Or do you think I don't know why my lip was bitten?" You smile, thinking that it seems Prince Thor really knows you. You kiss him lightly as if apologizing.

"It's just a keepsake. Soon this won't happen anymore, and all we'll have are these memories. Treasure them, Your Highness." You say, stepping away from Thor and giving him a final goodbye peck. He seems somewhat taken aback, but you're too busy thinking about how dangerous yet extremely exciting this situation is.

The night arrives quickly as you busy yourself with organizing security and ensuring the Royal Guard is prepared for the event. That's when Loki knocks on the door, all gleeful as if he's about to burst with happiness. You're not in your event armor yet, so you're somewhat inadequately dressed for the occasion, but you open the door as Loki continues to babble your name while knocking.

"I bet you'd prefer Thor here right now, but I bring good news. The grand King Odin has asked me to inform you that you should dress in a beautiful gown. It seems that a certain someone is interested in you. So, no armor tonight. Someone will bring you some dress options since I imagine you don't have any or if you do, they're not suitable for the Ball. Good luck. I always knew you would find something better than my dear brother, but you've outdone yourself. Just wait until he finds out. Anyway, I'll get ready. See you later, and um… remember to smile." Loki speaks so fast that you almost get lost, and he doesn't give you time to react or ask who he's referring to.

Soon, two maids arrive with options of attire and various preparations to make you presentable. Every second that passed while several people who usually only attend to royalty were fussing over you, you felt that something was wrong. And suddenly, the moment arrives. It's time for the Ball.

[cmmdrkote]

codywan reverse bang team #13: i should tell him i love him

The words fell away as Obi-Wan raised his head. He had been expecting another visit from Cetius only to find his Commander standing in the doorway. He blinked a few times, fearing he was merely hallucinating. “Cody?” “General.” The Commander stared for a moment, trying to think of what to say. I’m glad I found you in time. I’m glad you’re alive. I missed you. I was worried about you. I think I love you. “Did you need a rescue?” “Do you know, Commander?” Obi-Wan tried for a smile and a laugh that turned into a groan as his broken ribs made themselves known. “I just think I might.”

So, I'm unfortunately late (life and death happened) but here is 2/3 of my piece for CWRB '23! Obi-Wan has gotten himself into a situation, and Cody is annoyed and using that to cover up how worried he is.

i would like to thank the mods of @codywanreversebang Serie and Anon for their endless patience, my friends for getting me through a difficult time, and of course my amazing writers Kay @foreverchangingfandomsao3 and Mia who have written a fantastic story for this prompt that you can read here.

I'll see you all soon for Part 3....a Keldabe kiss is imminent 👀 Notes and close-ups sans shadows under the cut:

A consistent light source? Who? I've never heard of her in my entire life.

I swear I didn't mean for there to be Christ-like undertones (I'm not even Christian) but once I had Obi's pose laid out and the light focused on him, I was like "fuck I gotta commit to the space Jesus now".

I originally intended for this to have a much more cartoony style, but the shading on Cody's face got away from me and then I needed to match that level of realism for his whole body, which drastically increased the time taken and I had to scrap all my plans for Obi.

The pose/prompt and Obi's outfit are inspired by Crossfire by Brandon Flowers, a whumper's dream of a music video and also a bop. I had sketched something out about two years ago and ended up adapting it for this idea.

Obi is wearing suspenders and a dress shirt because 1. I hate drawing clothing and knew robes would suck 2. Brandon is wearing that outfit in the video which made an easier reference 3. Suspenders are hot 4. I needed to show the hairy chest

Clip Studio Paint can eat my ass, I'm never upgrading to their bs subscription model.

Ewan and Temuera are some of the most handsome men I've seen in my entire life and no I will not be taking questions.

Here are some close-ups because I want to show off what I did before covering it up with dramatic ass shadows:

[exlwandering]

I Would Say Sorry If I Thought That Would Fix Anything.

I… Talking about Cyntheis… Now that’s a tall order. I do feel bad for him, but in the end he’s just another person who I hurt and there are thousands of those if I’m going to be honest. W, Ella, Iris, Makey, Shisha, Whickle, Walms, Weaver, Caretaker, Melm, Emily, L, Prixie, Valm, Shishpa, Dockey, Velveteen, Shaham, Parisy, Primmey, Too-kooo, Swees, Craumpa, Tammey, Aimery, Tramic, Lowleak, Vacumula, Fairfeefee, Critk, Omhns, Laka, Rembey, Alonvosen, Gretical, Groken, Ec-krill, Silvaylee, Perleer, Oprenia, Nickrolley, Lescript, Grockul, Tishell, Blinky, War, Jeluk, Roquless, Jomay, Croakal, Melfecan, Lukenia, Lixeymoltife, Fricli-re-um, Shalcool, Frishemeia, Rompula, Crisof, Splenda, Splorow, Mark-Regev, Crisalley, Racoolm, Bibiall, Homu, Bearloom, Markeen, SeerZecky…

I could actually go on for several hours, and the only reason I don’t is because I barely remember half of their names. It’s all such a blur, but I know I hurt them and the only way for me to remember it all is to go back piece by piece and individually remember it all. To put it in perspective, I want you all to go back to your first memory and slowly, so slowly, re-live every single moment from conception to now. It would, if you did it right, take you literal years. Now take me, the oldest living thing (if you can call me living) in all 32 worlds… It would be nearly impossible for me to do it, I just couldn’t. I’m trying, I swear I am but I just can’t. Not everyone, not everything I’ve ever done. It’s just too tall an order. And you can’t imagine how much I regret it. I laugh though. I laugh at you and I laugh at them and myself but honestly… I couldn’t tell you how much of it is real or just me being spiteful. Probably the ladder. And as much as I mocked Cyntheis… It’s not him I’m mad at, let's just say.

Cyntheis is a golden wing. The youngest of three, son of a prodigy, Mal-que-ka. She created the Stellards and the later renamed Trofells or ‘People of Perfection’. Both species tall and thin, with malleable bones. The Stellards were people of the stars, they breathed life into them (though it’s not as though that wasn’t already happening).

Secra was her eldest, her one and only daughter, she never made any accomplishments in her life as pretty quickly into her adulthood she got stuck in some time spot, never got out of it until recently.

Her next child was Lucifer, another prodigy in the making. He had decided that he was going to make his world not with “new souls” but with shadows, which he had discovered were people, the only type of people without a soul or consciousness but only a mind, one of the five creation aspects. (Body, mind, soul, consciousness and morality believe it or not. Which is just more or less how you understand things to be and how you think things through, at least in this instance.) Most things don’t exist without at least a consciousness as Lucifer well knew, but he found that his own shadow had an agency all its own, but no ability to do what it willed. He was going to build his world, “The City of Black and Gold” inside of a black hole, something that was as unaccomplished as it was dangerous. But he had created a soul weaver and together they had started working on their future. Cyntheis was only 8 at this time. Lucifer was 19 and their sister Secra was 24.

Cyntheis was a book worm his whole childhood, as short as it was. Fascinated with the small things, bugs and clear wings, snow and grass and flowers, small fingers and eyelashes, hands and toes and bark on trees. All the different kinds of trees that he would climb for hours by his mothers side. In his own nest, which he started when he was only 5 (good, nothing impressive but good) he would draw out all the different kinds of species that he would have made. Cripes and smites, lowleys and rounds. He would also sketch out a lot of the elders. Roquless was his favorite, no hands to draw but thousands of eyes and scales along his long and fat snake-like body. Also a lot of teeth, something he always swore was a much better weapon than talons could ever be. It was safe to say that that fight between Roquless and Jomay (his twin brother) never truly came to an end.

When he saw me for the first time I was with him. He drew me too but only so that he could put into scale how massive Roquless was compared to someone of a more typical size. That body was a mix of male and female, I miss it actually. Long wavy brown hair, and a long figure. My eyes -as always- bright red, and my skin pale as white dwarf stars. Oh and you can’t forget the wings, I liked having wings, and I missed them when I was Pet. I actually would go out and grab people's wings when I became Pet, obviously it was really inappropriate which often got me hit or thrown at something but just feeling the smoothness of the feather against my skin made it all worth it. The Feathers used to tickle my neck which took me a millennium to get used to. The only difference in texture for a golden wings feathers and an arches is the occasional grian of pure gold that would build up on the feathers if you didn't clean them enough.

I remember pointing out Cyntheis to Roquless, we both just laughed and posed. And to pull your attention to my point at the beginning, in telling you all this… I remembered that I was There when Roquless was murdered by the Judge. Hell… I was the one who had the idea to- Get rid… Of- uncooperative… Golden wings…. But back then, we were friends. Good friends, I gave him a lot of ideas and vise versa, we cared about each other. I just wasn’t… Strong enough I guess…

But I keep on seeing him for a while. Until the inciting incident, the one fucking mistake that caused all of this shit to start in the first place, why she made me do all of this horrible shit! Weaver was waltzing through the worlds and wasn’t being careful, at all! No… It’s not her fault… She’s never careful,but why should she be? There shouldn’t be anything to fear but… I. I am something to fear, and she didn’t know I was there, watching as Cyntheis watched her pull her world silk through the worlds to bring back home. He was entranced by her, Her hair long and black, but skin for the most part was white cream but in between her plates it was a warm black. Six arms all pulling the silk through the layered holes that she built for that exact purpose. Her lower half, only seven spider legs-not eight-pushing against the solid lack of air below her. Her lower abdomen holding up her usual sweater on her waist. Her chest was bare, and all the plates that made her up were more obvious and shifted with her. All of those beautiful eyes that I crafted just for her trailing off of her face and landing randomly on her throat, breast, and stomach. When she caught sight of him she was surprised but gave him a small smile after a moment. Waving one hand, freeing it from the silk. He waved back, and got a crush… Which we used to bring the world, as far as he knew it then, to an end.

He was very obvious when he went looking for something that talked about her species. Which is how we found him so easy. No matter what I was going to find him, it just so happened, though that we stumbled into him instead of having to search. I felt her convince me of this new game, and I looked forward. At the possibilities. If anyone tells you they can see the future, they are lying. The only future that exists is what is possible, so I look at that instead. I was just supposed to be one kid. One kid becoming mine or her new host, just like the body I took then. That’s all it was supposed to be, all that was likely to happen. All that was supposed to happen! But she just keep ramping it up. We told him what the world makers were, how they did what they did and why. Who they were… Where they were… But also that he couldn’t get to them without their permission, or that if he were very very lucky simply by chance. That he was just as likely to fall into some random world as he was to fall into that place. We didn’t tell him that we knew the way though. All that he wanted then was to become one. A childish wish to be something greater than he already was. Then we gave him the idea to… Get their attention. To wreak so much destruction to his world that they would have to come out and stop him and when they did he would fix it all with a wave of his mighty hand… Become one of them… He didn’t know that no matter what happened they would never come out to stop him. They never did that to me anyway. Not even W. offered up even the idea, even when she so desperately wanted to… I guess I'm still her mentor to her.

The older he got and the more his eyes held her mark… the more we took advantage of him. His mind, his thoughts… His body… I might just be the most ashamed of that. Watching her take anyone over just so she could have me, hurt me, it was always amazing to me. Being able to touch the closest approximation of her, and being the only one to do that. I felt so loved. But it wasn’t that. Not nearly. And all that she was doing was taking something special from him… That was all either of us ever did.

Several years of planning passed us by then, meticulous planning. One of the first things we did was getting to work on studying the history of the Golden wings, not of their escapades and many knowledges but more so of their weaknesses. What caused so many conflicts to occur within such a small community? Why so little trust, so little history taught? I knew exactly why. Though, it's a little fuzzy to me now. I know they never trusted each other, and hierarchies are something that form naturally with them. Depending on their gifts. Each Goldenwing, when they make their first bodies discover their gift from their own gods of creation. Some are small. For example Lukenia’s gift was to basically blow up anything that gives off light, but because he could barely control it or the range, it was practically useless to the little boy, but his friend Faustifuer, now that is a good gift. He can remember others' memories like they’re his own, like he lived it. And it’s not even something that he can stop most of the time, he has to put work in to stop it. And because of this he can take their memories out, hell- he can even make you forget how to breathe, to walk, to think. It's a very powerful gift indeed. And it’s because of these extreme distances of usefulness of the gifts that the hierarchy forms. And golden wings are very very inconsiderate of other creatures, even their own kind.

So that was one thing we re-discovered together, the next thing was the plan itself. What to do at all that would be so terrible to get the attention of the world makers.

“It has to be big, you know that right?”

“Uhh, I know, you keep saying that” He was so small still, long but small.

“That's because I mean it, you can’t just easily undo it and it must grab their attention. They’re not easy to scare, or even concern.” Another one of my many quick lies. I wonder what would have happened if he had ever caught me in one.

“I know… Hey. What if,” He stood from his place on the bed, his large and heavily feathered bed, not his feathers, not mainly anyway. It was his room that we met up in. The vines of his nest completely wrapping around the main part of his own little home.

“Golden wings can’t resist making worlds… It’s against our first instinct! To build! It’s not a complete plan but it’s a good place to start.” He looked at me, those hazel eyes, the blue spots in them melting into the hazel warmth. But small black fingers worked their way around his pupil, ever so slowly, no one noticed, only me. It excited me back then to see them.

“Hmm… What else.”

“Well, what else other than a hierarchy… Myself at the top!” He smiled with pride.

“And what to keep them in place?”

His eyes told me he hadn’t thought of that. And then he laughed a little.

“What about something they’d never take seriously?”

I can’t tell you what that was, but I’ll tell you that they never did take those three seriously, until one of them made the crystal lake. It was at one point a lake of beauty, crystal tears were at the bottom and it was believed that it was bottomless. That something that would hold onto all of the dead souls of everything that had ever existed would have to be. But it wasn’t. Nothing is. With what the smallest one of them had done with it, it was overflowing with those small crystal remnants of over ¾ of everything that was alive in their world. And that was what kept the golden wings in check. Fear of extinction. The creators of life, scared of dying out.

Next was something to protect and enforce these rules.

“Hey so, I found something interesting, they were called Neficlees. Come look!” He was upside down in his mother's desk chair, he was older then and his eyes were almost completely covered in her hands, almost. He showed me his book.

“They look like golden wings without the gold? Wait- I remember those… Those things were terrible at their jobs.” I started pacing around the room, “Infinite protectors of their golden wing only to be struck down so fast most didn’t even realize they had died! And you want those to be protectors of our little gods?”

“Well,” he corrected himself in his seat, now looking me head on, “Of course they're gonna be better, I’ll build a soul maker and get him to build their bodies, the souls are the real tricky part. If their souls rely on their bodies then if they get too damaged they really will die, but if we put them somewhere else and get them to rely on an outward power source then they’ll be much stronger. Also if we make them really, really big the golden wings physically wouldn’t be able to stop them!”

“What about someone like Faustifur? He could break their minds in seconds and be completely done with them.”

“Oh please, like he’s a threat. Everyone hates him, this, what we’re building! It’ll be like a utopia to him! No more pressure to build a world and no more of him being an outcast! Hell, he’ll probably be the biggest defendant of even the idea of it all.”

“I suppose you're right.” In the end though, not even he really liked how everything played out. I suppose he was too busy missing his dead mother and little brother. That will make a utopia very bleak after all.

“On one condition, we'll make those things… We have their souls completely built up before we even make their bodies.”

I called in a friend when the soul maker was finished. He was large in build, thick curly and long hair and beard. Oh and made of clay, just like every other soul maker, Cyntheis never bothered to give him a real name, so soul maker was all he was ever called. Iris though, she was given a name, and hell- she even outlived her own golden wing. I helped in part with that though. Having been the one to stab him. I remember how his blood was cold, not warm, everything else seemed to be so warm but his blood was so different. Iris stooped down to practically bathe in it, so that she would never again rely on him to not solidify, so that she could be real. Markeen. Never really liked him.

At this point I made the blueprints for War and Jeluke, we didn’t name them then but War named herself later, and Jeluke I’ve nicknamed recently. They were going to be the first ever Archangels. Their innards were made with what I’m gonna call Static. A very powerful substance that basically consumes all the energy that it comes into contact with. It’s what I used to build the ancient goldenwing trapps, who knows how many I caught in those. It was my own horrible concoction. And they were swollen with it. Wrapped up in extremely tight skin. Wars’ skin was enchanted so that even if it was cut you couldn’t get the stuff out of her, only if you completely skinned her. Jeluke was not so lucky. We placed War on an earth, replacing her with another baby where she was named Bianca and we put Jeluke in the sun, so that later he would be perfectly obedient.

Bianca met almost everyone on that planet at one point or another, and later after almost one thousand years of not dying we killed her, and made her an arch. And she picked each and every archangel soul. And what they’d represent.

“Hey, we can just get rid of that planet right?”

Cyntheis, with completely wrapped eyes stood in front of me, so matter a-fact but still not done.

“Um, yeah, it’s got nothing we need anymore, and we want the new one to look different so why even reuse it?”

The archangels were finished, the new world was built, and the little ones we would put in charge of so much power were under selection.

Things quickly… Got out of hand.

Cyntheis and his eyes, the fingers of her hands were beginning to outstretch, he kept on complaining of headaches.

“Judge,” Cyntheis called out to him, not at all human looking yet, the Soul Maker was still working on that.

“Yes Lord Cyntheis?”

“Here’s your first list, don’t fuck it up.” And he didn’t.

I was out that day, but the judge was destroying his first ever world. He was becoming a symbol of power. Up until this point some of the elders were defending this new way, they had seen so many generations of golden wings come and go, and you might think that none of them purged other golden wings, or destroyed whole worlds but they had. Most of them in fact. So still, even when the elders were caught uneasy, they still didn’t stop defending this new order.

I was alone. I can’t remember where. But I was talking to her, or trying to. She was completely in Cyntheis, and I was alone. And I let out some of what I was, I think… But I wasn’t really alone. Bearloom was there, she had just escaped her world being destroyed. No- That was later. I don’t know why she was there, she just… was. And somehow, she saw what was happening. All of it. Even when I finally got Her attention, and she gave me something to drink. No it wasn’t a drink. God damn it it’s so fuzzy!… Pills. They were pills. They make you forget.

“I wanna play this game alone, Doll, but you can still be a player…”

I swallowed bottles on bottles of those pills. And when I finally turned around to see Bearloom- I decided I wouldn’t deal with her, so I tried to shatter her crystal tear, but I was already forgetting how to do anything. SO I only cracked it. When she later went to go kill Cynthies with SeerZecky her tear split in two but reattached itself, and she used the last of her own energy to make herself anew, and she became human. She was later renamed Pj, and adopted by a circus ring leader of all people. It’s funny, it was being on a tightrope that let her feel the sky again.

I was gone though. She had brought me some place though, she made me Pet. I was whore and toy to the entire archangel population and even Cyntheis… Being with him made us both remember some. Just for a little while. I think it was a punishment. For Cyntheis for being so gullible and wanting so much. For me just… I don’t know. Being dragged along. I knew it was all going wrong though. I tried to get him to really wake up.

”You don’t want this, It’s only going to get more extreme, you’re just gonna become a husk, I've seen it so many times, this isn’t what you want.” But she grabbed him just when he was on the cusp of waking up.

She convinced him to kill his mom. He loved her when he was little. And I don’t think it was the act of killing her that gets to me. I’ve made many children kill their own parents, been the one placing the knife in their own small hands and been the one whispering that they never loved them like they should have… But it was the elation on his face. How she ran, so determined.

I had killed myself by then. Again. Left my body as Pet. The Soul Maker saw me as his own kid and so when I died in that body he made a new little soul maker. My spitting image. And then he put my consciousness inside of a body. One that’s still occupied, that's cramped and- She named herself moon. And she was new to things, like children are.

She was in her part of the workshop that Cyntheis’s mother Mal-que-ka ran past. She was being hunted. And she could have made it out. But she looked over while taking a breath and saw Moon. She panicked at first. “Who are you?”

“Moon.”

She remembered her son's gift to Cyntheis, a moon for his planet. It was one of the first things that Moon ever saw.

Her first words were, “what is that?”

Mal-que-ka just stood there a moment. She realized she wasn’t escaping. There was nowhere, anywhere that she could run to. Not a single place. The only place in her own world, not her planets but her entire universe that she could effectively hide in would be the void. And that was damnation. So she sat down next to Moon and saw the small instrument in her small hands and taught her how to play it. They only had 13 minutes and 43 seconds together. But Moon learned more from her in that time than she ever did from the Soul Maker. She learned that the Golden wings, for all their flaws, were people that had immense beauty in them. She fell in love with Florieka later because of this. Died for her too.

The final touch for Cyntheis’s world was that he was going to leave it on a loop until the world makers found him.

He put on this huge ceremony. At that ceremony every single back wing was going to be thrown down into the human world, and they would have to hide. If they were ever found they would be killed, simple as that.

Everyone was invited, the golden wings, not the elders though, they were all killed by The Judge, The Hunter and a few others, but others that were invited were the punishers and white wing archangels… Hell, even the slaves of the court were there to witness the horrible occasion. I remember it all through Cyntheis’s eye.

Just before the end of the first repeat, just before the bell rang for the last day of that existence Cyntheis called Lucifer up to be center stage with him. Lucifer always looked different from his family, wavy dark red hair, tan skin at one point but it was already paling from being in the city of the black and gold for so long. His strong body wasn’t going to last nearly as long as he thought it would.

Even after everything he loved his little brother. He always protected him, taught him everything he knew. His dark eyes met Cyntheis’s. Her hand had completely opened, he was all hers, like I was. Like I am.

Cyntheis opened his arms with a smile on his face and he closed the nervous distance between the two. Lucifer finally relaxed into his little brother's arms, tears welling in his eyes. Cyntheis pulled his wings out, Lucifer already had his out. He loved them. Wide and bright and as solidly built as him.

Cyntheis inched his hands up his brothers back, grabbed his brothers wings by the base, and ripped off every muscle and inch of skin off the bone.

The punishers were screaming, and rock with his own massive form tried to push past the Archs but of course that wasn’t an option. And L, who named herself again to honor him, because he saved her from utter madness, watched in terror as his life barely held onto him. Black blood pooled down his back. Cyntheis threw his wings over to the side so that later he could pluck each and every feather off of his wings. When he finally passed out from pain, about 3 hours, 27 minutes and 13 seconds later the punishers were allowed to collect him. Ink used his jacket to try and stop his bleeding, Rock had picked him up and was cradling him like one of his children, Kiley, or later Cherry bomb snarled at Cyntheis and L was praying to her own previous gods in hopes that they might spare him. A few other punishers gathered around offering their own spare clothes to help catch his blood, Infection and Needle both offered their scarves and jackets and so did one other who I can’t remember. They dragged him back to the City of Black and Gold where his Soul Weaver, who was supposed to be dead, wrapped all of her ribbon around his wings and saved his life. Those mangled bones are always out, and always torn up. Infection and disease is just a part of his day to day now.

The worst part though is that he’s trapped in his own gift to his brother, the moon. That’s where his office is. One of the doors leads to the City of Black and gold, and Ink and L take care of him. Rock and Kiley were thrown into the void only a few years later. But he’s stuck. Like me. At the hands of someone he loved.

No. We’re different in that way. I trapped myself, to trap Her too. Didn’t work in a way that counted though. It was useless. I don’t know why I’m so useless. I ruined your world. Before it even began. I’ve ruined every world that's ever been made! I know sorry means nothing, but fuck I would love to hear it. Both from myself and to me. But that won’t ever happen, not the ladder anyway.

I’m so tired.

No matter what I do, I’m stuck.

I can’t move.

I was never meant to.

I was just a doll.

That’s it

That's all I was

I miss it!

Please, fuck I miss it!

I wanna go home!

I wanna go home!

I can’t ever go home!

Why did we have to leave?

Why!?

WHY!?!

All I ever wanted was to be with you!

And now all I want is to go home!

I can’t ever get what I want

I’M NEVER GOING HOME!

I WANNA GO HOME!!!!!!!!!!!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I’m never going home….

[bluerose5]

A Light in the Darkness

Word Count: 1,531

Ship/Pairing: Gale/Male Tav (High Elf, Wizard)

Other Tags: Romance, Pre-Relationship, Hurt & Comfort, References to Past Domestic Violence, Fluff (I swear!), Act 2 & The Shadow Curse

Link to read on AO3.

...

It was not exactly an uncommon occurrence for Gale and Falorin to stay up late into their evenings together.

More often than not, it was their studies that kept them up until one yawn too many convinced them to part ways, each one returning to their respective bedroll.

That night, Falorin came to visit him later than usual.

One look at him, and Gale instantly knew that something was off.

Falorin stumbled into his tent, his warm skin pale, hands clammy to the touch.

Sweat beaded at his hairline, droplets of perspiration breaking away to stream down along the outline of his cheek.

Falorin clutched at his abdomen.

His expression twisted as nausea threatened to overtake him.

Gale instantly snapped the book closed that he had been reading, then set it aside.

Brow furrowed, he rushed forward to steady Fal as he swayed on his feet.

“Falorin?!” Gale asked, frantic with worry. He cupped his cheeks, brushed sweat-soaked hair back behind pointed ears with trembling fingers. “What's happening? What's wrong? Are you sick?” When Fal didn't immediately answer, he grew desperate for a response, any kind of response. “Speak to me!”

“I—”

Falorin's gaze was distant.

Each breath burned like smoke in his lungs.

He clutched at his throat, choking on the air around them.

“I can hear him, Gale.” Tears gathered in his one good eye. His lower lip wobbled. “I can hear him, whispering from the shadows.”

Realization dawned on him.

At this point in their journey, Falorin had shared enough about his past with Gale for him to know exactly who he was referring to.

In all honesty, Gale had been so wrapped up in his own self-destructive thoughts that he hadn't even taken the time to consider how the shadow curse might have been affecting him.

It made him feel like an ass, but no more.

“Tell me what to do.”

Falorin forced himself to focus on him, brought back from that far-off place for a split second by the sound of his voice.

Swallowing thickly, he rasped out, “Hold me.” He tried to take a deep, even breath through the discomfort. “Please,” he begged, “just hold m—”

He didn't waste another precious second, gathering Falorin up into his arms and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug, one that Falorin was quick to return in kind.

Falorin sobbed.

“It's like I can feel his magic all around me, inside me,” he whimpered, his grip tight upon the fabric of his shirt. “I can feel it clinging to my skin. Tainted, dirty. He's trying to silence me again, trying to plunge my world into darkness.” He gasped for relief from their cursed surroundings, anxiously shaking his head to and fro. “I can't, I can't…”

His knees buckled, but Gale was there to catch him.

“Hey,” Gale whispered. He pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against his. “Look at me, Fal. Please?” When he did as he requested, Gale asked, “Do you trust me?”

Falorin searched his expression in confusion.

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” Gale repeated, drawing out each word. 

“Of course,” Fal answered without skipping a beat. He let out a bitter laugh at that. “Probably more than is wise, given my situation. Trusting people never seemed to work out all that well for me in the past.”

“Good thing I am more than happy to break the mold in that regard.”

He took one of Falorin's hands into his own and guided it to the center of his chest.

“Now, if you will, breathe with me.” Falorin followed his lead through every inhale and exhale, finding a rhythm that harmonized as one, slow and even. “The shadows are still there, yes, but focus on the fact that you are here. In camp, surrounded by friends and allies. You are safe. No harm shall fall upon you. And if your former husband somehow overcomes the bounds of death at this most inopportune time, then know that I will personally see to it that he never harms you again.”

“Heh,” Falorin scoffed, albeit with no real joy to be found, wanting to believe what he said more than anything. “Tell me then, how would you stop him?” 

“However I had to.”

The intensity, the sincerity, in which he spoke gave even Falorin pause.

“You—” He took a moment to compose his thoughts. “I simply can't believe that I found you now, of all times. You say all of the right things, but what matters is that you mean them.”

“Well,” Gale chuckled, his hand resting over his, “to be fair, I am a terrible liar. Absolutely atrocious at hiding my feelings, too.”

No use in denying it.

Falorin beamed, his nose crinkled in delight.

“A fact that I am grateful for,” he said. “Your honesty is a refreshing change of pace.” This time, Falorin took Gale's hand and placed it over his own heart instead. It raced beneath his palm as their eyes met. “I have imposed an isolation upon myself for decades, all because of the fear he planted inside me. I finally find myself wanting to actually live again, then you show up out of nowhere and waltz your way into my life like it's nothing. My mind keeps telling my heart not to rush into things again, but you—”

He trailed off in wonder, speechless for a moment, until he could find his voice again.

“You are my one light in a vast land of darkness.”

“I am? I mean, truly, you think so?” Gale stammered, caught off guard by the confession. When Fal nodded, he cleared his throat. He had to take a minute to recover his senses, finding himself choked up all of a sudden. “Interesting. I happen to think that is a rather apt description of a certain elf that I know. You see, his beauty truly knows no bounds. He is so bright and colorful with an even brighter personality. Even his surname, Sungleam, speaks to the radiance that he emanates.”

“Gale!” Falorin giggled with a playful roll of his eyes. “You know that this elf in question just made that name up, right?”

Gale shrugged.

“Aren't all names made up?” he countered.

“Fair enough,” Fal allowed, but he could not hide the effect he had on him.

A warm, pink blush spread from his freckled cheeks to his pointed ears, their tips twitching ever so slightly.

They stared into each other’s eyes, regarding one another with expressions both gentle and tender.

Falorin mustered up the courage to ask what was on his mind.

“Gale.”

“Yes, Fal?”

“May I stay the night? With you?” Falorin was quick to duck his head, his hair falling down to shield his face, even as he tried to make light of the situation. “Obviously with the intent to seduce you, of course.”

“But of course,” Gale laughed, but it was undeniable how he brightened at the very thought of spending more time together. “In all seriousness, though, you are most welcome to stay with me anytime you desire. I would enjoy nothing more.”

And he meant it.

That was all Falorin needed to hear. 

He dragged Gale back down onto his bedroll, wasting no time at all before he curled up at his side.

Taking a moment to process the position they were in, Gale slowly wrapped his arms around him.

His lips brushed against his temple.

Falorin shivered, then melted against him.

“You make me feel safe,” he murmured.

Before Gale had a chance to respond, Falorin abruptly sat up to reach over him.

He plucked Gale's book off the ground before he could stop him.

Falorin barely even glimpsed the title when he turned to him, bewildered.

“I, uh—” Sheepishly, Gale waved a hand about in his attempt to explain, but there was no point in hiding it now.

“I might have been trying to brush up on my Elvish a bit,” he admitted, to which Falorin beamed, brighter than the stars themselves.

He shoved the book into Gale's hands and snuggled up against him again, waiting expectantly.

“Go ahead,” he encouraged.

“You're not going to make fun of me, are you?”

“Oh, please, how could I,” Falorin asked, “when I love the sound of your voice?”

Hearing the ‘L’ word from him, even in such a context, set his spirit alight with joy.

“Besides,” Falorin hummed in delight, “as much as I enjoy all of your lessons, Mr. Of Waterdeep, perhaps I could teach you something for once.”

He playfully tapped him on the nose.

“Right.” Gale wrinkled it at him with a grin. “Well, perhaps we can start…” He flipped through the pages with a click of his tongue, then stopped, pointing at one lesson in particular. “Here.”

Once Falorin saw the topic at hand, he laughed, nodding eagerly in agreement as they settled into each other’s arms, a wisp of light conjured between them.

While they were certainly no strangers to staying up late into the evening with their studies, that was the first time they rested well into the morning together, wrapped up in each other’s embrace.

Thankfully, it was the first time of many to come.

[deathsconsort]

“try and get some sleep. i’ll stay right here- i won’t let anything happen to you, i swear.”

her mind has been a tornado of what if’s and various possible scenarios ever since azriel came to the dusk court earlier in the evening. her friend’s arrival was unexpected, but welcomed. the last time she saw azriel was when they bid each other farewell on the day she left for her new court. that was months ago. she was beaming when she saw him, throwing her arms around him in greeting. however, it was short lived when azriel informed her he was aware she was pregnant with cassian’s child. it wouldn’t have been so shocking if it wasn’t for the fact she was hiding her pregnancy; her small bump was barely noticeable with the flowy dress she was wearing and she was using magic to disguise her scent.

no one should have been able to know. what made it alarming though was that azriel came here because she was pregnant. how he knew that when they were in different courts and no one in her court was even aware of it yet unnerved her. maybe his shadows told him or maybe one of elain’s visions, if it was the latter then she feared her sister would have told everyone not realizing nesta wanted it to be a secret. she tried to settle her rising panic, if that was the case surely cassian would have been here right now. or maybe that’s why azriel was here, to be the neutral party between her and cassian.

nesta knew once someone from the inner circle found out they would make an appearance, whether it was to ask for her to return to velaris, reconnect with cassian ( even though he was the one who made his choice about remaining in the night court ), or worst of all try to get her to hand over her baby for cassian to raise. she knew her sisters wouldn’t do something like that, but she can’t say the same for the rest of them, not when she knew how loyal they were to rhysand. he could order them to get her just for cassian’s sake. and she knew he would play it off in a way that would make it seem like it was benefitting her, as if it would be for her own good. it wasn’t as if she was keeping the baby from cassian, not exactly anyway, she simply didn’t want him to change his mind about ruling at her side because a child is involved. all she wanted was for him to choose her, for once, over rhysand. perhaps she was giving cassian too much credit, maybe he still wouldn’t want to stay here even knowing she was pregnant. he’d probably want to raise them in the night court.

exhaustion weighed heavily on her; between being pregnant, being stressed, and getting her court running she rarely slept peacefully these days. her eyes were feeling heavy as she sat with azriel in the drawing room. of course azriel took notice. “try and get some sleep. i’ll stay right here- i won’t let anything happen to you, i swear.” at that her eyes go wide, forcing herself to be more alert. it was still unknown to her whether anyone else in the inner circle knew about her pregnancy. a humorless laugh sounds out of her. “how am i to trust you? i'm pregnant with your brother's baby. how do i know you won’t whisk me back to the night court while i’m asleep or have cassian or rhysand come here? you’re loyal to him, not me. if rhysand orders it you’ll have no choice but to take me back. if i’m awake i can at least fight you off.”

[pandora2023]

I was again slightly late for work for finishing writing this.

Sometimes I get the urge to write sad things.

TW: mention of misscarriage

Light and shadows

The hour of the wolf, the darkest hour of the night, standing at the window he could only imagine the waves crashing against the rocks on which stood the castle of High Tide. Over the sky in the distance he could see the flashes of lightning, a storm was coming. As a sailor he knew better than anyone that change is the only constant in this life, a calm sea can soon become a rough one, the sun's rays can suddenly be eclipsed by black clouds, you can set a destination but never the path.

He would have liked to think that he had lost count of the nights he had woken up just to feel the breeze on his face, but those were the same nights since that terrible day, and he was not going to forget that.

Neither did she and he was sure she never would. Why them? Why her? It was clear that they were not the noblest people who had ever walked the world, they had never pretended to be, they were only human, with mistakes and flaws, of course, but they did not deserve this, they did not deserve to be mere spectators while life slipped through their fingers in front of them. Give me a battle and I will fight it, I will not run away, I will fight and look my enemy in the eyes, but how to face a God whose name is the stranger, it is ironic, everyone has witnessed his passing, but no one has seen him, and yet he found himself asking the same god to take that soul who had never known the light of day to a better place, for of all people it was the most innocent.

He could barely see her, I think it scared him to see her so fragile, as if just with the weight of her gaze she would break, but he also knew she was strong, after all she was here, breathing, with that hope that maybe soon the gods would reward them for all the pain they had caused them.

The dim light of the candles next to the bed managed to draw the silhouette of her face, her thin lips, her soft cheeks and that expression of ephemeral tranquility. What he could tell was that this was the first night in which she had managed to sleep without waking up shaken between tears and laments.

"Why Corlys? Why?"

She asked without consolation in his arms, reviving the tears that in her dreams had already begun.

What could he answer, what comfort could he give her? The only thing he was able to do was to hold her in his arms caress her, give her tender kisses, profess his love with everything else but words, for what had happened to them had no name.

He too had shed tears, he too had broken down, the loss was as much his as hers.

"Have you thought of what to name him yet?"

Between his fingers he stroked a lock of his wife's hair.

"You still think it's going to be a boy."

She met his gaze in the mirror on her dressing table.

"I know he is, a sailor, like his father, maybe he'll go farther than I ever could."

She put down the comb that had helped her untangle her hair after her walk through the air as had become customary.

"It's still too early, remember that during Laena's pregnancy, you, me and half of Westeros assumed it would be a boy, and the first time I held her in my arms I can swear she had a reproachful face, I don't want this baby to be born thinking the same thing"

Now standing and facing him, her hands rested on the small curve of her belly, she was still able to wear all her dresses, but soon, very soon she would have to leave them in the trunk for a while.

"Patience is not my strong suit."

His hands now accompanied his wife's at the place where her hopes rested and grew.

"That I know better than anyone my love."

It was then that their lips met on the road and they joined, a sweet dance they had perfected over time.

Maester Kelvyn said he had been a boy.

"I want to see him!

Her cries flooded the room, but it was her tears and her grief that made it unbearable, the pain, the loss, almost impossible to tolerate, this was the battle and they had lost it, their greatest defeat.

"Rhaenys I don't think it's…"

Her hands ran down her face filled with beads of sweat that mingled with the bitter tears.

"He is my son, I want to see him if only for once."

She pleaded with her voice in a whisper.

The room was left alone, just the two of them with their son in their arms and their grief, their pain.

The hour of the nightingale, the sun would soon peek as always over the sea, the dark hour was passing and light was what ruled flooding even the smallest corners, not everything remained in the shadows forever.

"Corlys!"

His wife's voice brought him out of his thoughts bringing him back to reality, back to the present.

"It's still too early Rhaenys go back to sleep."

He said reaching for the bed.

"I know, but you should too, we both need it."

Her delicate hands tucked one of her dreadlocks behind her ear.

Without further ado he climbed into bed and covered his wife with his arms. He did not give in to exhaustion if not until he saw Rhaenys' breathing sink into a soft beat.

"I love you."

He whispered before joining her in the dream world.

We will get through this

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hurricanes / Hummingbirds: X

Series Synopsis: As the years go by, you find that it is incredibly difficult to survive wars and fight storms, especially when the only thing you have by way of a cursed technique is the blessing of a tiny bird.

Chapter Synopsis: Kashimo takes you to meet a person that might be able to help you in your battle against Ten.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Hajime Kashimo x Female Reader; slight Kento Nanami x Female Reader; slight Satoru Gojo × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.4k

Content Warnings: swearing, enemies/rivals to lovers, character death, canon-typical violence, angst, gore, original characters included

A/N: kashimo stans how are we doing...😔

You and Kashimo were exact opposites. He was the god of lightning. You were blessed by the hummingbird. There was no universe in which you and he could coexist. Perhaps this was where his drive came from, his natural determination to see the end of your existence: you were not meant to live at the same time. There could only be one of you, and yet for so many years it had been both of you, taking up space and jousting for dominance over a sky that hated you both equally.

The truth — and this was a secret that you had never told anyone — was that you wanted to fight him as badly as he wanted to fight you. It was the most thrilling, illicit thing you could imagine, your guiltiest pleasure, picturing a battle that you fought for no other reason than because you wanted to, a battle that you might not win, one where your life was truly on the line instead of a routine exorcism that meant nothing in the long run. It would be a break from the monotony of your life, and an escape from the crushing obligation of having to defeat Ten in exchange for the power the hummingbird had lent you. Maybe that was what you fantasized about the most; not the clash itself but the freedom that it would bring you.

At night, you had been dreaming of him. Hisashi could never know this, but ever since you had intruded upon Ten’s domain, your nightmares about your parents had vanished. Now, it was Kashimo you saw. The visions varied: sometimes, your sword would drive into his heart, his hot blood spurting out and covering you in red, and on other nights, his lightning would dance through your veins until you blacked out from the pain, the most sensation you had ever felt in your life. The commonality between the dreams was him, always him, only him. You could not close your eyes without seeing his cold expression, and after two weeks, you resolved to seek him out once more and demand him to leave your mind.

There were dark shadows under his eyes when you happened upon him, bruises like roses blooming on the face of the invincible man. Who could’ve caused such wounds? Was it your imagination, or had he been easier to find this time? As if he knew what you must be thinking, his fingers flitted to his face, tracing the outline of the purpling.

“I’ve come to see you,” you said finally, when it became clear that he was not going to say anything. He dug his nails into his skin, though lightly, not hard enough to draw blood.

“Have you, now?” he said. “I know you have not defeated Ten yet, so there must be some other motivation for you to be here. Is it to torture me?”

“It seems there is no need for my intervention in that regard,” you said. “Seeing as someone else has beat me to it.”

He raised his eyebrows, his hands falling to his sides again, his shoulders slumping. You had never seen him in such a way, his weapon-like body faded into a shadowed copy of itself, frail and trembling and easily breakable.

“No one else could ever beat you to it,” he said. “No one else could ever beat me.”

“But I have not even seen you in so long,” you said. “How, then, can you put this recent turn of events upon me?”

“I am sick,” he said.

“Is it a fever?” you said.

“No,” he said.

“Your stomach?” you said again, narrowing your eyes, trying to discern what ailment he had.

“It is not that,” he said.

“Then a cough, perhaps?” you said.

“It is you,” he said.

“I am no disease,” you said.

“You might as well be,” he said icily. “I find no joy in anything but the thought of killing you. I want it more than I have ever wanted anything in my life. But — but what if it is not me? I cannot stop thinking about it. What if someone else does it first?”

He paused, looked up at the sky. The clouds covered the stars, and you frowned slightly. Perhaps it was strange, but you found you missed them. It was hard to believe that they were there when you could not so much as see them.

“I don’t want that,” he said. “I don’t want another person to be the one that gets that right. It should only be me.”

“No one will get that right,” you said carefully. “It will not be you, nor Ten, nor anyone else.”

He reached out for you, and to your surprise, you let him. His grip was strong enough to crush a weaker person’s wrists, but it did nothing to yours, despite his best efforts. You gazed at him steadily, waiting for him to speak.

“Draw your sword,” he said. “Please, draw your sword.”

“No,” you said.

“Kill me,” he insisted. “If I cannot kill you, then I want you to kill me. I want to know what it’s like to triumph — but if I cannot have that, then at least once I would like to lose.”

“I dream about it sometimes,” you said, then paused. “No. All of the time. I promise — I promise that in the end it will be us two. You will have to wait until such a time comes to pass, however.”

“Ten,” he said, dropping your wrists and exhaling. This time when he looked up at the sky you understood what he meant by it.

“I have challenged him,” you said. “It will not be long. Even now I can feel it, feel his restlessness, how he wonders if I will make good on my promise and kill him or not. He will come for me soon.”

“Then you will need a better weapon than that sword of yours,” he said.

“What do you mean?” you said.

“That Gojo clan trash,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “It’d snap in an instant if you put any actual amount of cursed energy into it. Most cursed tools aren’t strong enough to withstand the amount of power needed for sorcerers like us to go all out, the way you indubitably would need to against Ten. You should forge your own sword; it’s what I did with my staff to ensure that it could handle my lightning.”

“I haven’t the faintest clue how to forge a sword,” you said. The sword you currently used was one that Hisashi had gifted you, a plain, workmanlike tool that did what you needed it to do. Sometimes you dreamt of a blade more suited to you, one that shone with the power of the hummingbird, but for your current purposes, Hisashi’s sword served well enough.

“You needn’t forge it yourself,” he said. “Your purpose is to imbue your cursed technique into it as it is created.”

“You act like such things are commonplace. The forgers of cursed weapons have never been ubiquitous, and in recent times have grown rarer than ever — largely in part to people like you,” you said, to which Kashimo only smiled slightly.

“I suppose you believe the rumor that I murdered the man who made my staff so that no one could ever have a weapon equal to mine,” he said.

“It wouldn’t be out of character for you to do such a thing,” you said.

“Perhaps, but in truth I did not,” he said. “I left him alive in case I ever needed him again. What good fortune that I did, as that hour has finally come.”

“You don’t need him,” you pointed out. He actually laughed.

“Perhaps I don’t,” he said. “However, don’t you?”

“I suppose that is the case. How long will it take?” you said.

“Maybe months. Maybe Ten will not be patient for that long,” he said. “You ought to begin as soon as possible, lest you keep your lord waiting.”

“He is not my lord,” you said. “He is my parent’s killer. He is the one I was born to defeat.”

“Yet he rules over your life regardless, and so cannot be called anything but,” Kashimo said. It was that same wry humor that he employed whenever speaking of yours and Ten's eventual clash, that half-disdain, half-envy, as if he found your devotion ridiculous and, at the same time, wished you were that devoted to him instead.

“He is the lord of the sky,” you said. “If anything, he is your lord, o god of lightning.”

Kashimo’s face grew strangely pale, as if you had something particularly blasphemous, something that offended his sensibilities to the max. Well, to be fair, you certainly had — he was the independent deity who hated to think of anyone as above him, and yet here you were implying that he was nothing more than a pawn in Ten’s game.

“Never say such a thing again,” he said. “No matter who they are, I will never fall to my knees for another person.”

“Hm,” you said. “Maybe that’s true. Though it doesn’t matter; I know you hardly even believe in Ten. How could you kneel to something that does not exist?”

Kashimo frowned. “Of course I do not believe in him. But you do.”

“And so?” you said. He extended his hand, palm facing the moon. You stared at it for a moment before setting your own atop his, suppressing a flinch when sparks pinpricked your skin.

“And so he must definitely exist. Somewhere, somehow, he is real, or I will make him be so. This waiting, this torture you force upon me…if Ten does not exist, then it isn’t worth it. Then this entire charade is worthless on your part. Therefore, I have to have faith that he is an actual being,” he said. “Because you are many things, Y/N L/N, but I find that the one thing I cannot think of you is worthless.”

Then his fingers closed over yours and he took off at an impossible speed, one you could only hope to match with the Hummingbird’s Blessing active. But you did not even need to run, his hurtling momentum carrying you along behind him effortlessly, so that your feet were pushing at air instead of striking against the ground.

Almost as soon as it had begun, the breathless flight was over, Kashimo skidding to a stop in front of a large camphor tree. You slammed into his broad back, which he took no heed of, his glittering eyes trained on the camphor’s boughs, mouth tugging upwards into a smile.

“You can come out now,” he said. “I haven’t come to kill you. In fact, I’ve brought someone I need you to help.”

It was the kindest you’d ever heard him say anything — a request, not a demand. There was a shuffling sound and then a ripple in the air in front of us before a sharply-dressed, dark-haired man blinked into existence, scowling at Kashimo, who fairly beamed at him.

“Hajime Kashimo,” the man said. “To what do I owe the honor of the so-proclaimed god of lightning paying a visit to my humble abode?”

“I told you already. I have someone who needs your help,” he said.

“And since when has it been in your nature to try and help others?” the man said, arching a neat brow at Kashimo.

“It’s self-serving either way,” you interjected. “He only wants me to have a better weapon so that I may defeat Ten and then fight him. Don’t think that altruism is a virtue he’s suddenly gained.”

“Who might you be?” he said before pausing. “No, wait. If Hajime wants to fight you, then there’s only one person you can be: the Hummingbird.”

“At least, I am blessed by such a creature,” you said, as graciously as you could.

“Of course,” he said. “Y/N L/N. The sorcerer who’s received the Hummingbird’s Blessing. Ah, forgive me for my lack of manners; my name is Daisuke Hinode.”

“Daisuke Hinode!” you repeated in surprise, for the name was one you recognized. “You don’t mean to say you’re —”

“Yes,” he said, interrupting me before you could finish. “That Daisuke Hinode.”

Daisuke Hinode was a man that had been erased from the history books, or at least Kichiro Kamo had been doing his very best to ensure that that was the case. His sly technique and deadly weapons made him Kichiro’s bitterest rival, an enmity only matched by the one Kashimo held for you. But unlike you and Kashimo, there was no equality between Kichiro and Daisuke; in fact, in any match the two had, Daisuke would come out the winner. So, instead, Kichiro endeavored to destroy Daisuke in another way, the way that really mattered: from the memories of posterity.

How sad it was, you thought to yourself as you scrutinized Daisuke — who you found to have a sort of unassuming charm about him — that in a few decades, he would be forgotten completely. Would he ever have descendants? Would there ever be anyone else who carried on his name? And what of his technique, that secretive, elusive thing? Would it be lost to the ages?

“I hid him,” Kashimo said proudly. He was strange around Daisuke. Gentler. As if Daisuke was someone he could genuinely consider a friend instead of just another person he had to fight.

“He did not,” Daisuke said. “I hid myself with my technique. He just suggested a place that would work the best. Will you tell Kichiro Kamo?”

“I shan’t,” you said. “Not if you can help me the way Kashimo is convinced you can.”

Daisuke hummed. “I have no reason to trust you, you know.”

“Of course not,” you agreed readily, though you were altogether put out by the development. Your association with the Big Three Sorcerer Families was generally helpful due to the respect the clans commanded, but in times like this, it was actually a hindrance.

“Bar one,” he continued. “If Hajime brought you here…”

Kashimo himself shrugged. “Her trustworthiness was of little concern to me when I did so. She needs a sword, Daisuke.”

“A hummingbird’s sword,” Daisuke said. “I wonder what such a weapon could be called. It would be such a magnificent thing…and so I demand payment.”

“Payment!” you said. Kashimo snickered.

“Of course you do,” he said. “How do you aim to collect, Daisuke?”

“It is twofold,” Daisuke said, holding up two fingers. You frowned, wondering what absurd requests he would make of you.

“Go on,” you said warily.

“There is a girl,” he said. “The daughter of a prostitute and a European tradesman. We were friends in our youth, and I wish — I wish to meet her again. If you can find that girl and bring her to me, then I will consider the first request fulfilled.”

“Very well,” you said, though in truth such bastards were not exactly a rarity, and there was no guarantee that the girl whom Daisuke spoke of even remembered him. “And the second?”

“Aid Kichiro in his quest,” he said. “Erase me from the pages of history. Make it so that Hinode is a name no one knows of; I wish to vanish as verily as if I had used my technique.”

“Why is that?” you said. “Isn’t the aim of every man to be remembered?”

“Being remembered and being loved are not the same, Y/N L/N,” he said. “I would take the latter over the former any day. If Kichiro cannot wipe all evidence of my existence, he will surely slander me in every story that is told. I wish to spare my descendants the humiliation that bearing my name will hold if such an event is to occur, and so I repeat: make it so that I disappear, so that there was never a man named Daisuke Hinode. If you can do that, then I will give you a sword that can shatter the heavens.”

“Fine,” you said. “I will do my best.”

“I will help,” Kashimo said imperiously.

“What help would you be?” you said, raising a critical eyebrow at the warlike man, who you had never known to offer help to anyone. He shrugged as if it was something he did everyday, like he was a regular patron of the needy.

“Do you know the girl Daisuke speaks of?” he said. You scowled, because of course you did not, so you found that it was altogether rude of Kashimo to tease you for it.

“No,” you said.

“I do,” he said. “When we were young, the three of us…spent some time together.”

You realized you knew frighteningly little about him. You supposed he was aware of that, which was why he was dangling the information in front of you, frustratingly out of your grasp but close enough that you kept reaching for it like a fool.

“Well, won’t Daisuke tell me who she is?” you said.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Kashimo said. “What sort of payment would it be if there is no difficulty to it? And you have been blessed by the Hummingbird, so if you know her identity, it would be so easy for you to find her that Daisuke could never feel sufficiently reimbursed.”

“Wouldn’t it be the same if you tell me who she is?” you pointed out.

“As if I would just tell you!” Kashimo said, like that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. You pouted, though it was a childish gesture. You had been hoping he would just tell you who she was, so that you could get it out of the way, obtain your sword, and then get your fight with Ten over and done with.

“You’re right,” Daisuke said. “I was actually planning on telling her, but if she is as strong as the rumors say, then it wouldn’t make sense. Surely she can figure it out with her supposed power!”

“Kashimo,” you hissed. “If I did not know that threatening to murder you would only excite you further, I would do so right now.”

“I promise I won’t even try to fight you until Daisuke has forged your sword,” he said, every word sparkling with the utmost of sincerity, ignoring your threat completely. You snorted.

“We already agreed that we would not fight until I defeat Ten, or have you forgotten already?” you said. He opened his mouth and then closed it, repeating the process a few times before exhaling in defeat.

“I suppose that that’s true,” he said.

“So it’s not some great concession the way you’re making it out to be,” you said. “In fact, this is all for your benefit. The sooner I can get my sword and defeat Ten, the sooner I can fight you. Don’t act as if you’re going out of your way to aid me.”

You had figured out during the course of the conversation Kashimo’s true motives in wanting to help you find the woman. There was no affection nor empathy in it; it was the same reason he had taken you to meet Daisuke in the first place. He wanted to fight you. He would do anything to fight you. But before you would fight him, you had to defeat Ten, which meant that for the moment, you both were temporarily aligned in your goals.

The only thing that you couldn’t understand was why he wouldn’t tell you who the girl was, but you decided to attribute this to a mischievous streak you had not known about until now.

“Whether or not it’s a concession on my part, the fact remains that you need my help if you want a sword from Daisuke. Unless you feel confident about your current weapon of choice?” he said, nodding at the sheathed sword which hung from your hip.

“Fine,” you said, though you were loath to do so and knew Hisashi, if he ever heard of it, would be furious. “Then we shall help each other.”

“How will you help me?” he said.

“I will forge the sword,” you said. “And I will defeat Ten. Then, I will defeat you.”

“You are a vain woman, to think yourself capable of defeating our very own god of lightning,” Daisuke said, before squinting and looking at you. “Well. Maybe not. I wish you luck, Hummingbird.”

With that, he turned and walked into a ripple, which formed in the air like it was fabric. In an instant, he was gone, a phantom that left behind nothing but a soft wind whistling through the branches of the camphor tree.

It took an entire day for you to gather the courage to tell Hisashi your plans. Even then, it was a doctored version, with Kashimo’s and Daisuke’s involvements edited entirely out of your recounting.

You pretended like the woman was someone who knew a sword forger — naturally, this was true, but that was not exactly why you were seeking her out — and could point you in their direction so that you could have a suitable cursed tool to face off against Ten. You thought that he might be averse to it and ask you to instead continue using his sword, but he did no such thing. He only nodded and agreed that it would be best for you to have something that you could use to channel your cursed technique, and that was the end of it.

“I am surprised the white-haired one did not come with you,” Kashimo observed when you reined your horse to a stop by where he leaned against a fencepost. You bristled at the insult to Hisashi, though it was barely even an insult.

“He would’ve,” you said. “If I had asked. He would go anywhere if I asked.”

Kashimo considered this before untying his own horse and swinging atop its back, kicking it forward and gesturing for you to follow him. You did so reluctantly, though every step the mare took away from your home with Hisashi felt like a betrayal to the man you were meant to marry.

“He wants your technique,” he said.

“His father coveted it, yes,” you said. You knew the reason why you had been engaged to Hisashi: the power of the Hummingbird, which the Gojo clan believed could smooth over the Six Eyes’ disappearance in recent years.

“How long have you known him?” Kashimo said. It was idle small talk, but there was a deeper purpose. In asking these questions, he was learning you in a way that you could never learn him. Perhaps it should’ve been a frightening proposition, the thought of Kashimo knowing you so intrinsically, but you found it to be more soothing than anything.

“Since I was a child,” you said. “Very young. I was promised to him the night that my parents were killed, right before the man with the stitch-scarred forehead came to meet me.”

For a little girl, the kind prone to romantic flights of fancy, a boy such as Hisashi Gojo was akin to a dream come true. The heir to a clan and possessing lovely, fine features, you had believed him to be a hero come to sweep you off of your feet.

Of course, such heroes did not exist, and so the early years of your engagement were devoid of much happiness. Hisashi did not hate you, but neither did he love you; he was a boy three years your elder, and so for the most part he thought of you as a child come to bother him, following behind him when he would rather be playing with Kichiro and Naoki.

When you two grew to be teenagers, he began to tease you incessantly, and so the roles were reversed in that you were the one frequently irritated by his presence. Naturally you did not realize that he was doing this because he had, in some way, grown to be fond of you, but that was the truth of it. He was becoming a man, and you a woman, and unlike you he was at the same time growing aware of this development. You believe it made him uncomfortable, the entire concept of the girl he had once known wearing the pretty face of an unrecognizable stranger, and so he lashed out at you in the only way he knew how.

He was never cruel. Hisashi at his heart has always been gentle, and even at his worst he didn’t know how to hurt you. You always thought his father might detest him for it, at least a little, that in such a violent existence he was still kind, but even if that was the case, it did not stop him from his softness. Maybe it was his own form of rebellion against the world.

You kissed Hisashi for the first time when you were —

“Alright, that’s enough,” Kashimo said. You snickered at his disgruntled expression, which he took no heed of. “I don’t need to hear about that part.”

“You asked,” you said.

“I distinctly did not,” he said haughtily. “It was a question that did not necessitate an entire story being told to explain its answer.”

“What else do we fill the time with?” you said. “Unless you’d like to tell me about your life.”

“No,” he said. An awkward silence stretched over the two of you. You gave Kashimo a telling look, and he frowned. “Fine. Tell me another story from your life. But — but not one with Hisashi Gojo in it. I care little for him and his gentleness.”

“Certainly, you only respect strength, so the value of a kind person would be lost on you,” you said. “Alright, what if I tell you about the man with the stitches on his forehead?”

Kashimo hummed contemplatively. “Fine.”

The night your parents died was the same night you met that man, the one who would define your existence forevermore. He had no great demands; indeed, he was overly generous to the point of suspicion. When you asked him the reason for his kindness, he told you that it was because your father had offered him something in return, made a Binding Vow to ensure your protection. And what authority did you have to question him? You were alone. Your parents had left you and you did not know where they had gone or why they had done it.

He was a handsome person, with an angular face and dark hair tied neatly back, as was customary for the time. The single blemish on what was an otherwise artistically perfect image was the row of stitches engraved into his forehead, standing out angry and red against the pale skin. You remembered this the best about him; even so many years later, when the shade of his eyes and the pursing of his lips had faded into the recesses of your memory, the stitches stood out as clearly as they had on the day you had met him.

That man — and he refused to tell you his name, claimed ‘names had power for creatures such as hummingbirds’ — was the one who gave you the book Tales of the Hummingbird. He also told you what it meant for you to be blessed in the way that you were.

The eternal conflict with the lord of the sky. He was the one who told you about it, who told you about Ten. Perhaps if it had not been for him, you never would’ve known that you had to fight that great being. Well, that’s likely not true; if you were born to do it, then you would’ve found out eventually regardless. The man only sped along the process, made it so that you knew your life’s purpose from the moment you could think deeply enough about your existence to begin wondering what it might be.

You asked him what your father’s Binding Vow had been, but he never told you. He only patted his lap, bade you to sit upon it and then stroked your hair as he spoke. You remembered that there was a warmth lacking from the gesture, though this could be put down to your fascination with the grotesque appearance of his brow leading to a lack of appreciation for the comfort you were sure he was trying to provide you.

He told you that the day would come when you, too, would make a Binding Vow with him. You said you would not, that you were not in the business of making Binding Vows with just about anyone, but he only chuckled and told you that things would change in the future and one day you’d beg him to do it, beg him to give you the chance to get what you most terribly wanted.

Even now you didn’t understand what he meant by that — after all, how could a Binding Vow with a mere man grant your deepest wishes? The only theory you had ever come up with was that somehow the nature of his technique was as such, but it felt a flimsy explanation.

When you asked Hisashi and Kichiro and even Naoki if they knew the man of whom you spoke, they shook their heads and told you that they had never seen a person like that. So he remained a mystery, one you never again encountered but thought of frequently.

“That was a little anticlimactic,” Kashimo said.

“Whatever do you mean?” you said. He shrugged, reaching up to hold a tree branch out of his way and then letting go so that it sprung back and would’ve slammed into your face if you had not ducked in time.

“So a man made a vow with your father and gave you a book. I don’t understand why you’re so impressed by that. If I give you a book, will you think of me frequently?” he said. You rolled your eyes.

“No,” you said. “And you cannot make a vow with my father, as he is dead, so think of some other way to occupy my mind.”

“Really, though, he was probably just some relative of yours or another that took the chance to mold you into the perfect, powerful little sorcerer that would do as he asked in the wake of your parents’ death. He was probably lying about all of it,” Kashimo, ever the practical one, said. You let out a heavy exhale.

“It’s possible. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that there was something odd about the entire situation,” you said. “After all, why did he have that book? Until that point, it was not even certain if I had a cursed technique or not.”

“If you look for fantastical explanations, then they will manifest. Conversely, if you look for the reasonable methods, then they will surely make themselves apparent,” he said.

“That’s true,” you said hesitantly. Kashimo blew out a huff of air.

“You tell boring stories. I suppose that’s that, then; I’ll have to tell you one about myself,” he said.

“Will you, now? Which one?” you said. There was so little you knew about Kashimo that you could not help how his statement piqued your interest. He grinned, a smug, self-satisfied expression that was so at home on his face it was a wonder he did not wear it more often.

“I’m sure there is much you’d like to know, and before I kill you, I will tell you it all and tell you it well, but in the meantime, we should begin with a more innocuous story,” he began.

“Get to the point, Kashimo,” you said. “What are you going to tell me?”

“You won’t indulge my theatrical desires when I am going so far out of my way to help you? Cruel woman that you are, I guess it isn’t too much out of character for you to do such a thing,” he said.

“As I said earlier, you are not going out of your way. You all but forced your way into helping me, when I would’ve been able to find this woman perfectly easily without your interference and your egging on of Daisuke,” you said.

“Well, you wouldn’t have even found Daisuke without me…but that’s beside the point!” He hastily cut himself off when he saw you open your mouth to argue. “The story I’m going to tell you is actually related to both the woman and Daisuke. In fact, it is the story of my childhood and how it is that an orphan, one who was born with nothing to his name, came to be known as the god of lightning, making up for his lack of blessings by becoming a deity in his own right.”