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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

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Holy Ground - Chapter 2

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Azriel’s shadows liked to spoil his mate rotten.

Not that Azriel could find anything wrong with that.

She deserved more for putting up with him.

More than new tea from the Dawn Court and her favourite chocolate covered, wafer thin cookies from a small bakery near the Sidra…more than the occasional embroidery thread they snuck her…More than whatever animal he went to go hunt, to cover his bed in even more furs just for her.

He nearly had enough Sable furs to have a blanket made for her for Winter Solstice…

Azriel also had half a mind to go sneak in her office later that day.

Just as a treat for not killing either of his brothers. For being civil.

Rhys had come over for sparring, unnannounced.

Azriel had hoped to have some peace and quiet today, but it seemed like Rhys had other plans.

Currently Cassian and Rhys were wrestling with less sense than they had had when they were just kids, and Azriel was cleaning his weapons, watching from the sidelines.

Azriel couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sight of his brothers roughhousing. It was typical of them to turn a simple sparring session into some kind of ridiculous competition. He focused on sharpening his knives, trying to ignore their antics.

"You know, we could also actually train properly," he called out, his tone dry. "Instead of wrestling like a bunch of children."

Cassian looked up from his grappling with Rhys, grinning. "Oh, come on Az. Don't be such a stick in the mud. Loosen up, have a little fun for once."

Azriel's expression remained impassive. "I'm perfectly capable of having fun, Cassian. But I prefer to do so without rolling around in the dirt like a wild animal."

Rhysand chuckled, standing up and clapping Cassian on the back. "It's good to let loose every now and then, Az. You should try it sometime. It might make your brooding sessions a little less depressing."

Azriel just grunted in response, not willing to engage in a verbal sparring match with Rhys. He continued to clean his weapons, hoping that the training session would end soon so he could escape his brothers' teasing.

“When did you even come home yesterday?” Cassian asked him.

Azriel looked up from his work, his expression neutral. "Around 11," he said simply.

“You didn’t come to dinner,” Rhys pointed out. “You were missed.”

He highly doubted that.

And maybe he had made that mission in Dawn just a little while longer, so that he knew that dinner would be over and when he came home, he wouldn’t need to be alone.

Azriel just shrugged. "I was busy," he said, offering no further explanation. He knew his brothers were just trying to rile him up, and he wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

*Are you still pissed of at me?* Rhys asked him mentally with a sigh. *I get it. But you don’t need to avoid everybody else, just because…*

*I’m not avoiding anyone,* Azriel replied, his mental voice tight. *I’m simply choosing to spend my time how I see fit.*

“I was busy,” he repeated aloud.

Cassian rolled his eyes. "You're always busy, Az. You know, there's such thing as taking a break once in a while. Spending time with your family."

Or he could spent time with his mate. He could spent time with his mate, who let him brush her hair and even braid it …who pressed kisses to his horrible scarred hands and smiled at him.

If it was a choice between Irena or a family dinner where he didn’t want to stay longer than an hour or two, because he was still too fucking pissed off at Rhys…the choice was easy.

“Or is there a special somebody?” Cassian teased him.

Azriel glowered at him. "It’s none of your business." He went back to working on his weapons, his expression tense.

*You can’t keep panting after Elain for the rest of your life,* Rhys said mentally. *Look, I know I didn’t…I am sorry. But she’s happy with Lucien and…*

*Don’t worry, I’ll go to a pleasure hall and pay for it if I want to fuck somebody,* Azriel shot back viciously.

Or his own hand would suffice. More than suffice, especially if…especially if Irena had let him kiss her the evening before…sometimes he waited until she disappeared into her room, and he buried his face in the pillows that smelled like her, fisted his cock and rutted like an untried boy for seconds before he came all over himself.

It was still better than any other sex he ever had had before.

Cassian raised an eyebrow at him. "It sounds like you need to get laid," he said, chuckling. "Maybe that'll help with your bad mood."

Azriel shot him a glare. "Mind your own business, Cassian. My love life is none of your concern."

Rhysand gave him a sympathetic look. *We just want you to be happy, Az. You deserve happiness.*

“Ohhh, touchy,” Cassian said with a snort.

Azriel just gritted his teeth, his temper rising. "Cassian, if you don’t shut your mouth right now, I swear to the Mother, I’ll shut it for you."

Cassian just grinned at him. "Come on, Az. I’m just teasing you. Lighten up."

Azriel's grip on his weapons tightened. "I don't like your teasing, Cassian. And I certainly don't appreciate you making assumptions about my personal life.”

Mostly he just wanted his brothers to leave him the hell alone.

And then...then before he could say another thing...he felt the shaking.

And then the sound came. An eardrum shattering explosion, the very foundation of the House of Wind shaking. It was terrifying him.

Irena was down there in her office. Nesta was in there.

He was moving before he was even thinking.

*Merrill's office, Master!* the shadows screeched.

Azriel was already running.

Cassian hot on his heels, so was Rhys.

Azriel was faster, heaving shadows around his limbs as he rocketed down the spiral stairs of the House of Wind.

Level Two, Straight to the right. Clearly...Clearly the epicenter of the blast. Of the explosion…of whatever had happened.

He pushed as hard as he could, legs burning as he hurtled down the hallway to Merrill's office.

He wasn't the only one. "Merrill!" He could hear Gwyn's shrill voice screaming, coming to a stop in a hallway of what had once been Merrill's office but now was just...

It was a mass of wood and rubble.

He barely slowed down, scrambling into action. Gwyn was already digging through it, so where Nesta and Emerie. Cassian landed behind him, immediately moving some of the debris.

His shadows swarmed as he and the others quickly dug at the rubble. Looking, desperately looking.

He moved another piece of rubble out of the way...a piece of blue cloths. The same blue cloth that he knew covered Irena's body, the scent of poppies clinging to her...Without a thought, he grasped and then dragged, a hoarse shout that was her, that was her...

He felt as if he were choking, as if he were drowning as he dragged out her body. Bloody, bruised, broken but still...still there was a faint flicker, a faint, thready heartbeat.

His heartbeat pounding in his ears, he tried to pick up on her heart. There was barely a flicker. Too fast, too faint, she was barely holding on. Barely hanging by a thread.

There was blood pooling on her abdomen, dying the blue dress she wore bright scarlet red, He put pressure on that wound immediately, leaning on her with nearly all his weight, his fingers slick with blood. "Damn it, stay with me, love," he demanded sharply.

Azriel felt like he could barely breath. Like he was falling, tumbling down as he tried to will her to stay with him. Stay. Stay. Stay. Please stay. Stay...

Rhys was there suddenly, checking her pulse. "Breathing is erratic. She's in shock," he told Azriel with a grimace. "Mor is getting Madja..."

"Az..." her voice was so weak, but he turned to see dark brown eyes watching him, brows furrowing.

"Just keep breathing, Love," he told her, trying to stop his voice from shaking.

He could barely hear what was going on around him. It was as if he were in a bubble, a world of just himself and her and the desperate beat of her heart under his fingers.

"I am sorry," she whispered.

"There is nothing you need to apologise for her, Irena," he promised her sharply. "Absolutely nothing."

Irena's eyes drifted shut. Azriel felt like something was dying inside him as her heartbeat fluttered against his fingertips. His world was collapsing, shattering into pieces as her breath stuttered.

"Stay. Just stay..." he was barely aware of what he was saying, his eyes frantically searching hers. She had to stay. He would do anything to keep her here. Anything.

"I am still owing you that flight," he told her. She hadn't let him take her flying yet. They had snuck away in the library...in the rooftop garden...in her office. But he had never gotten to take her flying. He had never gotten to take her out into Velaris. They had never had a date at a fancy restaurant, had never gone to see the symphony. There were thousands of things that he hadn't yet gotten to do with his mate, because they had all the time in the world.

Irena just stared at him, her eyes pleading, as her heartbeat slowed, fluttering weaker and weaker. Azriel felt a sharp pain in his chest as fear clawed at his spine. "Just hold on a little longer, love," he whispered. "Please."

And then there Madja. Thank the cauldron. There she was.

Azriel could barely manage to let go of her, his mind consumed with the singular thought of Irena's laboured, erratic heartbeat as he moved back. Madja immediately set to work.

He lunged for her head, lunged to pull it on his lap, to touch her with blood slick fingertips, her normally rosy red lips pale, her skin even whiter than usual.

"Hurts," she whispered, as Madja set to work, barking orders.

"I know, I know, love," he whispered, touching her cheek with his fingertips as Madja got to work.

His eyes searched hers as he murmured those words over and over, as if he could somehow hold her in this world through sheer force of will alone.

"We haven't had enough time," he whispered desperately, leaning his forehead against hers.

She was slipping away. He could feel it. Feel her slipping, feel her heartbeat slow. Feel the thread that tethered her to this world fray, fray, fray...

No. He couldn't lose her. Would not let her leave him. He had waited far too long for her. Far, far too long to let her slip through his fingers.

"Stay with me," he pleaded. "Please stay with me."

But her eyes were slipping shut, her head lolling to the side. He gently patted her cheek, trying to urge her back to consciousness, but he didn't think he was even really aware of what he was doing, where he was. The world had boiled down to a desperate litany, in his head. Stay...stay...please...don't you dare...

“I am going to be so furious with you if you die. We may have our first fight,” he told her fiercely.

He needed her to know that he would be there to be furious with her if she dared to die, that she couldn't die. Couldn't. That she had to stay. Had to keep fighting. There were too many things ahead of them...a wedding to plan, children to have, years and years of life to live.

“Az,” she breathed his name, her eyes not even open anymore.

“Open your eyes, Irena,” he demanded. “Look at me, love,”

Her eyes finally fluttered open at his command. It was barely more than a slither of brown, but he latched onto it, taking it for what it was. A chance. A moment to get through to her.

He wasn't sure what he was saying, but the words spilled forth from him, a litany, a desperate prayer. "Please," he breathed, "don't go...don't you dare..."

He was dimly aware that the others had gathered, but he didn't dare look away. Didn't dare look away from her as he cradled her head, trying to pour all of his prayers into those words. All of his hope and desperation.

"You can't go." A statement. An order. An absolute certainty in his voice. "I will not let you go."

He wouldn't. Would never, ever let her go. Would drag her back from the Cauldron's grasp with bloodied and broken hands if thats what had to be.

She didn't speak. Didn't need to. He could read her answer in her eyes, the determination in those brown eyes as she tried so, so hard to stay.

It was as if she were holding on for him, because he had asked her to. Because it was him there with her. Like she would fight until her last breath because he told her too. He didn't deserve this beautiful creature, who was willing to fight for him, willing to live for him.

It was something primal, something desperate, something fierce as he whispered those words over and over, like a prayer. "Fight. Fight. Fight."

And she listened. She did. He could feel her hold on, just barely grasp hold of that tether that kept her in this world. Just barely keep her eyes open.

Just look at him.

And she did, those dark eyes unfocused but open, staring up at him, watching him. Trying so, so hard. It nearly made his heart stop in the most terrible way that she was struggling for him.

And he was so proud of her. Of the way she was fighting like she was. Of the way she was grasping, hanging on to life like she was.

The seconds stretched too thin, feeling like eternities and only the slightest of moments. But her eyes were open, if only barely. She hadn't given up. Hadn't let go.

He was dimly aware of the others, Gwyn hovering with a worried expression, Madja murmuring quiet instructions to the others, Rhys kneeling not far away. But he barely glanced at them, barely dared to take his eyes off Irena.

He was certain that if he looked away, if he let this tenuous thread sever, that she would die. That as long as he kept her here, she wouldn't slip, wouldn't let go.

He had one hand on her cheek, her skin still clammy and pale, as her eyes slipped open and shut. But everytime, they would find his face. His eyes, like he was the only thing tethering her to the world. It hurt. Hurt so much to see her barely holding on, only that last sliver of determination keeping her here.

"Please," he pleaded, whispering those words like a prayer, like he would be praying to a vengeful god. Those moments felt like eternities, stretching on and on with only his desperate whispers. "Please..."

The world felt so still, so silent as if the world was holding its breath. Azriel's eyes locked on Irena, silently begging her, asking her to please, please...

Live, live live... he whispered those words over and over, a desperate plea to the Mother, the Cauldron, to anyone who would listen. To Irena, the only person in the entire world who truly mattered in that moment.

Her eyes were growing glassy, slipping closed only to jerk open again. Stay he demanded. Keep looking at me. Please.

She tried. Mother, she tried. Her eyes drifted to him, the smallest hint of life, of a spark there in those dark brown eyes.

He hardly dared to breathe, hardly dared to move. Afraid that any wrong move could tip her over the edge, could pull her into that chasm of non-existence that she was desperately clinging too.

He felt something pricking at his eyes, felt something in his chest cracking, breaking at the sheer intensity of emotions thrumming through him. It hurt. Hurt so much to see her like this, so pale, barely holding on, barely conscious...

“Alright,” Madja said quietly. “Good girl. You were so very brave.”

"Will...will she be alright?" He asked, voice hoarse.

He didn't let his eyes drift from Irena's face, her half lidded eyes staring at him. It filled him with such an intense pang of relief and fear at the same time. Relief, because she was alive...and fear, because they had been so close to losing her.

"She's not out of the woods yet," Madja warned. "But she'll make it. She lost a lot of blood. It will take some time to get her vitals stable again."

He felt like he could breathe for the first time. It was almost dizzying, the sheer, intense relief that flooded through him. Irena was here. Irena would live. It filled his veins with an almost drug like euphoria, that made him light headed, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

He barely managed to keep that feeling in, the pure euphoria from showing as he smoothed a strand of hair back from her face. "Thank you," he whispered, voice hoarse, eyes finally dragging away from Irena's face to look at Madja. "Just...thank you."

He looked back at Irena, taking in her face. Alive. Still alive. Still here with him, not gone. The tension seeped from his shoulders, a strange sort of exhaustion taking over. As if all the adrenaline that had fueled him, the fear, was slowly draining out of him like water.

“Merrill,” Irena whispered, her voice near silent.

Azriel felt his fingers brush her cheek, just the gentlest touch as he tried to keep it together. It had been too close. Too, too close. He couldn't stop the overwhelming feelings flowing through him of elation and fear as he looked down at her as he looked down at her, alive. Alive and breathing and whispering soft words. "Shhh," he whispered softly. "Save your strength. Don't strain yourself."

He looked up finding Cassians gaze who just shook his head. Merrill was dead.

Azriel couldn't quite process that information, not in that moment. His eyes were still drawn to Irena, still unable to take his eyes off of her for more than a moment. His fingers brushed her cheek again, just the faintest touch as he pressed a small kiss to her forehead. "Rest," he instructed softly. "I'll be right there.” He promised.

“Being here to her room,” Madja said quietly.

“My room,” he corrected.

The priestesses dormitory was locked from males. If he even tried to get in there it would’ve end well for him. And he wouldn’t leave her side.

“Your room?” Gwyn asked sharply.

“Gwyn,” Rhys said quietly.Azriel didn't even acknowledge Gwyn's words, didn't have the energy. All he could focus on was the way Irena's eyes had drifted shut, the steady rise and fall of her chest. She would be alright. She was going to be alright. She was alive. Right now, in that moment, thats all that mattered.

“Az, how long have the two of you…” Cassian asked hesitantly.

Azriel just shrugged, his hand resting on Irena's hair, smoothing back from her face. “Two years. She’s my mate,” he said flatly as he gathered her up.

“Mate,” she rasped. “Mine.”

“Yours,” he agreed softly.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #Holy Ground

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uchispeach · 1 month ago

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Killer

Dark! Bully! Rafe Cameron x Fem! Reader

Warnings: NON CON, SMUT, rough sex, manhandling & degradation, choking, breeding kink, bullying, violent & abusive behavior, Mean! Rafe, Bully! Rafe…

A/N: Sorry for disappearing, I’ve just had a shit ton of family problems. I hope I can update a bit faster from now on! ALSO lmk if you want this to become a series! 💕

A laugh, dripping with mockery, echoed through the vast room, sparking a ripple of chuckles and whispered insults from the nearby group of boys.

Rafe Cameron’s body stretched lazily in the chair, making it seem almost comically small under his heavy frame. Even with his limbs sprawled out in complete relaxation, the outline of his hard muscles pressed against his shirt, as if daring to break free at any moment. You couldn't deny he looked attractive, exuding an undeniable magnetism in that confident, almost predatory pose, his new buzz cut only amplifying the arrogance that oozed from him. But that ugly, smug smirk? It made your bones ache and your throat dry up in ways you couldn’t explain.

His eyes, the color of storm clouds, lingered on yours with a deliberate intensity, delighting in your discomfort, relishing in every flinch and subtle shift of your gaze. You turned away, hoping your disinterest would bore him eventually, but you knew it wouldn’t.

No matter how hard you focused on the lecture, his presence was like an intrusive, constant drill on your brain—his burning gaze a distraction that gnawed at your senses. How naive had you been to think he'd ever leave you alone? Every time you raised your hand in class, you could count on him to whisper some stupid joke under his breath. How foolish had you been to think he would ever stop tormenting you? This sick dynamic between you two had been a game since childhood, and if anything, he seemed to thrive on it.

His once-small fingers had grown long and strong -now covered in silver rings. Those same digits that used to tangle on your hair and pull from it until your scalp burned in pain. His legs were now far longer, but they had always been longer than yours, outpacing you as they chased you through the school halls in all infant and adolescent years, always with the aim of making you stumble and fall to your knees. But his mouth had never changed. It had only sharpened, evolving into something far more dangerous.

You’d convinced yourself you were above all of it. Charleston had felt like a fresh start, and you’d thought the Pogue curse might finally be something you could outrun. But when Rafe Cameron showed up once more, everything you’d built: your confidence, your peace of mind—began to crumble, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the raw, unresolved tension between you.

You were studying to be a teacher, the first in your family to receive a scholarship that promised a brighter future. Your days were filled with lesson plans, textbooks, and the weight of academic expectation. Every second of your time was accounted for as you worked tirelessly to carve out a new path for yourself, one that didn't involve being brought back to the past or the memories of him. You didn’t have time for distractions, certainly not for him. But here he was, always lurking just at the edges of your life, a dark cloud you couldn’t escape.

Rafe was studying for an MBA, the complete opposite of you, and yet fate had forced you into a shared class. You would’ve done anything to avoid him, but trapped in between those fours walls, mere meters away from him - it just seemed impossible.

And there he was, at your left, staring with a look of sick pleasure every time he found you trying to focus. His presence was suffocating, like the air itself became dense with his attention. His words, the snide remarks whispered under his breath, were like a weight on your chest, making every breath harder to take.

He harassed you constantly in that class—every. single. time. Without fail. No matter how much you tried to bury yourself in your notes, no matter how hard you tried to ignore his mocking chuckles, his eyes always found you, always zeroed in on your every move. He’d challenge you with pointless questions, make stupid comments about your work, his voice dripping with condescension. But it didn’t stop there. His reach extended beyond the classroom, following you into the hallways, his tall frame casting a shadow that would make your stomach turn. He would appear out of nowhere, as though drawn to you by some sick fixation, and make his presence known with a smirk or a taunt, forcing you to look up from your books, to meet those stormy eyes full of wickedness.

He would ‘accidentally’ bump into you, making your school supplies fall over. He licked his lower lip when you bent over to pick the mess up. His front would get dangerously close to your back in any queue, sometimes getting bold enough to grind slightly against you. He would move you around like a rag doll, always putting his huge palm on your ass to push you to the side. Still, there was nothing as uncomfortable as having his dirty eyes scanning you from head to toe at any given time - he licked his lower lip in amusement, making your cheeks grow hotter.

You’d always hoped, prayed, that once the class ended, he’d disappear—vanish into his own world and leave you to yours. But you were wrong. Every time the teacher dismissed you, and you gathered your things to leave, he’d be right there, waiting. It was like clockwork. His long, strong fingers would slide into the pockets of navy trousers, the scent of his manly cologne wafting over you in an intoxicating way. His gaze would follow you as you tried to make a clumsy exit, his footsteps closing the distance between you with every passing second. You hated that you could never outrun him. Hated how he always found a way to corner you.

And just as you thought you might make it out of the door, safe, free—he’d appear at the threshold, standing in your way with that damn smirk of his, a look that seemed to promise nothing but trouble.

“Leaving so soon?” His voice would slither through the air like poison.

Your heart would pound in your chest, but you’d force your eyes to look anywhere but at him, hoping and praying, that maybe, just maybe, today would be the day he’d leave you alone. But you knew better. You always knew better.

And now, you could feel it again; the familiar pressure of his presence, creeping closer, dark and inevitable.

“What’s that I’ve heard?” He scratched his head while pressing his brows together, pretending to be deep in thought. “…Oh, right” Now, enlightened; he stepped forward. Your almost wobbly legs did their best on distancing themselves -though, they weren’t allowed much movement after hitting a desk.

The back of your knees stung against the protruding piece of wood. “You tryna leave…study abroad, right?” Your eyes peeled in horror, and you hid in yourself as much as you could when his tall frame overpowered yours. “No, no. Look me right in the eye.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. Without any hesitation, his cold rings found their place under your chin, burying in your skin when lifting up your face. “How-how do you know?” Your stuttering made him smile -predatory grin adorning his harsh features. “Everyone thinks you’re smart…” The pain on your neck amplified at the uncomfortable position.

“…But I think you’re just a dumb bitch.” He spat at you. Tone as rough as the domineering grip on your jaw. “…Bragging left and right - you really thought I wouldn’t find out?” He shook you with erratic movement. The pain you felt under his digits distracted you from a perverted knee slowly opening its way between your legs.

His unruly eyes took a break from tormenting yours as he admired your skirt’s fabric draping over your thighs. The blond snob flashed you his hungry canines while biting into his lower lip.

The horror only amplified when a sharp thrust attacked your clothed sex. His impatient knee continued to roughly rub against the cotton underwear, cruelty reflected on the fast pace. “Ha. Would you look at that? The dirty slut is getting wet!” You whined in disgust when Rafe pressed harder on the soaked circle.

The scarce dignity you thought you held was harshly stripped from you. On his arms you were nothing but a squeaky toy he got to bite and squeeze whenever he desired, and little by little you felt victim to a raw resignation.

The next thing you sensed was his palm abandoning your neck and moving onto your meaty thighs. He gave the flesh a squeeze, followed by a lusty groan leaving his pinkish lips.

Your mind tried to wander away, but the situation was just too much; too much stimulation everywhere, too much heat coming from his larger body, too much degradation directed your way in mean words and touches, too much torturous pressure applied to your virgin cunt and too much pawing at your unexplored parts.

The next thing your brain registered was a rip. The sound of something being torn apart, and if you didn’t see the light fabric pooling around your feet, you could’ve almost swear it was the noise your spirit made when breaking in half. “And I was thinking about making it nice for you…fucking you on a bed of roses or some corny shit.” He talked with nothing but mockery, while leaning onto your chest. “But I guess you prefer it when I treat you like a cheap whore.” The Cameron boy finished it off with a chuckle, his muscles flexing hard under the rumbling laugh.

You wanted to contradict him, defend your honor and pull him off of you, but all protests got stuck in your throat when he took you by it and slammed your upper body against the desk. The rigid wood wasn’t welcoming. Your head spinned uncontrollably at the beast-like hit.

The lack of oxygen didn’t stop you from hearing him unbuckling his pants. Panic grew louder as you heard his clothes falling to the Classroom’s floor. Worries clouded you in a tumultuous storm, and you did your best to cover yourself up when the only layer covering your vulnerable hole was pushed to the side. “Open your fucking legs or I’ll break your useless skull!” He demanded in a crazied tone, ripping your limbs apart and throwing them over his shoulders.

“Please, don’t.” Your eyelids squeezed together, shielding your irises from looking at the violating scene. “That’s right, beg me” Warm breath imposed itself above your slit, followed by a warmer liquid dripping down your folds. “Gotta make it wetter…I don’t want you breaking at the first use.” Even though your sight was all black, you could imagine his satisfied grin decorating that diabolically handsome face.

You tried pulling away when a foreign limb rubbed against your sex, desperate to be let in. “Rafe, no-” You were cut short by your own screams, eyes peeled open at the feeling of his cock entering all at once.

“Fuck! Tight ass pussy.” He sounded in heaven, palms manhandling your knees to your chest while pounding ruthlessly into you.

The rest of your body went numb, being rocked up and down at the bestiality of the boy’s attack. His groans and moans overpowered your miserable sobs. Your withering form contrasted his blessed expressions, pure passion exuding from his now sweaty body.

“Your whorish cunt is squeezing the shit out of me…she doesn’t want me to leave!” He continued to talk while creating some deeply loud wet noises.

Your neck and waist’s skin burned under his cutting rings and the unsolicited friction of his grip that kept you still. Your ears got lost at the multiple pet names he called you, as well as the dirty sentences of encouragement he occasionally threw your way.

After almost an hour of feeling him impale you on his dick, you grew tired of screaming and crying, now reduced to quiet whimpers and even quieter pleas. “Stop-” He did the opposite to that, toned pelvis slapping hard against you as his tip bruised your cervix in persistent thrusts.

The cries that left your esophagus were now primal and raw, long nails holding onto his huge back. “That’s right, cry for me. You fucking deserve it!” That only made the tears fall faster down your cheeks, reaching your mouth on a salty taste.

And when his movements finally went sloppy and his member felt softer, your suffering only sharpened. “Tell me you love me” He barked at your face, drops of unintentional spit hitting your distressed face.

You thought you heard wrong, that between his chocking, and suffocating weight your brain had imagined the unimaginable. “Tell me you love me!” His features tensed, making a vein pop on his front.

Was Rafe Cameron asking for words of affirmation from you? Was the same guy who just butchered your purity asking you for your heart? Or was it just another inhumane prank? Another limit of yours he wanted to cross?

Clearly you took to much time thinking and not acting because the next thing you felt was the blond burying impossibly deeper into your core and making you know a new level of uncomfortability. “Tell me you fucking love or I’ll come inside you.” The light on the room was vast, you were sure of it. Such an elite university could only have the best illumination for its elitist students; still, his burly body completely covered yours.

His sharp jaw and eyes were enhanced by the darkness found in his stare. “I-” He trembled lightly in excitement at your shaky voice. “I love you.” You finally decreed, unknowingly sealing your fate.

His smile was like nothing you saw before, too devilish and twisted you actually doubted smiling was ever a nice gesture. And when you felt a dense liquid flooding your womb in overwhelming warmth, you swore you could see the devil in his eyes.

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notlongtolove · 2 months ago

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the garden is growing

"you live together, work together. doesn’t it all get a little boring?" there’s a weight to her observation, something invasive, like she’s pulling out weeds that you never asked her to tend, tilling through soil that’s been left unbothered for too long. the cups of tea, the folding of blankets. you could never call that boring.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff! maybe angst if you really really squint

content: after catching up with an old friend, bau!reader and bf!spencer have a contemplative talk about their relationship as they walk home. domestic... mentions of marriage... lurve in the air...

word count: 2.2k

note: a post finals treat to myself! leaned heavy into the garden imagery for this one lol, this was heavily inspired by the poem linked, i highly recommend it! o i also added some song recs below for this one :P (ps i did not mean to compare spencer's eyes to PEBBLES but it was either that or a random brown flower... sorry.)

a line: The perennial pushes its way through the cracks in the concrete—small, steady, and undeniably alive. It’s there. It’s growing.

If you ask me 'What's new?', I have nothing to say Except that the garden is growing. - wendy cope

When you were younger, you had a garden. A field just a stone's throw from your front door. Not the kind in a backyard, fenced in and manageable. No, it was wild and uncontained, the grass alive beneath your feet. They used to say love was like a garden. You'd think about that sometimes—how you were supposed to tend to it, rake and comb and pull out the weeds before they strangled your beautiful flowers. And when it rained, you just had to let it. Let the downpour come and see what survived.

You’re standing under the awning, shaking droplets off your jacket. You mumble a thanks to the doorman as he holds the door open, offering a silent nod in return. The door opens to a polished, marble lobby, and suddenly you’re acutely aware of how out of place you look. You’d come straight from the office, having dwindled your stack of case files from a grand total of 26 to a modest 19. The grand mirror to your left does nothing to help. If anything, it’s magnifying the creased fabric of your trousers and the damp strands of hair stuck to your cheek. You shift uncomfortably, tugging at your sleeves and smoothing your hair out in a futile attempt at order. It was urgent she’d said. A matter of utmost importance. You’re not sure why you’re here, but you know with certainty that you’d rather not be.

She sees you before you see her. She calls out for you, the nickname wrapping around you like a sweater one size too small—warm but suffocating. It might as well be. You haven’t seen her in nearly a year—maybe a year and a half? You shrug, suddenly missing Spencer’s precision, his ability to pin things down to the day, the hour.

"Hi," you manage, sliding into the seat opposite her. “I’m really sorry. Work was crazy—" you start, but your words dissolve the moment she thrusts her hand forward. A diamond—no, a boulder—catches the light, dazzling and deliberate. You nearly choke on the glass of water you’ve just picked up.

"Let me tell you about crazy," she says, her grin sharpening.

Oh, the yacht! And don’t even get me started on the violins, can you believe it! The sea was just gorgeous—Did I mention it was on a yacht? Her words tumble out as you try to follow along, but you can’t quite keep up, only noting it definitely involved an abhorrent amount of Dom Perignon.

“I wish you could’ve been there to see it,” she says, her voice tinged with what you hope is nostalgia and not pity.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” you murmur, and you mean it—sort of. You used to be close, but since starting at the BAU, everything else kind of took a backseat. It had to. “I wish I could’ve too. Work’s been—”

"Crazy, right," she cuts in, waving it off. "Big fancy BAU," She winks. "That job’s gonna be the death of you one day y’know, all those hours." You force a laugh, but her words hit a little too literally, heavier than she knows. You don’t think she quite grasps the reality of your work.

“So,” she says, leaning in now, her chin propped delicately on her hand, her diamond ring catching the light. You can’t help but think it’s mocking you. “How’s things going with Spencer?”

"Oh, they’re going fine."

"Fine?" She raises her brows. "Trouble in paradise?"

“No, not at all,” you insist, your voice instinctively rising in defence. “We’re—fine. You know, same old, same old. We just wrapped a big case actually. This guy—” You cut yourself off, realizing mid-sentence that the story of a guy meticulously collecting hair from women post-mortem doesn’t feel like the kind of story to share during dinner under a sparkling chandelier—Not that you’re doing much eating anyway. The menu was a labyrinth of fancy salads, obscure cheeses, and entrées described in French that you’re only half sure translate to lamb. You’d settled for pushing a few greens around your plate, making a mental note to stop by the bodega later.

Her laugh pulls you back to the table, "I don’t know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"You know… Live together, work together, day in, day out. Doesn’t it all get a little..." She trails off, letting her expression finish the sentence.

"A little… what?"

"Boring?"

You blink. "Boring?"

The word tastes bitter. You don’t like it. The way the dog always chases the cat? Boring. The way the cat always seeks shelter in the same tree? Boring. But the way they both come running home every time you call? That’s never boring. Spencer in the quiet mornings—hair tousled, voice soft and sleepy as he murmurs a 'good morning.' The cups of tea, the folding of blankets. You could never call that boring.

She laughs lightly, the sound cutting through the restaurant’s hum. "Not in a bad way! I just mean... do you guys even go out? Like, for fun? You guys have been together for, what like, years now?” Three years and 4 months, you think to yourself. You’d never need Spencer’s eidetic memory to remember that.

"Well, yeah, sure we do…" you say finally. "Um, we went to a museum recently." You don’t tell her it was to interview a suspect. Her smile tightens, like she’s not sure whether to believe you or feel sorry for you. You take a careful sip of water, resisting the urge to shift under her gaze. There’s a weight to her observation, something invasive, like she’s pulling out weeds that you never asked her to tend, tilling through soil that’s been left unbothered for too long. Outside, the rain keeps falling.

By the time you part with polite hugs and hollow smiles, the downpour has softened to a drizzle. Spencer is waiting by the curb, hair slightly damp. His eyes light up at the sight of you. Under the glow of the streetlight, they remind you of the pebbles you used to collect by the garden path. You’d carry them home, pocketful by pocketful, washing and scrubbing at them until they shone. Only your favourites made it to your shelf. Tiny, perfect trophies.

“Hi, honey.”

"Hiya." You lean into his chest, a tired smile tugging at your lips as you manage a strained, “I’m starving.”

“Hi starving. Care for a burrito?” he asks, tilting a takeout bag toward you with a small smile.

Your eyes meet his, and there’s something in his smile—soft, understanding, familiar—that makes your chest ache. “How’d you know?” you ask, practically tearing into the bag.

“Searched the menu after you left,” he says simply, falling into step beside you as you start walking. “Figured you wouldn't have liked much in there," he shrugs, casual. You feel your cheeks warm. Two hours away from Spencer Reid is two hours too long.

The walk home is quiet at first, the two of you picking your way around puddles reflecting neon signs. The burrito’s long gone, leaving your hand free for Spencer to hold, fingers interlocked.

“She’s engaged,” you say eventually.

Spencer furrows his brows. “Already?”

“It’s only been like, what, eight? nine months?”

Spencer frowns, pauses then says, “256 days”, the precision drawing a faint smile from you.

“Crazy isn’t it?”

“I guess. Some people are like that,” he says, “Did you know statistically, couples who get engaged within the first year of dating are 20% more likely to divorce within the first five years?”

“With that prenup incoming she’d better hope they’re the exception then…” you murmur, not really listening.

There’s something in your chest, persistent and heavy. You can feel its roots stirring, working its way beneath the surface, threatening to loosen the earth that keeps you grounded.

A few more steps in silence. Then, quietly, “Do you think we’re boring?”

“Boring?” Spencer tilts his head slightly. “Do you think we’re boring?”

You hesitate, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t think we’re boring, but you know, we don’t do much.”

“We’re in the FBI, honey. I’d argue we do a lot.” He smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching playfully. You try to laugh, but it comes out forced, brittle—like a flower trying to push out a bloom that's not quite ready yet.

Spencer notices, as he always does. “Is there something you want to do?” It stirs in you again, something tender and uncertain. You don’t know if it will be a flower that blooms or a weed that chokes out everything else.

“No,” You say a little too quickly, “Nothing really, just... Other than work and home—”

“What’d she say?”

“Hm?”

“You love work, you live for it—I practically have to drag you out of the office most days,” he reasons, tone calm and steady. “And, if this is something that was bothering you… I’d have known. So it must’ve been something she said.” You stop walking, the words catching in your throat. It bothers you—how her vines have crept into your garden, straight through to the soil beneath. Flowers rarely thrive in foreign soil, you think.

“Not really,” you lie, biting your lip—a tell Spencer surely catches. “We just talked about the engagement. Well, she talked.”

He doesn’t press, though you can tell he doesn’t believe you. His gaze lingers, but he chooses to give you space. “How was it? The engagement.”

“Something about a yacht,” you reply with a shrug.

“I thought she was afraid of water.”

“Not when it’s on a million-dollar vessel, apparently.”

Spencer chuckles. You continue to walk. Your feet do their best to trace the familiar trail, trying to find the garden path that takes you home. Left. Right. Left. Right. But your thoughts snag, tripping on an unseen vine, and you stumble.

“Do you ever think about it?” you ask.

“About what?”

“Like... if we ever get married and stuff.”

Now it’s Spencer’s turn to stop mid-step, rooted to the spot, his body going still. You freeze too, breath trapped in your chest, a flush spreading across your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you rush to say, the guilt sharp and immediate. “That was silly, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

You tug softly on his hand trying to pull him forward, but he doesn’t budge. His brows knit together as his gaze locks with yours.

“When.”

“When what?”

“You said if. I’m saying when. When we get married.”

“When we get married?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might shatter the moment.

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “When. Not if. I don’t think really of it as a hypothetical possibility.”

Your chest tightens and you don’t know exactly what to say, but your fingers instinctively tighten around his. Spencer senses your silence and rushes to fill the space.

“Do you… not think that?” he asks, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

“I do! Of course, I do.” Your voice falters. “I just… I didn’t know you thought about it that way too.”

Spencer hums, soft smile on his face. “I know I tend to look at things in terms of statistics, probabilities—But us? There’s no ‘ifs’. Not with you, honey. Never with you.”

And just like that, the earth beneath you shifts, breaking apart to reveal a bud. Not a flower but a fruit-bearing tree. You try and fight the urge to throw yourself into his arms and kiss him, but he’s already leaning in, his lips warm and familiar against yours. As you pull back, eyes locked, you think back to the pebbles you used to collect. Your tiny, perfect trophies—Spencer’s eyes are far better, you think.

“You smell like burrito,” he teases. You laugh, the sound light and easy. “You love burritos.”

He brushes a stray curl from your forehead. “I love you.”

Through the clearing, you see it. The vines have receded, the rain has come and gone. Your feet step off the garden path with certainty. It’s safe now. It’s here.

“So,” you say with renewed excitement, your steps light as you glance at him, “Beach wedding?”

Spencer wrinkles his nose. “Do you have any idea how much fecal bacteria there is in beach sand?”

“Blegh.”

“No, seriously. Beach sand has 10 to 100 times more fecal bacteria than seawater.”

“How about we don’t throw around the word ‘fecal’ when my burrito is still working its way through me,” you reply, grimacing. “What’s your genius idea then?”

He grins. “Barn wedding?”

“Spence, I love you, and I know you’ve always wanted to be a cowboy, but I’m not walking down the aisle with hay in my hair.”

He laughs, shaking his head as you walk side by side, hands swaying between you. Spencer spots a perennial growing out of concrete cracks by the lamppost 2 steps ahead of you.

“What about a garden wedding? In spring?”

“A garden wedding,” you say, a soft smile spreading across your face, “Yeah, I’d really like that, spring’s nice.”

"Okay,” he says, hand warm in yours, “in spring then."

There’s no towering oak tree, ancient and steadfast, to mark this moment, no circle of wildflowers dancing wildly around with their colours. But still the perennial pushes its way through the cracks in the concrete—small, steady, and undeniably alive. It’s there. It’s growing.

They used to say love was like a garden. When his drought comes, silent but devastating nonetheless, you quench it with your rain—soft, temperamental. And when your rain changes her tide, thrashing and wild, he shelters you beneath his leaves, vast and unyielding. Together you prune the dead parts, plant anew, and marvel at what thrives.

The next time someone asks you how things are going, there’s no pursed smile or hesitant pause, distant in thought. You just smile and say it's going. It's going alright. It's going great. It’s going fine.

Because all that matters is that it's going.

Your garden is growing.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: nothing by bruno major love letter from the sea to the shore by delaney bailey

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x bau!reader

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thebettybook · 1 year ago

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I, Roronoa Zoro, have a crush

🏴‍☠️————————-💚-————————🏴‍☠️

Characters: OPLA (One Piece Live Action) Roronoa Zoro x Straw-Hat-Crew-Member!gn!reader

Summary: Fluff headcanons of OPLA Zoro developing a crush on you + mini fluff scenarios

Warnings: Some OPLA spoilers ahead! Other than that, all fluff

Strawbetty’s notes: Dipping my toes into the One Piece fandom to say hello and give you my contribution to OPLA Zoro content :). Mackenyu as Zoro is fiiiiine. I finished the live action and I NEED MORE :’0. Currently watching the anime rn

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💚 Zoro didn’t like you at first when Luffy recruited you to be a part of the Straw Hats.

💚 Like how Zoro felt when he first met Luffy, Zoro found you overly optimistic and chatty—the complete opposite of himself.

💚 Zoro’s also someone who, despite being really perceptive, has a bad habit of making snap judgments against people he doesn’t know well and prefers to keep them at a distance, and he made the poor assumption that you probably never went through anything difficult in life since you seemed so happy all the time.

💚 Thus, he didn’t really go out of his way to talk to you or get to know you at first, unlike the rest of the crew, but you also didn’t mind too much. You’d greet him with a “good morning” every morning, but he’d only give you a nod.

💚 “Don’t mind him, he’s like that with all new crew members,” Nami reassured you.

💚 It wasn’t until a few days later when the entire crew was having dinner on deck under the stars—and you opened up about your life (the losses and hardships you’ve experienced despite being just a young adult)—that made Zoro change his mind about you.

💚 He surprised himself when he volunteered to help you wash the dishes after dinner, and surprised himself even more when he muttered, “Sorry.”

💚 “For what?” You raised a brow, water dripping from your fingers as you reached for a hand towel to dry your hands.

💚 “For not being so…friendly when you first joined,” Zoro’s eyes flickered up from the plates to your face.

💚 He couldn’t help but be taken aback when you gave him a smile—a smile so bright and kind it almost took his breath away. Sure, you smiled a lot at everyone, but this was the first time your smile was directed at just him up close.

💚 “It’s alright,” you chuckled, taking a plate he handed to you and placing it onto the drying rack. “I’m used to people assuming things about me.”

💚 “How do you do it?” Zoro crossed his arms, though his relaxed stance conveyed his sincere curiosity. “Smile all the time?”

💚 “Because smiling makes me happy,” you didn’t miss a beat. “And if I can do that for myself and my smile ends up making someone else happy, that’s good enough for me.”

💚 A half-smile quirked on Zoro’s lips at your words. You were a good person, and he was sorry he didn’t see that sooner.

💚 “See, you’re smiling now,” you teased, your smile growing.

💚 “Nope,” Zoro turned his attention to the utensils he had to wash, but his smile didn’t falter one bit.

💚 After that day, a friendship blossomed between you two. Some nights you’d find Zoro sharpening his blades, other nights he’d find you on deck gazing up at the stars while the others were asleep. Whatever the reasons that kept the two of you awake at night, they helped bring you two closer together.

💚 You and Zoro began your late night talks by sharing stories with each other about your childhoods and the people who helped shape your lives for the better. The two of you would even exchange banter and develop inside jokes.

💚 Zoro grew to feel safe in confiding with you about his innermost thoughts and feelings, and he made you feel safe in doing the same as well.

💚 As the months went by, Zoro would look forward to every opportunity he had to talk with you, whether that be during the day with the rest of the crew or at night with just the two of you.

💚 He had no doubt by now that he could call you someone he deeply cared for, especially when his heart would try to jump out of his chest whenever your hand accidentally brushed against his or when his heart squeezed like a towel being rung dry any time you got hurt during battle.

💚 But as someone who’s never thought about romance or had any experience with romantic relationships, Zoro didn’t really consider the possibility that he was falling for you.

💚 It didn’t take long for some of the crew members to see and realize that Zoro cared for you in a special way, though, especially as Zoro’s romantic feelings for you became more and more evident to the others through his actions.

💚 For example, Zoro would tell Sanji not once, not twice, but thrice that you didn’t like a specific ingredient in your meals because of allergies or whatnot, even though Sanji knew that already. One morning, Sanji caught Zoro making a horrible yet endearing attempt to make your favorite breakfast for you. With an amused smirk, Sanji offered to teach Zoro how to make your favorite breakfast (only after Zoro made Sanji swear to never tell anyone about it).

💚 Nami realized Zoro had feelings for you when she saw the way Zoro would protectively stand in front of you in the face of danger, or check on you if you sustained even a minor injury (even though everyone in the crew knew you could protect yourself). Nami didn’t bring it up since she didn’t think it was any of her business, but she’d have a small smile on her face whenever she saw Zoro perk up even just a tiny bit whenever you called his name.

💚 Usopp and Luffy didn’t really pick up on anything until Sanji let out an offhand comment in the kitchen about Zoro being “smitten” with you (luckily, you and Zoro were on deck practicing your combat skills with Nami).

💚 Of course, Sanji’s comment blew Usopp’s mind. Luffy, on the other hand, didn’t really listen and had his full attention on whatever dish Sanji was making for lunch.

💚 “Zoro’s got a cruuush,” Usopp sang that afternoon, slinging an arm around Zoro’s shoulders while Luffy came up next to them.

💚 Zoro turned his head to the side to check if you were nearby. Thankfully, you were nowhere in sight.

💚 “I don’t do crushes,” Zoro shrugged Usopp off at the same time Luffy asked, “Who’s got a crush?”

💚 “Listen, if you need love advice, I’m your guy,” Usopp insisted, trying to catch up to Zoro as he left Usopp and Luffy behind to go to his room. “I’ve had tons of relationships, trust me.”

💚 “Having barely one relationship doesn’t make you qualified to give me love advice,” Zoro replied coolly, referencing Kaya to Usopp, as he strode to his berth.

💚 “Ouch!” Usopp dramatically brought a hand to his heart. “My offer still stands though!”

💚 Zoro made his way into his room and shut the door behind him. He eased himself onto his hammock and his eyes flitted up to the wooden ceiling.

💚 The ocean waves beneath the ship were calm this afternoon, and the soft golden rays of sunlight shimmered onto his body through his room’s tiny circular window. Usually Zoro would take a nap by now, but he couldn’t help but wonder what stories you were going to share with him tonight or what corny jokes you were going to crack at dinner that would make him laugh despite himself.

💚 But most of all, he couldn’t wait to see you smile again. A smile began to stretch across his face as he pictured your smile—

💚 —“I don’t have a crush,” Zoro stated out loud defensively even though no one was there. He tried to will his lips into a straight line as he ran a hand through the cropped moss-green tufts of his hair and shut his eyes to take a nap.

💚 Instead, his eyes found themselves opening and next thing Zoro knew, he was already out the door.

💚 Zoro was thankful no one was with him at the moment, or they would’ve seen a grin on his face as he made his way to wherever you were in hopes of seeing your smile.

💚 I, Roronoa Zoro, have a crush.

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Important:

🍓 I don’t own any of the characters I mention or write about; they belong to their original and respective creators.

🍓 All content on this blog is created by me, @thebettybook (excluding posts I reblog that aren’t my own posts and unless I state otherwise). Do not modify, claim, repost, or translate my work onto this platform and any other platform.

🍓 Reblogs are appreciated :). Check out my OPLA Zoro fluff oneshot fic here Like my work? Support me on Ko-fi :D

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thesirencult · 1 month ago

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Pick A Card Reading: Your 2025

Pile 1

Temperance, 8 Of Cups, The World

Where your energy flows is what you will be manifesting. You don't need to start the year over-the-top, making lists of goals and going to the gym 7 days per week. Do not go crazy at the start of the year just to give up. Everything in moderation. Let yourself align with your goals naturally. Do you want to walk 10k steps per day? Start walking for 15 minutes a day and slowly build up to it. This is the year you are choosing yourself. No tears left to cry.

Eyes on the prize! But, do NOT overdo it or it will backfire. I know that those bad feelings are what's pushing you to change directions. I want you to know that negative feelings can be alchemized to positive results. We can create our best art while being in our worst space mentally and emotionally. But, we have to remember that we can't hate ourselves to our best self.

What gets you through the door doesn't take you up the stairs. Realign when necessary.

So, in 2025 you will be ascending to a higher plane of consciousness. You will cross the threshold that takes you to the next level. You will be doing the same things and going through the same things but your mindset will be completely different.

I feel that you have a talent for motivating others. Try to preoccupy yourself with that and in that way you will also see that a fire burns within you. You don't know how many people you have touched with your "testimony".

Let your fire warm others up. 2025 will be the year you wrap things up. I know that you didn't get the closure that you expected to get, but I want you to know that sometimes we can give that closure to ourselves. We deserve to let that book come to an end so we can begin to write a new one. Happy new year <3

Pile 2

The Magician, Knight Of Wands, The Lovers

I sense that many people will be choosing this pile or reading it as a second pile, as its themes transcend the norm and will "quench the thirst" of those of you who are looking for an inspiring and empowering message.

As I was shuffling, two other cards fell out, while the energy was "shakey"-- the Ace Of Wands and the 3 Of Wands. I believe that these two cards symbolize the place you are at right now. In 2024 you set the right foundations for a powerful 2025. You've done lots of inner work and experimented with your ideas and techniques of manifestation. You were inspired and trying to do the best you could ahve done with what you had. Still, you felt like zero opportunities presented themselves to you, or whatever came up you did not like or it didn't align with your goals and vision for the future.

You were right! Those were "tests" from the Universe/God that helped you come into alignment. In 2024 you saw what you didn't want and in 2025 you will be sharpening your intellect and powers of manifestation qand that will lead you to manifesting what truly aligns with your spirit.

Lots of wands, the energy is already hot and steamy and now we have The Magician! Mercurial energy, same as The Lovers which we'll be looking at later on... In 2025 you will recognize your power. Scratch that! 2024 already helped you see what you're capable of. You hit some milestones and tasted success, as small as it was and now you are addicted to the rush of conquering. This will NOT stop in 2025, in fact the fire will burn brighter and in an engulfing way. You will stop at NOTHING to get where you need to get. This is not a want but a NEED. It's okay if you overdo it, as you have spend many years playing small.

The cub has now grown into a young lion. Still finding your footing, with immense strength and potential at heart. Important thing to remember: align your intentions with your actions, where your energy flows-manifestations appear. You have realized that your thoughts and mental patterns are powerful, both when it comes to good and bad outcomes. Focus on the positive. Focus on abundance, manifestation, feeling good. Do things that make you feel powerful. In fact, call back your power. Stay mindful of your ability to manifest outcomes and take RESPONSIBILITY. Recognize that you are THE creator of your life. God brought you here in his image, to realize your potential. You will take the reigns. God gives you what you ask him to give you. So, ask wisely!

The Knight Of Wands reminds us to come in with full force. BAM! That's the mindset you should be going into this year with. You have made yourself a magnet, take advantage of that! Balance that drive with intentionality. Every action taken should have a purpose. Do not waste your energy and strength. Power doesn't come from force. The more powerful you are the less force you need to use. Weaklings waste their energy, trying to keep up with the powerful, don't do that. Conserve your power and control your temper. Be disciplined and inspired. Mastery takes time and you will reach your highest potential at some point.

The Lovers showing up after the Knight Of Wands bring two messages to you. One, it could be that a Knight Of Wands figure enters your life and your relationship will evolve to a true partnership as time unfolds and two, as a bearer of advice: Be mindful of the choices you make. They will have ripple effects. Seek relationships and partnerships that resonate with your values, and don’t settle for less than you deserve. I'm seeing passion and potential to build something significant. This also speaks of vulnerability and the choice to keep your heart open for love. It is your choice. You CAN manifest love. The power lies in your fingertips.

Have a blessed 2025! As, I'm sure that you will <3

Pile 3

The Hermit, 3 Of Cups, 2 Of Swords

The last couple months you've been feeling isolated. Friendships have fallen away, but, at the same time, the fog has cleared up.

Now I see.

Your intuition will guide you home. It is the lantern that will illuminate the way back to your soul. In 2025 you will no longer feel lonely. You will realize that true friendship is loyalty and mutual feelings. It is not toxicity, back-handed compliments and unspoken words. You deserve to find your soul family and in order for this to happen you need to let your inner light guide you towards a different path, a path of self-reflection, inner strength and self-compassion.

Self-compassion happens when you let your own self become the compass. Trust yourself. Cultivate self trust. That's the most important thing.

You will be looking at things from a higher perspective and it will allow you to make better decisions, informed by logic. Should you explain to that friend again that you don't like arguing about the same old things? No. Should you give that guy who cheated on you a second chance. Definitely no. This is the level of cold you will reach.

I hope this year brings you closer to yourself and further away from what doesn't serve your best interest.

#level up journey #pick a card #pac reading #pick a pile #tarot reading #pick a photo #pick a picture #astrology #tarot #soulmate

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takimakiiiii · 6 months ago

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did you order pasta, miss?

part1! to the cosmic girl records

!Cosmic Girl Records!

Summary: going to italy for the italian gp and getting pasta spilled all over you by a stranger wasn’t on your bingo card that year

fc!: random girls on pinterest <3

olliebearman x reader & platonic!grid x reader

a/n: reader own a german shepherd dog called mickey. don’t pay attention to any of the dates, likes etc on the insta and twitter posts i got lazy. also this is my first post in this sort of category? u catch my drift? 😭 i do write but i rather try this out first anyways enjoy and please leave me feedback it’s always appreciated!

disclaimer: there are some sensitive comments and things said that may offend some people, they are just included for humour and feel free to scroll away any time

all photos go to their rightful owners and all of them are found on pinterest!

warnings: swearing, telling people to die (in a joking way), reader and the 2019 rookies have friendly banter where offensive things may be said idk if there’s any other ones but lmk if there is

word count!: 1.6k words i think? 😭😭

liked by landonorris, georgerussell64, alex_albon and 8,121,801 others

view 7,632 comments

unfortunatelyy/n: i’ve got 99 problems and going to italy has solved 98 of them

tagged: bestie1

User1: Who’s she?

User 2: She’s good friends with the 2019 rookies and the rest of the grid bit she’s been besties with Lando forever, she’s a couple of years younger than him though

user7: she’s studying mechanical engineering though in NYC but she travels a lot to support the 2019 rookies

Bestie1: um pic credits please 🙄

unfortunatelyy/n: geez okay bossy 😤

landonorris: i better get a post when i win in Monza

georgerussel64: as if, you’d be lucky to even finish the race with 4 tires still intact

landonorris: @carmenmundt come and get your child. He’s escaped the psych ward again

georgerussel64: you’re just bitter I’ve got more wins than you

landonorris: blocked, reported and my mom’s calling your mom

unfortunatelyy/n: stop fighting in my comments section girls

User3: she cooked ya’ll

user5: lando and y/n are so cute

user6: be so fr rn

user4: love how she and the 2019 rookies are still so close

liked by unfortunately/n

alex_albon: you’ll be cheering for me in Monza right y/n? *sharpening knives

unfortunatelyy/n: WOAH

lilymhe: i don’t know him

alex_albon: HEY

unfortunatelyy/n: @lilymhe it’s always been you and me bae 🥰

alex_albon: stop stealing my girlfriend

unfortunatelyy/n: no.🫶

liked by lilymhe, carmenmmundt, landonorris, bestie1, alex_albon and 6,795,973 others

unfortunatelyy/n: shoutout to the 6ft brown haired boy who spilled pasta all over my new red dress, i hate you🖕

view 3,789 comments

landonorris: HAHA.

unfortunatelyy/n: i hope you DNF this weekend

georgerussel64: you tell him y/n

unfortunatelyy/n: 😐

user1: NOT THE RED DRESS

user2: curse you, brown haired boy

olliebearman: sorry for the dress 😔

user3: OLLIE WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

user4: this was not on my 2024 bingo card.

landonorris: don’t be sorry, I would’ve done the same

unfortunatelyy/n: i hate you both 🖕🖕

user9: she's so petty I love her 😍

user5: ollie being the boy who spilled pasta on y/n is wild

User6: fr like what in the multiverse is this 😭

lilymhe: come to me and i’ll buy you as many dresses as you like 😍

unfortunatelyy/n: omw honey 🤭

alex_albon: I-

georgerussel64: you just gotta let it happen mate.

liked by landonorris, olliebearman, georgerussel64, alex_albon, oscarpiastri and 9,379,543 others

unfortunatelyy/n: okay, what are thinking for this weekend, ya’ll?

view 8,832 comments

user1: not ollie in the likes

User2: he’s down bad, maybe the pasta spill wasn’t on accident 😏

user3: i mean do u blame him, i would trip over if i saw her too

alex_albon: “ya’ll” you’ve been spending way too much time with logan

unfortunatelyy/n: god bless america‼️ 🇺🇸🦅🗣️

unfortunatelyy/n: WTF IS A KILOMETRE 🔥🔥🔥🦅🦅🦅🦅

Landonorris: TRAITOR, IS THAT AN OSCAR CAP I SEE 🫵

unfortunatelyy/n: i’ve always been an oscar girlie at heart

oscarpiastri: as it should be 👍

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

landonorris: i see how it is. betrayed by my two best friends, the world’s full of fake people isn’t it.

unfortunatelyy/n: oh please stop being so dramatic, don’t pretend u only use me for my fame

landonorris: GASP. how could you say such a thing

georgerussell64: pretty sure 90% of your followers follow you because of her

landonorris: wow. low blow mate.

unfortunatelyy/n: where’s the lie tho? 🤔

landonorris: alexa, play traitor by olivia rodrigo

user7: here for the love-hate relationship between y/n and the 2019 rookies

lewishamilton: roscoe says you should go for mercedes in monza

unfortunatelyy/n: Mercedes it is!

landonorris: never in my 24 years of living on earth have i ever felt so betrayed.

unfortunatelyy/n: roscoe’s wishes are my commands 🤷‍♀️

georgerussel64: amen sister 🙌🗣️

unfortunatelyy/n: get out of my comment section Russell

user4: the williams t-shirt goes hard tho

user5: oh to be y/n *sigh

olliebearman: how about ferrari?

unfortunatelyy/n: hmm, we’ll see, pasta boy

user9: THE GASP I GUSP

user10: pasta boy 😭

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, lilymhe, carmenmmundt and 5,773,878 others

unfortunatelyy/n: congratulations, ig 😒

tagged landonorris

view 13,638 comments

landonorris: really? you had to use those photos?

unfortunatelyy/n: why? What’s wrong with them? I think you look very macho, especially in the first and third pic.

landonorris: i think i just lost a piece of my manhood.

user6: the three reasons i love y/n: number 1: because she’s hot and sexy, number 2. I wish I was her, number 3. Because of the lando content she gives us

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

user4: THE THIRD PIC IM DYING

user5: always leave it to y/n to humble lando after a win

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

user9: GUYS. Y/N WAS WEARING A FERRARI JACKET IN THE PADDOCK TODAY

user3: WHAT

user9: and so it begins.

user13: I CALLED IT.

user17: excusez moi?

user32: I SCREAMED.

lewishamilton: i told roscoe you wore a ferrari jacket today. let’s just say that he doesn't want to be seeing you in the foreseeable future

unfortunatelyy/n: WAIT NOOO

user12: not lewis exposing her 😭

unfortunatelyy/n: ROSCOE PLEASE FORGIVE ME

lewishamilton: he says you can only make it up with a playdate with mickey

unfortunatelyy/n: omw with mickey 🏃‍♀️‍➡️

liked by lewishamilton, landonorris, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, olliebearman and 9,736,389 others

unfortunatelyy/n: my babies 🥰 dog playdate soon anyone?

tagged lewishamilton

view 8,382 comments

charles_leclerc: leo says you have officially been demoted to 2nd favourite aunt

unfortunately/n: WAIT NO WHO’S FIRST

pierregasly: bitch it’s me.

unfortunatelyy/n: @francisca.cgomes come and get your boyfriend he’s bullying me

charles_leclerc: it’s actually @lilymhe

unfortunatelyy/n: TRAITORS.

user1: anyone else been here since Mickey was a puppy?

user2: ikr he’s so big now its making me cry 😭

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

lewishamilton: @pierregasly @charles_leclerc @unfortunatelyy/n @olliebearman @carlossainz55 dog playdate next week?

landonorris: can i come too

unfortunatelyy/n: no dog no invite

landonorris: @oscarpiastri can we buy a dog

oscarpiastri: what.

user3: i have a feeling that we should get used to seeing ollie in the likes more often now

user4: homeboy’s whipped fr

user5: if only he had the confidence to ask her out 😔

user10: GUYS RELAX THEY’RE JUST FRIENDS

user9: mickey’s the real f1 star fr

olliebearman: @unfortunatelyy/n how about instead of a dog playdate, i take you out on a real date?

user6: MY BOY’S FINALLY SHOOTING HIS SHOT

user7: GO GO GO GO GO

user11: CHAT IS THIS REAL

unfortunatelyy/n: will there be any pasta involved? 🤨

olliebearman: no promises

unfortunatelyy/n: hmmm. . . text me.

landonorris: nO

user8: LETS FREAKING GOOO

user11: THIS IS NOT A DRILL I REPEAT THIS IS NOT A DRILL

user9: my life is complete, i can finally die in peace

user10: i’m sorry i doubted yall 😔

liked by lilymhe, carmenmmundt, alexandrasaintmleux, iamrebeccad and 6,429,765 others

unfortunatelyy/n: what do we think guys? and don’t worry, there was no pasta involved

tagged olliebearman

view 11,382 comments

user11: phew, no pasta, really dodged a bullet there 👍

landonorris: WOAH WOAH WOAH HANG ON A MINUTE

unfortunatelyy/n: what do you want, mom?

landonorris: GASP. Is that grammar I see? what has he done to you 😨

unfortunatelyy/n: seriously?

landonorris: @georgerussel64 and @alex_albon back me up here

georgerussell64: unfortunately he’s right, no boyfriends on our watch

unfortunatelyy/n: then look away.

georgerussell64: @landonorris . . . she got us there.

landonorris: @alex_albon?

alex_albon: lily is forcing me to stay out of it 😔

unfortunatelyy/n: HA. EVERYONE LAUGH 🤣

charles_leclerc: 🤣

lewishamilton: 🤣

maxverstappen1: 🤣

carlossainz55: 🤣

danielricciardo: 🤣

landonorris: wow.

user5: all the boys being so bitter and not liking the post 😭

user9: but them still jumping in to bully lando any chance they get

olliebearman: did you seriously just ask your 8 million followers what they think about me 😰

unfortunatelyy/n: it’s actually 9 million but . . .yes 😅

user3: everyone out here wishing they had older brothers just like the grid to be protective over them 😔

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

liked by olliebearman, lilymhe, bestie1, alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and 2,938,282 others

unfortunatelyy/n: italy you will be missed, where to next?

tagged olliebearman

olliebearman: pic creds please 🙄

unfortunatelyy/n: okay okay calm down pal 🥱

user1: pal 😭 i can’t

user7: “how to be as beautiful as y/n no borax no glue”

user2: IS THAT THE DATE OLLIE TOOK HER ON

user3: screaming, crying, throwing up all at once

user4: i can’t decide whether i want to be ollie or y/n

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

bestie1: you’ve forgotten about me already i see. I HATE YOU, YOU’RE THE WORST.

unfortunatelyy/n: I’M LITERALLY OUT BUYING CHEETOS FOR U GIRL

user6: HELP THEIR FRIENDSHIP IS HILARIOUS

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

landonorris: hmmm, i think i dislike the first pic

unfortunately/n: so petty geez 🙄

landonorris: we’re literally the same person

unfortunately/n: die ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux: gorgeous 😍 loved seeing you in Monza!

unfortunatelyy/n: marry me 🥰

charles_leclerc: 🤨

olliebearman: 🤨

unfortunatelyy/n: SO JUDGY GEEZ

alexandrasaintmleux: they’ll never accept us 😔

unfortunatelyy/n: killing them is always an option 😌 🔪

charles_leclerc: that’s murder.

unfortunatelyy/n: i’m aware 😒

user5: HELP SHE’S GONE CRAZY

a/n: thank you for reading if you finished it! have a lovely day xxx

492 notes · View notes

milksnake-tea · 6 months ago

Text

✩ CHAPTER SUMMARY : Firefly and Silver Wolf return from Penacony, bringing souvenirs of all kinds alongside them.

✩ SERIES SYNOPSIS : Following the catastrophe of the Charmony Festival, rather than in one of Penacony's hospitals or prisons, Sunday awakens right in the base of one of the most notorious criminals in the galaxies. With nowhere else to go, he's left to follow you, the Stellaron Hunters' medic, in his attempts to become accustomed to his new life.

✩ WORD COUNT : 6.3k

✩ TAGLIST : @vynicity , @vxnuslogy, @https-mika, @greyrain23, @red-ninja15, @arienic , @immahuman , @sund4ykisser , @mysteriaqueen , @kiopanxp , @isa-l0v3r , @hesper-houkai-kat , @gamekillera , @nayukiyukihira , @randomidk-123 , @universetrash , @forevernyeong , @thedepartedcryptid , @heyhazelnut101 , @1000-leaves , @lowkeyren , @zhayur , @jellofishuu , @kascar-chronicle , @azaleaflowerr , @neigee , @fallintothechasm , @veritusratio , @astolary , @xphantasmagoriax , @semi-orangeapple , @ezra1yn , @xynthevoid , @apinu , @crysangria , @shenwi , @louchive , @mave-in , @mutiachan , @meerpea , @tetrxctys , @emiken-070907 ( send me an ask off anon if you want to be added !! remember to specify that it is for this series )

✩ ADDITIONAL NOTES : mentions of alcoholism in this chapter !! also check out the tags, i've added something that needs to be looked at but tldr the reader will be dealing with themes of alcoholism, addiction, escapism, and survivor's guilt. it'll be tackled in later chapters, but just putting that as a warning now! sunday's pfp art is by @/thotep

<< previous || series masterlist || next chapter >>

Weeks have passed since Sunday had first arrived at the Delphi.

With Silver Wolf and Firefly busy with their mission on Penacony, life is relatively mundane. If you don’t have a script to fulfill, then Elio lets you run free to do whatever your heart desires - ironic, considering the nature of your work.

Every Hunter has their own way of passing the time between scripts. Kafka often goes shopping for fancy dresses or yet another velvet coat to add to her increasing collection of them. Silver Wolf, on the other hand, shrinks away from the real world and into the comfort of her room to game - you know this because her room’s right next to yours, so you can hear whether or not she wins or loses.

Firefly never spends too long on the Delphi; rather, she takes up her suit and flies off to visit nearby planets, eager to experience their wonders as any normal tourist would. As for Blade, he sulks off into the training rooms, either sharpening his sword or perfecting his technique.

But what about you? What do you do in these torturously boring times? What is your way of keeping yourself entertained?

Drinking. It’s drinking.

Because apparently making candy-flavored drugs isn’t bad enough.

Simple piano played in the background of the Delphi’s bar, where it came from you’ve long given up on trying to figure out. Golden lights hanging from the ceiling clash against chestnut wood, filling the bar with a hazy, warm color.

You’re alone in the bar, sitting laxly in one of the many stools that line the countertop. Lazily, you spin a jigger in your hands, absentmindedly adding and shaking and tossing until you’re left with a clear, peach-tinted cocktail topped with creamy white foam and mint leaves.

The drink is known as a White Sand, a cocktail you discovered when visiting a tropical planet known for its tourism. You’re still new to mixology, preferring to just drink wine straight from the bottle, but you can’t deny that trying out different combinations of recipes, some delicious and others diabolical, is a surprisingly great way of passing the time.

Just as you’re about to take a sip of your drink, your phone dings. You’re tempted to ignore it, but after the second, third, and consequential pings, you begrudgingly take it out with a sigh.

You roll your eyes a bit despite the smile on your face. Drinking your cocktail with a little more spite this time, you type out a response.

Spinning around on the stool, you uncross your legs and, taking your drink with you, make your way to the training room. Thankfully, the walk isn’t too long - just an elevator ride down and after a few minutes of walking through the facilities, you’ve arrived.

You take a deep breath as you come to the doors of the training rooms, mentally preparing yourself for what was to come. Just to be safe, you summon your sword in your dominant hand and hold your cocktail in the other.

Your sword isn’t anything impressive when compared to the others’ - it isn’t as flashy as Silver Wolf’s or Firefly’s, nor is it as intimidating as Blade’s. It supports a simple yet elegant design, and it’s thin, tapering to a sharp point.

But what makes it unique are the bright veins that run through it, filled with a deadly poison that you’ve personally curated through testing and researching natural poisons found across the stellar seas. Just one graze or prick of your blade, and your victim becomes paralyzed within seconds, dead with a few more.

Normally, you wouldn’t bring it out - you prefer your rifle and bayonet over your sword - but what lay behind these doors required a little more agility than what could be accomplished with one hand and a rifle.

With a sigh, you step through the doors and brace for impact.

“[Name]-?” Sunday looks behind him as you enter, only to curse and bring up his rapier as Blade lunges at him once more. It’s a fatal mistake, being distracted in the middle of a fight, and Sunday learns this the hard way when he’s caught off balance (rapiers are NOT good at blocking, especially if you’re a beginner) and Blade mercilessly drives a kick into his stomach.

You narrowly jump out of the way as Sunday flies past you and into the wall with a crash.

“Don’t let your focus wander.” Blade barely finishes speaking before he lunges at Sunday again with a swing of his broken blade.

See, you’re technically supposed to break up the fight and tell them of Firefly’s message. Technically.

But you kind of want to see where this goes.

And so you lean back against the wall, swirling your drink idly and watch the show without lifting a finger to help Sunday.

Sunday manages to dodge Blade’s attack, which is better than when you saw him a few weeks ago. Last you saw him, he was getting beat left and right both physically and mentally (Blade does not know what sugarcoating is).

See, as of late, Blade’s taken up a new hobby to entertain himself - that being training the newbie in the ways of combat. While it’s arguably true that Blade is the best suited for this (Kafka is Kafka, Silver Wolf can’t be bothered, Firefly doesn’t know what’s within a normal person’s capabilities, and you would treat it like a chore), his methods are… less than ideal.

Basically, he teaches you the basics for the first two weeks, and then makes you fight to the death against him until you get better not because you want to, but because you have to if you want to live.

You know this, because you went through this too. So did Silver Wolf. Firefly didn’t have to because one, she was already a capable warrior and two, she’s Blade’s senior, as weird as it sounds.

For the most part, Sunday seems to be doing relatively well, being able to parry, dodge, and attack the best he can. Obviously, he’s unable to land a hit on Blade (it would be impressive if he did), but being able to hold his own is more than enough.

The rapier he wields is a gift from his master. Although Blade can no longer craft weapons as he used to, his eye is still as sharp as ever. The rapier itself is an elegant thing, sporting a silver handle with a sapphire embedded near the handguard. It still holds considerable weight, but is light enough so that Sunday can wield it despite not having any prior training.

Every so often, the Halovian’s halo glows, indicating a mental attack of some kind. But the glow is faint, meaning that it isn’t anything that could seriously debilitate Blade, who is especially sensitive to attacks regarding the mind.

You smile to yourself. Always thinking of others, wasn’t he?

The mental attack creates only a momentary stagger in Blade’s movements, a brief falter, but Sunday seizes the chance. His wings, which have gotten stronger with every visit to your office, flare out in a cape of night. He still can’t fly, but they’re strong enough to propel him out of Blade’s range.

His wings tuck, and he strikes his rapier again, but this time it isn’t with the intent of piercing Blade with his sword. Instead, his halo glows stronger, and small staffs of music shoot like miniature missiles at Blade.

Of course, Blade slashes through each music note easily. Even as Sunday conducts his personal choir with his rapier as his baton, there’s still a slight tremble in his hand, still not fully used to the weight of the rapier.

Not only that, you notice, the staffs aren’t exactly strong either. They waver, and they’re thin, as if one pull of your finger could break them into ribbons.

Your phone dings again, reminding you of why you were here in the first place.

Right. You’re supposed to stop them. How many minutes has it been? At least two.

You gulp down the rest of your cocktail (there wasn’t much left), relishing the taste for just a moment before you lunge and intercept Blade’s attack. Your sword meets Blade’s in a flurry of sparks. You grunt, planting your feet on the ground and push off, throwing Blade off of you and forcing him to skid back.

Blade is less than pleased by your interruption despite expecting it. You can see that he’s half a mind to turn the training onto you. Before he can try anything, you point your sword at him, stopping him with a warning look.

“Sorry, but class is going to have to end early today.” You twirl your sword mindlessly in your hand before summoning it back into your inventory. “The girls are coming back from Penacony, and Firefly wants us in the living room in ten. And before you ask, if I have to go, so do you.”

The last part is directed at Blade, who grumbles in response.

“Fine.”

His sword disappears from his hands as he straightens. You almost don’t catch Sunday sighing in relief behind you. A laugh bubbles in your chest as you turn to him, crossing your arms.

“Old man’s been hard on you, hasn’t he?”

Sunday sighs, rolling back his shoulders as his rapier dissolves into nothing.

“I should be used to it by now,” he admits, “but Blade’s teaching style is more erratic than what I’m used to.”

“You’re getting better, though. At least you can actually hold the rapier now.”

Sunday chuckles. “That’s true. It doesn’t feel as heavy anymore; I suppose I’ve gotten stronger.”

“You sure have.” You look him up and down.

He’s wearing a long-sleeve compression shirt and simple joggers so as not to ruin his other clothes with the sweat and tear that comes with Blade’s training sessions. His body is still relatively slender like it was when he first came to the base, but you can see hints of his labor beginning to bear its fruits. His arms are definitely more toned, and while he still predominantly wears gloves, you spy a callus on one of his right hand’s forefingers.

Ever since he’d first stretched his wings, it was as if a light had returned to his eyes. He is still reserved, still quiet to a degree, but his presence has become brighter, in a sense. You see it in the tiniest changes - the lift of his eyes, the genuine crinkle in his smile, the gradual relaxation of his shoulders.

In your opinion, he’s never looked better.

Then again, your only visuals of him prior to now were when he was at his lowest, so maybe it wasn’t a good comparison.

You realize you’ve been staring for longer than what’s socially acceptable. Meeting Sunday’s confused smile, you playfully stick your tongue out before waving him off.

“Don’t just stand there. Go wash up and change, you smell.”

Sunday blinks. “I do?”

The genuine worry in his voice almost makes you feel bad. In an effort to make him feel better, you pat his head in two heavy movements, earning a high-pitched squeak with each pat.

“I’m just messing with you,” you tease, ruffling his feather-like hair before finally releasing him. Sunday huffs, slightly puffing out his cheeks as he immediately starts fixing his hair. He reminds you of a baby bird.

Resummoning your wine glass, which you had put away before intervening in the spar, you pull out a vintage wine bottle from nowhere and pour out some red wine. Sunday wrinkles his nose.

“Drinking again, I see,” he sighs. “Isn’t it a bit early for that?”

“For you, it is,” you say, throwing the wine bottle back into your inventory. “I, however, am not like you.”

“You’re destroying your liver.”

“My liver can handle it. Ask Blade, he knows. Isn’t that right, Blade?”

“Don’t bring me into this,” mutters Blade, in the middle of changing back into his normal clothes. You shrug.

“See? He didn’t deny it.”

Sunday crosses his arms. “He didn’t confirm it either. [Name], I cannot in good faith let you go on about this self-destructive path-”

“And on that note, I should get going,” you cut him off, pointedly ignoring the look he gives you. But before Sunday can start up his thirty-minute lecture, you’re already turning your heel and walking off with a cheeky wave. “See you up top!”

“Hey-!” Sunday shakes his head as you saunter out the doors, pressing a hand to his forehead. He already feels a migraine forming. “What am I going to do with them…”

Blade hums sympathetically, wordlessly offering Sunday a bottle of water and a towel, which he accepts gratefully.

“Don’t bother,” says Blade, looking at the doors where you’ve just left through. “They’ve always been like that. Trying to reason with them is fruitless.”

Sunday turns his head slightly to glance at Blade, his brow creased with worry.

“Still, this habit of theirs…”

Blade sighs. “It may look bad to you, but trust me. This is better than what they were doing before. At least with alcohol, their body can recover quickly.”

“What do you mean by that?” Sunday turns fully to face the other Hunter. “Surely, alcoholism can’t be a better alternative.”

For a long, heavy moment, Blade merely stares at him silently, waiting for him to come to his own conclusion. The air turns suffocating the longer the silence drags on, but Sunday endures. He meets Blade’s gaze calmly, and waits.

It isn’t too long before Blade relents. Maybe it’s because they have an appointment soon, or maybe he doesn’t feel like playing mind games with Sunday - or both.

“Have you ever seen them get alcohol poisoning?” he finally says, a little breath to his voice like a sigh.

Sunday blinks, caught off guard by the question. “No, but-”

“There’s your answer.” Blade begins to walk off. Before he disappears, he glances back. “Save your concern. Don’t pry where you aren’t welcome.”

The doors slide shut, leaving Sunday alone with the echo of the Hunter’s words. He squeezes the bottle tightly.

Don’t concern yourself, huh?

How could he not? In Penacony, his ears were meant for hearing the woes of his kin, and his heart forever cut to bleed for them. Sympathy is carved into his skin; it was second nature to him already.

But he remembers that moment in your office, the sudden coldness that came with an attempt of sympathy. And he remembers that he isn’t on Penacony anymore.

His eyes shut, a sigh escaping him. His wings tremble restlessly, referencing his thoughts.

Sunday opens one dark wing, and flaps it.

It’s frustrating, constantly being told to sit still and mind his own business. You’ve already helped him so much, but whenever he tries to do something for you, whether it be small, such as helping out with a chore or something more serious like this, he’s always shut down.

He feels useless, like a leech or a freeloader. All he’s done is take and take and take, unable to give.

He buries his face in the towel Blade gave him with a groan.

He hates it.

He should be doing more - he should be more.

“Still here, I see.”

Sunday flinches. He looks around wildly for the source of the voice, but he sees no one. Was he already beginning to hallucinate? He shouldn’t be, he was sleeping enough thanks to your medicine, but maybe four hours a night still wasn’t enough-

“No need to panic. I’m down here.”

Sitting at the foot of the doors is a familiar black cat with familiarly unnatural blue eyes.

Sunday relaxes. “Ah, Elio.”

Out of respect, he bows to his leader. The Destiny of Slave tilts his head, soundlessly leaping onto a nearby bench.

Sunday tries his best not to be unnerved by his gaze, but he can’t help it. Despite being on the Delphi for a little more than a month now, he’s rarely seen Elio, and as such hasn’t gotten used to his piercing eyes.

A small surprised sound leaves him as Elio jumps onto his shoulder, perching himself on him snugly. The seer’s back brushes against his wings as he readjusts himself.

“What addles your mind?” Elio asks. Sunday wants to lean away from him, but it’s impossible with the seer on his shoulder. “Firefly will be arriving in two system minutes. You will be late.”

Right, the meeting- meeting.

Sunday’s mind jumps at the word, dragged back into its own habits. Late, late- he can’t be late, that is unbecoming of someone like him, shouldn’t he know better? Instead he wasted time by asking useless questions- Stop thinking, stop thinking, you’re taking up valuable minutes- Get a move on, move, or they’ll hate you, they’ll take it as a disrespect, they’ll never accept you as their own-

“That’s enough.”

A paw baps the side of his head gently, snapping Sunday out of his thoughts.

Dull pain pricks at his palms. With a start, he realizes that his nails are digging into them, as they always do whenever his mind starts racing. He quickly relaxes his hands with a sigh.

Elio hums knowingly.

“You think too much,” says the seer. He stretches on Sunday’s shoulder, letting out a small meow as he does. He looks and acts so much like a real cat, Sunday has to remind himself not to pet him.

“I apologize,” is Sunday’s automatic response. Internally, he winces. You’d scold him if you heard him.

Elio shakes his head.

“The others won’t ostracize you,” he says matter-of-factly, in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

“Is that a part of your prophecy?” Sunday asks, eyes glittering with dull mirth.

“Perhaps. It is also their nature. One doesn’t need to be a seer to know that.”

The seer lashes his tail. Sunday doesn’t know how to feel about being comforted by a cat, but knowing who Elio is, and the absolute certainty behind his words manages to quiet the noise in his mind enough to let him think clearly.

“I… I see. Thank you,” he says sheepishly. Elio shrugs.

“It’s nothing,” he assures. “If you need further consolation, you can pet me.”

Somewhere a record screeches to a halt. Sunday stares blankly at Elio, who stares back innocently as if he hasn’t said anything wrong.

“Absolutely not,” Sunday says flatly, with half a mind to shove the seer off just to see what would happen. “You’re a grown man.”

Elio’s eyes gleam. “Am I? Or am I a cat who has learned to disguise as human?”

Sunday doesn’t bother entertaining him. Rolling his eyes with an amused sigh, he begrudgingly gives Elio a small scratch on the chin.

“Happy now?”

Elio closes his eyes, the beginnings of a purr rumbling in his chest. The vibrations are soothing against Sunday’s skin, like how white noise aids one in sleeping. One of Elio's ears flicks, and Sunday has to bite down a smile.

“This isn’t for my happiness,” Elio says despite clearly enjoying the scratch. He blinks his eyes open, forcing Sunday to look into the sky. “You are feeling better.”

The seer tilts his head, looking past Sunday in amusement. Before Sunday asks what exactly it is he’s looking at, he hears a distant flutter, and his wings brush against fur. His face flushes.

Elio chuckles, his tail flicking back and forth. “Come on now, the others are waiting.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, ears burning, Sunday nods.

He really needed to fix this wing problem of his.

—

Three floors up, you wait with Kafka in the main living room.

The Spirit Whisper user has only arrived recently, having sped back to the Delphi from whatever corner of the universe she was shopping at. Her recent escapade shows on her outfit, a brand new velvet coat (this one a dark red) draped over her shoulders.

Her gloved fingers fly expertly across the neck of a violin, a mahogany bow in her other hand as she maneuvers the violin into an eerie melody. Her shoulders sway as she does, her pupiless eyes fluttering closed every so often with the music.

“They’re here,” you announce, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in the plush sofa chair in which you sit. Your eyes are focused on your phone, which tracks Firefly’s and Silver Wolf’s location on an app the latter had designed herself.

Kafka hums, her deft hands never stilling. “Is that right?”

There’s a creak as the door opens behind and Blade walks in. With a simple nod to both you and Kafka, he slinks off to his corner of the room and summons his sword to hug against his chest. Kafka smiles demurely.

“Say,” she says, finally setting down the violin, “Bladie, how’s Birdie’s training going?”

Blade shifts the sword, looking up. “He needs to work on his footwork.”

Kafka hums. “Do you think he’s ready for a mission?”

“He can hold his own,” Blade admits, “but I wonder if he has the heart to kill. He could easily incapacitate me with his attacks on the mind, and yet he chooses not to.”

“It’s because he cares,” you jump into the conversation, setting your phone aside. “He may not act like it, but he’s rather soft-hearted. He probably doesn’t want to hurt you.”

Blade scoffs. “That kind of foolish sympathy will only debilitate him on the battlefield.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” says Kafka. “Who knows? Maybe Birdie will surprise us. One doesn’t nearly become an Aeon without some kind of moral ambiguity.”

Blade doesn’t look convinced, but he was never one to argue. He merely shrugs with a grunt, accepting whatever Kafka decides is the truth.

It isn’t like the conversation is set to continue either, as soon a portal made up of multicolored pixels spawns in the middle of the living room, and out walks Firefly, shopping bags hanging from all over her arms. Silver Wolf follows soon after, closing the portal behind her with a pop of her bubblegum.

“Welcome back,” Kafka greets, leaning on top of the backrest of your sofa chair. “Had fun at Penacony?”

“Fun is… one way of putting it,” Firefly chuckles bashfully. “It was definitely eventful. Speaking of which,”

She looks around the room for a certain someone.

“Where’s Sunday?”

“Probably changing,” you say, standing up from your chair. “He was in the middle of getting beat by Blade when I told him.”

“Ah, I see…” A small, nervous laugh leaves her. She quickly brightens, however, once you go in for a one-armed hug, the other hand still holding your wine glass. “That’s okay. His gift can wait. Here, let me give your guys’s.”

She rummages around in her shopping bag before pulling out what looks to be a large bubble, purples and blues glistening on its surface with the occasional person or place flashing.

“Here’s yours, [Name].”

You stare at it, dumbfounded. “A bubble?”

“It’s a dream bubble,” Firefly clarifies, gently placing it above your open palm. “Basically, they’re little memories or stories stored in a bubble - like a movie! There was this one vendor in Oti Mall who sold them, and, well… When I saw it, I knew I had to get it for you.”

Her shoulders jump, as if remembering something.

“Oh, and… Maybe it’s best if you don’t open it here.”

Raising a brow, you tear your eyes away from the strange bubble. “Why is that?”

Firefly shifts. “Well… you’ll know.”

That doesn’t sound reassuring. “Now I’m getting worried. Is there a trigger warning, or..?”

Firefly waves her hands hastily. “No, no, nothing like that! It’s just that, well… dream bubbles leave you unconscious, so…”

“Ah.” You blink. “That makes a lot more sense.”

“That wasn’t all I got you, though,” Firefly adds. She takes the shopping bag that she’d pulled the dream bubble from and hands it to you. “I know you like collecting drinks, so…”

At her words, you immediately forget about the dream bubble. Throwing it away somewhere, you eagerly reach into the bag and feel the familiar touch of cold glass. Your eyes gleam with excitement.

The bottle you pull out is tall and fat towards the bottom, the glass tinted a dark caramel while what seems to be liquid amber sloshes inside. Stamped on the front of the hefty bottle is a green and orange logo that tells you just exactly what this beverage was.

“SoulGlad, is it?” you read aloud, holding the bottle up to the light. “So this is the famous ‘beverage of dreams’.”

“I know you prefer wine,” says Firefly, rubbing the back of her neck, “but Siobhan recommended this - also it’s a staple of Penacony, so I figured, why not try that wasn’t alcohol for once?”

You pointedly ignore that last part. “Siobhan?”

“She’s a bartender I met on Penacony! Speaking of which, Blade,”-Firefly fishes out another shopping bag, this one smaller and darker in color- “Siobhan said that this drink is good for people like you. It’ll make you feel a little better.”

Blade raises a brow. He unhands his sword only for a moment to accept the bag. Briefly peeking at whatever’s inside, he raises a brow and closes the bag, nodding his thanks to Firefly.

The biggest bag turns out to be Kafka’s, as Silver Wolf had already received her souvenir prior to arriving on the Delphi.

The hacker’s gift currently sits on her head as she plays yet another game in the chair that used to be your. The holographic Origami Bird bears a striking resemblance to her, occasionally cocking its head and chirping every so often, the three large feathers on its head swaying with each movement.

“Wow~” Despite having just gotten a new coat, Kafka’s perfectly painted lips curve into a delighted smile at the sight of black and magenta velvet and bronze buttons. “Did you get this specially tailored?”

Firefly tucks a white hair behind her head, her cheeks flushed with joy. “Yes, I did. It was only a small extra fee, so I didn’t mind.”

“How thoughtful.” Kafka swiftly abandons her current coat and slips on the new one. “Thanks, I’ll be sure to use it often.”

Kafka pats Firefly’s head gently, smiling down at her like a mother would her daughter.

“Congrats on your mission, by the way,” she says. “Quite the stir this time, I wish I was there to have seen it all.”

Firefly chuckles nervously. “Yeah, Penacony was definitely… interesting.”

And then, as if summoned by his homeland, two doors slide open and Sunday enters with Elio nestled snugly in his arms.

“I apologize for being late,” says the Halovian, bowing slightly. Kafka laughs.

“Don’t worry about it,” she assures, waving a hand carelessly. “What matters is that you’re here, Birdie.”

Fuchsia eyes narrow amusedly at the seer comfortably cradled against Sunday’s chest.

“Having fun there, Elio?” Kafka teases. Elio squints at the woman for a second before letting out a disturbingly cat-like meow and nuzzling back into the warm wool of Sunday’s turtleneck.

As much as you want to laugh at the seer, your eyes are somewhere else. Besides you, Firefly has seized up, her posture stiff and awkward at the sight of the former Oak Head. Figures, she probably had… a lot of conflicts, to put it lightly, with Sunday, and seeing him so soon - not to mention with her boss - must be jarring.

You decide to give her a bit of comfort. Nudging her lightly, you offer her an encouraging smile. She returns it gratefully, before taking a deep breath and greeting her now-junior.

“Hi, Sunday,” she says tentatively with a shy smile. Sunday’s eyes soften.

“Ah, Miss Firefly.” He nods politely. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Yes.” Firefly shifts her feet. “How have you been?”

“Better. You Hunters have been far more accommodating than I had ever anticipated, although rather eccentric.”

“That’s good,” Firefly chuckles. She pulls out a light-blue gift bag, and, walking up to Sunday, extends it to him. “This is your initiation gift. I really hope you like it.”

“Ah, thank you.”

Elio jumps off Sunday so that he can accept the gift, and opts to climb Kafka instead. In the meantime, Sunday handles Firefly’s gift as one might handle a baby. Once he opens it, however, his eyes widen in shock and his breath hitches.

“This is…”

Firefly smiles softly. “I asked your sister personally.”

Grasped in Sunday’s shaking hands is a gleaming album of red and purple. His sister’s face smiles up at him from the recording booth as she sings to the hearts of millions across the universe. Signed in the corner in a pastel pink pen is her signature.

“I…” Sunday’s voice is choked in his throat. He sounds like he’s about to cry. A part of you wants to reach out and give him a hug, but you don’t think that’s the right course of action right now.

“There’s a note inside,” Firefly offers. “And as for the album itself, it’s like a mini phonograph, so you can play it whenever you want.”

Sunday’s hand clasps tightly over his mouth as to hold back the tears that threaten to break from his eyes. Golden rings scan Robin’s face, again and again, rechecking her signature to make sure that he isn’t seeing things.

“I don’t know what to say,” he whispers. “I…” He inhales deeply to calm himself and reign back his composure. “...Thank you, Miss Firefly. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

“You should be thanking your sister,” says Firefly. “She put some other things in the bag there for you, and- Silver Wolf? Did you give him your gifts yet?”

Silver Wolf doesn’t even look up from her game. “Nope. Give me a sec, I just gotta beat this level aaaaaand- done.”

She jumps up, her Origami bird fluttering in surprise as she does. Twirling her fingers, a phone materializes in her hold.

“Here’s your phone, newbie,” she says, stopping in front of Sunday. “I cleared it of all its tracking malware and transferred your frozen accounts from the IPC. Everything else should be the same.”

“Damn, you had tracking malware?” you comment, stealing back your seat now that Silver Wolf has left. Sunday sighs.

“Yes, the Dream Master was rather… paranoid.”

“That doesn’t matter though,” chirps Silver Wolf as Sunday takes back his phone. “I already got rid of it all, so it’s useless now. I also added you to the groupchat. Your sister’s been texting you like crazy, though. You might want to answer her.”

“...I’ll think about it,” says Sunday. The hacker shrugs.

“Do what you want, it’s not my business.” She starts up another level, evident by the 8-bit music playing from her phone. “Your old clothes should be in your room now; I put them on your bed for you.”

“You did? When?”

“Just now.”

You shoot a confused Sunday a smile. “Silver Wolf’s specialty lies in altering the data of reality.”

“Ah. Well, thank you Miss Silver Wolf.”

The hacker wrinkles her nose. “Just Silver Wolf is fine. Although, I have got to ask-”

She looks up, excitement and curiosity glittering behind her nonchalant facade.

“Why did you have so many copies of the same outfit? Are you like, an NPC?”

Sunday doesn’t seem to know what to do with Silver Wolf’s expectant gaze. He tilts his head.

“It’s merely a matter of convenience. I can’t wear the same clothes every day, that would be unsanitary. But the public has a certain image of me, and I had to uphold it - hence the clothes.”

“Oh.” Silver Wolf deflates. “That was significantly less interesting than I thought it’d be.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t mind her,” you butt in. “She just likes to over exaggerate things so that she gets disappointed by them because she sets her expectations too high.”

“I do not!” Silver Wolf kicks you childishly, nearly spilling your wine in the process. You shoot her a glare.

“Yes, you do, I have receipts- do you want me to pull them out? I will pull them out.”

“Yeah, right. Screenshots? Recordings? Please, you know that’s useless against a hacker like me.”

“I’m not that unprepared you heathen-”

Elio sighs as the two of you begin bickering. Kafka chuckles, patting him on the head while Blade has already started napping standing up. Sunday glances at the two senior Hunters nervously.

“Are they always- like this?” he asks. Elio shakes his head in disappointment.

“You’ll get used to it.”

—

Later that night, Sunday sits in his room. There’s little to no light, save for the small lamp that sits on his bedside table. Soft piano music plays in the background, accompanied with the soft soprano of his sister.

“In candlelight, as time unwinds, I find myself, lost in your eyes.”

He closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the still-white walls of his room. He welcomes the melody into his ears, allowing it to consume him in its song.

“In midnight tolls, as darkness folds, I see your tears, when we say goodbye.”

Flashes of Penacony’s scenery as he had fallen reemerge in his mind. He remembers the sunrise, the piercing light of the sun as it touched upon Golden Hour for the first time in years.

“Watching stars, as we drift on by.”

He remembers his sister’s embrace, the confusion and the fear, but also the relief and comfort of family.

“A touch,”

If he loses himself enough…

“A glance,

If he forgets enough…

“Fly away.”

He could almost believe that it’s his sister standing next to him that’s singing, not a recording.

“Will our paths converge, ‘neath the sun?”

Robin’s voice swells, and strings jump in to accompany it. Goosebumps chill his skin and his breath catches in his chest. His eyes squeeze, a strangling emotion he doesn’t recognize squeezing at his heart.

“A silent desire, in melody sung.”

For a moment, he sees her, he sees his sister, he sees Robin. It is almost as if she is speaking to him, singing to him, asking him of what fate has in store for them.

“Beyond this stolen night, we share a cherished dream.”

Indeed, they did. Her dream, their dream. A dream to fill the skies with their songs, to dance for the people they loved so much.

“Between souls whispered that it ‘seems’.”

But only one of them could make that dream a reality.

“Will shooting stars align ‘neath the sun?”

His eyes peek open, glossy and aching. The music heightens, and the dark ceiling blurs into the beginnings of a beautiful nightscape, full of twinkling stars and kissed by the retreating sun.

“In whispered hopes where journey's begun.”

Penacony smiles down at him, the home to which he’ll never return to. All twelve hours have passed, and a new day has begun.

“In dreams, we waltz the sky,”

His hand twitches. It flexes against the blankets, grasping for something, someone who isn’t there.

“You watch me drift on by,”

Oh, how he wishes he could hold her again, see her smile again, watch her sing once more. His heart aches to cradle his baby sister one last time, even if it’s for a second, just so that his last sight of her wouldn’t be of a smile with tears.

“In your memory, a whispered song,”

“A seed of hope where we belong.”

The song ends, leaving Sunday with a husk of a heart. A singular tear breaks free and slips down his cheek. For the first time, Sunday doesn’t think to wipe it.

His chest hurts, yet lighter, as if a weight has been lifted, leaving his heart to deal with the repercussions of bearing said weight for so long. He can breathe, painfully so, yet it is clear, crisp, rejuvenating.

He wants to see her again, but not now. Not yet.

But one day, they will.

His phone pings, snapping him out of his thoughts. He almost doesn’t want to check it, but it pings again and he picks it up reluctantly.

It’s you, he realizes, a small smile slipping onto his face.

Sunday grimaces at the memory. Last week, he’d made the mistake of admiring one of the flowers that grew over your door. Well, that flower turned out to be carnivorous, and very territorial, and it nearly took off a chunk off his finger had he not blasted it out of panic.

He still has to buy you a replacement.

He shakes his head, sighing with a smile. Out of reflex, he flexes the finger that had been bit. Had it not been for you, it would still be wrapped in bandages.

A soft laugh escapes him at your sticker. He scrolls up for a bit through the conversation, rereading it over and over again. Why? He doesn’t know. It just feels right.

His scrolling stops just over the attachment you sent. So this is his part of the script - Elio’s infamous prophecy that contains details of the future, down to the very second. He clicks on it.

Reading over it briefly, his brows furrow.

“Alfeasa-VIII, is it?” he murmurs.

He’s heard of the planet before; a prosperous kingdom with loyal and loving subjects that worshiped the Preservation. He’d never paid much attention to it, though, as the most interaction he’d ever gotten from it were a few of its nobles who came to Penacony for vacation.

His fingers stop just above a paragraph in his script that seems all too out of place.

At 22:38:10 system time, the reigning kingdom of Alfeasa-VIII will fall. [Name] will dispense multiple gas bombs at the banquet. They will give you one gas mask to give to a person of your choosing. Whoever you choose will become the next ruler of Alfeasa-VIII. I trust that you will choose wisely.

—

Bonus (left on read):

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meyousing · 1 year ago

Text

𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐀 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you’re used to light being distant, so when he decides to lay the affection on heavy and proposes a new idea to you at the same time, you’re helplessly intrigued. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: nsfw, yandere light yagami x reader, idk if this matters to say right off the bat but you’re wearing a skirt :] also mentions of death like always lol but none fr! alsoalso this idea has probably been done to death by now but to be fair I started this A YEAR AGO!! pls enjoy despite that lol ily <3

“What is it?” his eyes sharpened as they narrowed at you from across the room, voice laced with blatant boredom. That was what you told yourself anyway, truly hoping that it was boredom and not annoyance because the look he always gave you at times like this made you cave in on yourself, instantly regretting whatever you had done to be such a bother. All that you were doing now was laying idly on his bed, legs swinging out of habit as you were on your stomach and flipping through a magazine that he had given as a pacifier. Maybe he knew that you were actually keeping your eyes on him this entire time, rather than the sheets before you.

“What do you mean?” playing dumb never worked with Light, but you would always do it anyway. It could provide a delay of the inevitable if nothing else.

You heard the tap of his pen as he dropped it on his desk, followed by the soft thud of his notebook closing before he stood from his chair. A regular notebook, you noticed, thankfully.

“Trying to outsmart me again?”

Right, his interpretation of your playing dumb was much less simple than what you intended to get across. Of course, he knew that you knew better, so your deception was instead seen as defiance; a flaunt of superiority.

“Of course not,” you shut your magazine, sliding it to the side of the bed and cringing when it slid off of the bed, crumpling up in an ironically tense pile on the floor. Surely Light wasn’t too attached to it, as he merely spared it a passing glance before casting his eyes upon you once more. Then he began to approach, making you swallow a newfound lump in your throat as you scampered back to sit up on your haunches.

“Then what is it?” he leaned over you, his hands resting at your sides with your faces inches apart. His breath was slow through his nose, soft and cold as each exhale blew onto the tip of your nose.

How to tell him that the stupid magazine didn’t pacify you at all, that only his attention could soothe you? And how embarrassing it could get if you admitted to the exact type of attention that you needed.

He began leaning closer as your mind raced, thinking of a different possible answer, but then it went entirely blank as he was close enough to brush his lips over yours. Tantalizingly, the gentlest nudge and he only did it once before pulling back slightly, you could have missed it had your brain continued thinking so hard. The sensation nearly made you crumble, a chill shooting down your spine as you inhaled and resisted the urge to wet your now trembling lips, focusing on maintaining your posture. He knew how to break you, you didn’t want him to see it happen this soon.

“Nothing” was all you could say without simply blabbering out every dirty thought plaguing your mind.

“You never stare at me like that for nothing,” he said pointedly, even adding a cheeky but very slight tilt of his head. Had your stare really been so obvious? You truly did try to be subtle. Either way, you found it humorous how he could go from cold with seemingly deadened emotions to a teaser within minutes. Finding it humorous helped you cope with how scary you knew he could be.

With the lightest shove to his chest you could muster alongside a bashful turn of your head, you tried creating some space between yourselves to alleviate the fast beating of your heart.

“Really, it’s nothing. I didn’t mean to distract you from your work…” Your hand lingered on his chest after the little push, kneading the material of his shirt idly as you hoped this excuse would suffice. This mannerism alone proved the opposite of your hopes to him.

When the full press of his lips fell upon yours in a genuine kiss this time, you knew that you had failed. Even more so when you subconsciously deepened it with a lean closer, making your grip on his shirt firmer to keep him from moving away. Though it seemed he had no intention of doing so, instead easing you down to lay your back against his mattress, crawling over you as soon as you were horizontal.

This kiss, unlike all of his others which would be quick and half-assed–your lips barely meeting before he was already turning his head away to tend to some other matter–was compassionate. One of his hands found the side of your face and he caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, his other fingers which became entangled in your hair from the placement were massaging your scalp soothingly. The sensation lulled you and had you sinking even deeper into his bed while pulling him along with you, your fingertips meeting at the back of his neck and fiddling with the ends of his hair. While this kiss was unusual, it was not unwelcome.

You didn’t know that there would be a catch to this sudden affection.

You could feel Light smirking against you, his entire aura darkening once he did, so much that you could feel it–and your reaction to such a peculiarity was communicated with a tensing of your shoulders. Upon sensing this, Light was quick to groan and prod his tongue against your bottom lip, which surprised you further and allowed him to invade your mouth. The intimate sound he let out and the way he just seemed so infatuated with you right now had your heart racing.

This moment ended almost as quickly as it started though, he pulled away from you and nudged his nose against yours. You tried not to show your disappointment, but you knew that it must have been obvious when a frown graced your lips.

“I want to try something.”

This could go in any direction. He was always so unpredictable, mood changing on a dime whether it was for better or worse.

“What’s that?” you asked with a small voice, indicative of your anxiety about the unknown. You were already playing right into his hands.

“I want to reward you for being so obedient.”

A reward? Who is this and what has he done with your Light?!

His hand on your cheek rubbed it once more before he lifted himself off of you, steadying himself with hands on your waist as he did. You remained in your place, only watching with your eyes as he leaned over to reach into his desk and a drawer.

The drawer.

You turned your head with a gulp as you watched him retrieve his arm, now holding the dreaded notebook that you had tried to shield yourself from, trying to stay ignorant for the sake of keeping your relationship peaceful with the man you couldn’t help but love.

“So long as your obedience remains the same, you’ll be rewarded. We’re going to test it right now.”

He placed the book by your hand which had fallen to your side once he moved, putting his pen between your loose fingers and adjusting it until it stayed still there without tipping over. Your limbs had frozen, so it was no tough feat for him. You were shocked even further when Light’s expression altered somewhat once he actually took notice of how tense you were. Last you could remember, he couldn’t care less when your discomfort was so obvious.

“It really is going to be rewarding for you. Don’t you trust me?”

He always had to ask you that. How much more obvious could you be about your unequivocal devotion to him, your infinite trust? You’d been by his side all this time, yet he would still ask, nearly daily, most commonly before asking you to do something that you didn’t want to do. As if anyone else would remain with him when finding out his secret, and he still doubted you.

“You know I do.” You murmured, fingers twitching around the cold pen in your grasp.

“Then at least hear me out” he chuckled dryly, not with any sense of legitimate humour. You tried to be subtle as you swallowed the lump in your throat, having heard such an impatient laugh come from him countless times before.

“This won’t be going away any time soon,” he patted the notebook, “and I can tell that you won’t be either. I mean, as long as you keep following along with me, here.” He glimpsed at you differently then, as if his eyes were asking you to challenge that statement.

You only nodded. Light grinned.

“Good.”

His fingers moved to peel open the book, and you glanced away from it as he skimmed past so many pages that were filled from margin to margin with names. The crisp sounds of paper brushing together stopped once he found a blank one.

Your eyes stayed on him, and you could feel some burning bile churn and slosh around in your gut as a little smirk pulled at his lips. His eyes darkened when they met yours.

His free hand, which was out of your line of sight, traced the waistband of your skirt. You flinched slightly in surprise, and Light’s smirk widened as he leaned closer to you.

“Write your name.”

Despite being unmoving already, you froze even further, stiffening like a stone and watching him desperately, trying to detect any hint of jesting in his demand. But the wickedness surrounding Light was unrelenting; he meant what he said.

“What?” you asked quietly, needing to hear it again to really believe that he meant it.

“Start writing your name. Trust me, won’t you?”

“I-I do–”

“I know. So do it.” Light’s tone was more firm now.

You could only hold your breath when your eyes flitted over to your hand, your fingers readjusting the pen as you tried to point it toward the paper. The book itself felt alive, you could sense its unreal gaze–like it was taunting you, mocking and laughing at you, tempting you to write, and calling you a coward if you dared to show any hesitation because it shouldn’t be that hard.

Having been with Light for so long now, you fully understood the notebook’s functionality. Knowing that, would it really be so crazy if you were being a coward about this?

“Any time now, love” Light’s voice became impatient, and when you looked up at him, his kneeling posture was equivalent to being on the edge of his seat. He looked like he could implode had you made it this far and chose to back out now, he was so eager. You’d hate to disappoint him, even if his little pet name for you was clearly insincere.

Your body went cold and numb once you pushed the tip of the pen against the page, watching the smallest droplet of dark ink soak into the lines. Your hand remained stagnant following this, and you spared a short glance up at Light, noting how his eyes were stuck on the pen. You took in a breath, holding it and letting your lungs fill so you’d become a little lightheaded–a little less aware of this horrible reality–before moving further with utmost reluctance to drag the tool, lining the shape of the first letter in your name.

You could hear Light exhaling as you finally did. You couldn’t let out that breath of your own just yet. Maybe your cause of death would be suffocation, then.

Your focus was ripped away from the note in an instant once you felt a cold fingertip trace over your clit from above your panties, making your body jolt as you met eyes with Light. He wasn’t looking at you yet, only doing so once you stopped writing.

“Go on. I’m staying true to my word.” To emphasize this, he pressed down against your clit again, his push firm but gentle–leaving you on the cusp of craving more as the sensation gave you chills, yet also sent heat through your lower half.

So pathetically, that small second of pleasure was enough to incentivize a continuation, and you managed to finish printing that very first letter.

“Good…”

He resumed what he had been doing, gently circling your bud and using the advantage of that added layer from your panties to optimize the friction; encouraging you. You could feel the way that you were starting to get wet, soaking the material and only making such movements smoother for Light.

You paused as the feeling grew slightly more intense, coping, and your pause made Light do the same. You two were playing a little game, it seemed, and you obviously didn’t want it to stop–you had to keep going. You had wanted him minutes before this, after all, and you were finally getting what you craved.

Letter two manifested; your grip on the writing utensil weakened as he pulled your panties aside to touch your skin directly.

You shuddered from the sudden cool air that brushed along your exposed skin, and he dragged some of your slick up from your pussy, using it to make rubbing into your clit that much easier, that much more pleasurable. Your limbs shuddered and you had to breathe out a more vocal huff of air in exasperation, your lungs aching while your muscles tensed in delight from Light’s direct tending to such newfound sensitivity.

You remained paused with your eyes shut firmly as you became accustomed to the bliss that he inflicted. Light, seeming to understand exactly what he was doing to you, was a bit more forgiving now–continuing his ministrations even when you stopped, but not changing his pace or furthering the intensity enough for those feelings to grow, to bring you closer to any type of climax. It still made you moan though; still made your heart skip a beat and made your walls tighten around nothing.

Perhaps you had been successfully swindled into playing with fire because now your mind understood a simple formula; if you wanted more, you had to keep writing. Would he let you come if you wrote your entire name down?

Would you even feel the aftershocks of your release before you died?

The prospect of death hit your lust-fogged mind like a truck, and your eyes shot open–that slowly building knot in your abdomen became a tightrope clenching out of fear rather than anticipation. This was a death note, and you were already on track to penning yourself down within it.

Light could sense your change in stature and returned his gaze to your face once again. His hand slowed, but it was as if he could detect your worry and didn’t want to let you succumb to it–he wanted to keep you within the cusp of pleasure, to keep you malleable and submissive to his desires, not whatever lies your mind was telling you. So he kept touching you.

“You know that you can’t stop now that you’ve started, right?” He looked cocky, like he had you right where he wanted you. And it seemed that he did, because now with such confusion and so many conflicting feelings plaguing you, you weren’t sure about that–could you back out now? Was the damage already done now that your first name was almost down entirely?

Your drying lips parted as if to ask, but you couldn’t find your voice. Light let out a short, dry laugh and nodded his head, his face inches away from yours, like he fucking knew.

“Mhm. You have to keep going, now. You’d better hurry, too. You know that there’s a time limit… don’t you?”

Your lungs were burning and your hips squirmed as he traced his fingers around your core, swirling them within your copious wetness and gently prodding his fingers, hardly getting inside of you, yet you still writhed from the sensitivity of such a precise, close touch.

You shook your head deliriously in delayed response to his words and all Light did was nod his own head toward the book again. Suddenly you were reminded of the pen in your grasp which had now absorbed the growing heat from your palm; hot to the touch.

Noting that apparent time limit, you felt your heart thrumming as it raced and you started writing again. The pace of your fingers scraping the pen back and forth was a little quicker than before, yet you couldn’t shake that lingering hesitance even while knowing that you really should have been rushing. Light hummed as he watched, nonchalantly pushing a finger inside of you as you progressed, which made a whiny sound catch in your throat, and made your back lift slightly off the bed.

Your arm trembled and your chicken scratch ceased again, but Light knew that he had you, because you hurried to carry on with haste once more, and he didn’t bother to stop stroking inside of you anymore. He even slid in another finger following the last time he pulled out, the added thickness made your thighs attempt to close from the new nerve-tingling pleasure that it gave, even despite the way that his body between your legs kept you nice and open for him.

“Please,” you bartered, voice muffled and representative of the state you were in; wholly weak. He grinned and kept going, his body solid in its place on top of you, forcing you to take it even as his skilled fingers overwhelmed you so deliciously. You wanted the end result now–you wanted to come, to feel that sweet release by his hand.

Light initiated this entire thing, he set his rules, and you knew that finishing wouldn’t happen just like that, because it wasn’t what he wanted.

“Please what, Y/N? You already know what you have to do. Don’t play stupid.”

The little jab at the end hurt only a little bit, making your stomach drop, making you feel as stupid as he said–but his fingertips rubbed along and pressed into your sweet spot which made you whimper, and that feeling was all you could focus on now; remedying the sting of the insult with the soothing cradle of his fingers. Oh, how successfully he was able to distract you and change the path of your thoughts once again. You could hardly bring yourself to care about such blatant manipulation, because release was getting closer and closer, and that was all you wanted.

You couldn’t even tell if the pen was pressing into the paper hard enough to leave any writing behind at all; your hand was hardly moving because your eyes remained shut in elation, and you chose to squeeze the pen in your fist as you coped with his touch, but Light just seemed content with the fact that you were resuming any transfer of penmanship at all. He was certainly rewarding you as he promised, keeping his fingers inside of you until his knuckles pushed into the plush of your pussy lips, and they rocked into you so good that you could almost feel that hard pressure in your stomach.

It was starting to become too much–you knew how close you were getting, but you didn’t know if that’s what Light wanted. He liked to be in control of most things in his life, and you were at the very top of that list.

“I-I can’t, I’m gonna–”

A gasp-like mewl left you once you felt a hot, wet stroke against your clit at the same time that Light pushed rather hard against your g-spot, holding his fingers there and making you squirm. Your eyes shot open and you craned your neck off of the mattress to look down, watching as his lips closed around your clit and sucked it into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it and keeping his eyes on yours the entire time. Your entire body shuddered, it was so intense that you had to try and pull away, but he wasn’t having it, using his free hand to pin your hip down and keep you still.

“Light,” you whined, a warning to him that he was pleasing you too well too quickly, you were about to come and you were hardly finished with writing down your first name.

His eye contact only became bolder, he didn’t relent, if anything he was trying to get more out of you; intent on making you come now. He hadn’t instructed you otherwise, so you felt safe enough to finally give in–with a weak, raspy whimper you felt yourself release that buildup of desire, your vision turning into static behind closed lids as your body writhed and churned even while he kept you down, putting himself against you with more force. Your hips rocked into his mouth to ride out every last remnant of your orgasm until you felt no more, the only sound that you could hear was your own heavy breathing and Light’s last few caresses against your audibly sopping wet pussy.

Light moved off of you slowly, and you noted that his eyes were trained on the book rather than your body that now glistened with a light sheen of sweat. Before you could say anything to him (but even then, what could you say?), his eyes scanned over the page and your writing while he nonchalantly wiped your release off of his fingers, onto the material of your skirt.

You followed his line of sight and looked over your work, seeing how scribbled and disastrous it was. You had probably produced better writing back in kindergarten.

Now that your heat had finally been tended to, however; your arousal sated, you blinked a few times, then realized exactly what you were looking at: part of your name, written in the death note.

What about the time limit? Was your first name enough to make it work either way? Your heart began to race and so did your breathing–were these the side effects of the incoming, inevitable heart attack?!

I suppose the cause wasn’t suffocation after all, a fleeting voice said so sarcastically in the back of your head, making you grimace. You propped yourself up on your elbows in a panic and your eyes flew back to Light, who was still skimming over the page with a look of maintained scrutiny. He was so… calm. Were you not about to die? Did he not care?

“That’s a good start,” he murmured, reaching out to trace his index finger (the one that wasn’t just buried in you to the hilt) along the shaky lines that hardly resembled any of the alphabet.

“Wha–” You could only heave the word out since it felt like your heart was beating in your throat, though your body gradually relaxed as Light seemed completely neutral to the situation. The longer that he did nothing, the more time passed, and you realized that… you were still here.

When silence fell completely between both of you, Light looked over with such casualty that you felt like none of what just happened even did.

“If we can get to your last name next time, too, maybe I’ll actually fuck you.” He slid off the bed as he spoke, his tone so normal as if he was just talking to you about the weather, making your jaw drop. He grabbed the book and closed it, walking over to the drawer and taking his sweet time ensuring that it was properly put away.

All you could do was lay there in silent disbelief, watching him with wide eyes while he acted like nothing even happened.

“I’m fine, then?” you asked, your voice firmer and a little louder than normal, more demanding for direct answers. Light glanced over at you and laughed coldly, standing up straight once the drawer was closed once again, his hands on his hips lazily.

“I like that you’re a little dumb, Y/N. It makes things like this more exciting, don’t you think?”

Before you could respond verbally–only able to scoff for now–Light turned to leave the room, murmuring a nearly inaudible “I’ll get some water” before the door closed behind him. His muffled footsteps became more distant as he descended downstairs, isolating you to the top floor.

Helplessly flumping back against the bed, you stared at the ceiling, reliving everything that had just happened in a mental state that you imagined neurosis to feel like. Although, you didn’t have to worry for long… you would get used to it. You understood that this was not going to be the first time something like this would happen, Light was truly only getting started with you.

#✧meyou #✧musinghxhmasterlist #death note #light yagami #death note fanfiction #death note x reader #yagami light #light x reader #light yagami x reader #light yagami smut #light yagami x you #light yagami x y/n #death note x you #i hope this doesn't have any typos lmao i'm sorry if this comeback sux

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yunnimilk · 6 months ago

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could u do a fyodor with sub, gn reader with dumbification, overstim, biting and choking too with a red and white theme? (( something non canon, like him being a secret vampire priest or something of the like and reader is a devoted worshipper of his Church mayhaps..)) .. drabble, or full fic for me is fine eitherway!!

「 ✦ AMAB! DOMTOP! Fyodor Dostoevsky x AMAB! GN! SUBBOT! Reader

{ sorry it was a drabble, I started my second year of college so I had a lot of work to do }

DRABBLE !!

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | Imagine being a membef at a church, you've decided to devote your life to god. Collecting donations and volunteering around the chapel isn’t anything new. Sometimes it was boring, but, this was the price to pay if you wanted to show your dedication to the lord , (^ε^)♪

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | The head pastor introduces a devilishly handsome man to you, asking you to tour him around the church buldings. The stranger had fairly pale skin with reflective dark hair that contrasted with it. Deep purple eyes that suck you in, you couldn't help but blush, which was embarrassingly evident on your face ! ◟꒰◍´Д‵◍꒱◞

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | His soft smiles take your breath away, your heart being pulled out of your chest. You take every opportunity to lovingly stare at his face, and you also got caught several times, but it seemed like he enjoyed your company !

ﾍ(≧▽≦ﾍ) ♪

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | he seemed off though, sometimes his skin would turn grayer and he would avoid mirrors. It's such a coincidence, vampires aren't real, you're being silly !

('A｀*)

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | But,,, one day, you found the man kneeling over, trying to hold his composure. Fyodor was sweating profusely as his fangs sharpened when you got closer to him, letting out a meekly, “f.. father ?”. He stayed still for a moment, his back was turned so you couldn’t see his expression . ( •́ㅿ•̀ )

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | Suddenly, he lunges at you! You barely had time to react, instead, you felt a sharp pain in your neck and a wet sensation going down your collarbone. Your eyes found Fyodor's head, him draining all the fluid out your neck. It was really painful at first, then it turned so electrifying, sending shivers righr down your cock . (•ө•)♡

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | Imagine Fyodor licking your neck and taking off your clothes, his moist tongue on your skin and you felt yourself getting harder and harder. Your soft moans encourage him to continue . ( ¯ ρ¯ )

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | Some time later and your head is buried in your pillows while Fyodor was plunging into you, sloppy and firm. Grinding inside your guts to make sure your prostate gets bullied by his cock, your body was so sore, from the bites and especially from Fyodor's relentless thrusts . o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | Your mind was far gone, everything was getting fuzzy and your cheeks were soaked from your tears, your tight, puffy hole making a squelching sound everytime he dug his cock into you. Your body stained from your cum and your blood, what a pretty painting ! ୧(-᷅ ہ-᷄)୨

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | He reaches down your neck as you let out a melodious whimper. Fyodor loves your pretty sounds, to him, it's the same as the church choir, so he's going to make sure you sing for him some more ! •﹏•

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | Your cock was so tired just trying to pump out semen, it was throbbing so badly. You begged Fyodor to have mercy on you, "P...plEASE! I- I don't.. I CAN'T.. c-c...come anymore! ~", he tugged your hair back, so you could look at him, "then release yourself for me, one last time, my dear", he went quicker to feel your walls tightening up ! ⚆_⚆

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | Imagine your eyes rolling back as you felt euphoria coursing through your body as you stiffen up. Your hole squeezing Fyodor's dick, him grunting as his cum intrudes inside your guts ,

"I changed my mind, actually, let's go for another hour hm?"

#bottom reader #amab reader #bottom male reader #bttm male reader #enby ns/fw #enby reader #mtf reader #mtf nsft #mtf trans #mtf sub #fyodor x male reader #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fyodor #fyodor smut #fyodor x reader

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latanyalove · 1 month ago

Text

First Kiss

Summary: Zoro has never had a kiss so you want to be first (fluff)

Song: Swim by Chase Atlantic

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

The salt spray kissed your face as you leaned against the railing of the Thousand Sunny, the grand ship cutting through the twilight-painted sea. Below, the crew’s raucous laughter mingled with the clatter of dishes from the galley, a symphony of life that always warmed your heart.

But tonight, your gaze was fixed on a different kind of spectacle. Zoro, his back to the mast, was honing his swords with a quiet intensity that was both captivating and unnerving.

The rhythmic shing, shing, shing was a low thrum against the backdrop of the festive preparations.

You'd been a part of the Straw Hats for a while now, long enough to witness Zoro's unwavering dedication, his almost stoic demeanor, and, occasionally, the flicker of surprising tenderness.

And for you, those flickers had become a blazing fire of affection. You were hopelessly, head-over-heels, in love with the moss-headed swordsman.

New Year’s Eve was upon the ship. Luffy had declared it an unofficial holiday, and even Nami had loosened her purse strings slightly to allow for a grand feast. Your heart pounded a little harder against your ribs as you thought about it. New Year’s.

Midnight…and then there was that silly tradition. The first kiss of the new year. You knew almost everyone on board had someone they were excited to share that with. You knew exactly who you wanted yours to be with.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself off the railing, deciding to act instead of simply watching. You approached Zoro, your steps strangely hesitant for someone who’d faced down bounty hunters and sea monsters.

"Zoro?" you started, trying for a casual tone.

He paused, the whetstone still against the blade. Those dark eyes, usually so focused or narrowed in suspicion, met yours, and a shiver went down your spine. "What is it, (Your Name)?"

"You're still training?" you asked, gesturing towards his swords. "Even with the party starting?"

He shrugged, a small movement that spoke volumes about his priorities. "Need to keep sharp. Never know what the new year will bring."

"True," you agreed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "But you should come and eat something soon. Sanji went all out for tonight, you know."

Zoro grunted, returning to his sharpening. "He always does."

You perched on the edge of a nearby coil of rope. "You're…not much of a party person, I guess?" you ventured, trying to steer the conversation in a slightly more personal direction.

"Parties are a waste of time," he replied bluntly. The whetstone scraped against the metal, the sound grating slightly on your nerves.

You shifted uncomfortably, deciding to take a risk. "Well, some people enjoy them. It's a good excuse to...be with people, I guess."

He finally glanced up at you again, seeming to consider your words. "Like…Luffy?"

“Yeah, like Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper,” you agreed, “but also…everyone. I suppose,” you added with a small, quiet voice.

“Right” he said, turning back to his swords, “Well I’m not much of a sentimental person.”

Your heart sank a little at that. But you refused to give up. "I was just wondering something," you said, trying a different approach.

He paused, the whetstone still, his attention on you. "What?"

You took a deep breath. You weren’t the most confident person, and the idea of asking this was terrifying. But you were more terrified of never knowing.

"Have you...ever kissed anyone, Zoro?" The question was out before you could stop it, hanging in the quiet air. You stared at your hands, willing your face to not turn too red.

He was silent for a long moment, the only sounds the soft lapping of waves against the ship and the distant laughter of the crew.

You dared to peek up at him. His brow was furrowed, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond your shoulder. "No," he said, his voice low and almost gruff. "Why?"

Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest. Your stomach did a nervous flip. He hadn’t had a first kiss yet. This was your chance. You could just…you could be his first.

You cleared your throat. "Just curious. It's…a common thing. Especially around New Year. You know, the tradition."

He finally turned his focus back to your eyes, and your breath hitched. Those dark orbs, usually so guarded, seemed to be searching yours. "Tradition?" he repeated, the word sounding foreign on his tongue.

"Yeah, you know, the first kiss at midnight," you explained, your cheeks warming despite your best efforts. "It’s supposed to be good luck, I guess?" you added weakly, trying to make it sound casual.

The silence stretched on, thick and heavy. You were sure you were blushing, praying that in the fading light he couldn’t see just how flustered you were.

He just stared at you, those eyes holding an intensity you’d rarely seen outside of battle.

"So," you continued, the word catching in your throat, "have you ever thought about…doing that?"

He didn’t answer immediately. He watched you for what felt like an eternity, his gaze probing. "No," he finally admitted, his voice still low, "I haven't. Seemed like a waste of time."

Your heart leaped in your chest. There was a tiny, almost imperceptible hint of curiosity in his eyes. You took another deep, steadying breath. This was it.

"Maybe," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "maybe it's not such a waste of time with the right person?" You looked up at his face, willing him to understand what you couldn't just say out loud.

He opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. As if contemplating your words. The last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, plunging the deck into a deeper twilight.

The party on the lower deck grew louder, the lively music getting closer, a backdrop against the quiet tension stretching between the two of you.

"The new year is almost here," you said, your voice a little breathy, "I was hoping…” you trailed off, unable to say your exact desires.

He stared at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. He didn’t seem angry or disgusted, just… lost in thought. It was a vulnerable expression you’d never seen on his face.

The first chime of midnight began to toll, the ship’s bell echoing across the water, a deep, resonant sound that made your heart pound. You held your breath, waiting.

He stepped closer, closing the distance until you could feel the heat radiating off of him. Your stomach flipped, the butterflies in it turning into a full-scale swarm. You met his eyes, your own filled with a mixture of hope and fear.

"If…if it has to be someone," he said, his voice rough, "then…" he trailed off, looking down at you, “then, I guess it can be you.”

Your heart soared. It was such a small, begrudging, roundabout way of saying yes, but it was enough. It was more than enough.

You raised a shaking hand and gently touched his cheek, feeling the rough stubble and the warmth beneath. You leaned in, your eyes fluttering shut as the sound of the final chime echoed across the open sea.

His lips met yours, hesitant at first, a soft brush against your own. It was not the kiss you expected. It was slow, a little clumsy, and utterly, completely beautiful. The world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of his lips against yours, the roughness of his hand as he gently cupped your cheek, and the sweet scent of his worn leather and sea salt.

The kiss deepened, no longer tentative but full of a raw, untamed intensity that mirrored the ocean surrounding you.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, the world seemed brighter, the sounds of the celebration louder, more joyful. You looked at Zoro, his face still a little confused, but his eyes held a warmth you hadn’t noticed before.

A small smile played on your lips. "Happy New Year, Zoro."

A corner of his mouth twitched, a hint of a smile that made your heart flutter once more. "Yeah," he murmured, his gaze fixed on yours, "Happy New Year, (Your Name)."

The party carried on around you, the crew erupting in cheers and laughter, but for you, the world seemed to have narrowed down to just two people, standing on the deck of a ship under a blanket of stars.

Your first kiss of the new year, and more importantly, Zoro’s first kiss was with you.

And you had a feeling, a wonderful feeling, that this New Year would be very special indeed. And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be the last kiss you shared. . . .

#ronoroa zoro #one piece fanfic #one piece headcanons #roronoa zoro #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece zoro #zoro #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x oc #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro x you #zoro roronoa x you #zoro roronoa x y/n #zoro x you

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yesimwriting · 1 month ago

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Stawp!

Louis and bestie reader are so cute

They would be so satc coded and go out for drinks and vacays

Also i think reader would introduce him and call him "my beautiful louis" to other people

But imagine louis getting home and texting her with a smile on his face all cute 🥰

I like the idea of the person who makes vampirism good being her, a platonic relationship, in contrast of a romantic companion.

Also i imagine this convo:

Armand: do you have to go over to her apartment every other day?

Louis: first of, we have our movie night fridays together and you know this!

Armand: its 4 a.m

Louis: duh? I got to get there while the sun is down, besides we need to pick up thai food because she does not cook and she will starve herself before turning on the stove

AND ARMAND WITH HER

I feel like after he knows her, he would be jealous of any relationships/ one night stands she might have (louis knows about them obvi! She calls him all the time 💅🏻)

Im obsessed with this concept 😭

everything about this is so perfect!! i'm so happy you got the vibe! i feel like he just needs someone to pull him out of his (slightly subconscious) angst and something about that happening through a platonic relationship is so endearing to me

they're so satc coded too, just besties drinking and vacationing and having (slightly) delusional conversations <3

also bestie reader calling him "my beautiful louis" to others is everything to me 😭 they for sure love each other so much omg

armand is definitely so messy with this 😭 he's like a cat trying to gaslight their owner into thinking they don't want attention

bc i love this sm here's an actual drabble/fic:

pls be nice writing for new characters for the first few times is so daunting for no reason 😭, also armand is a bit messy here <3

----

Not unlike daylight's earliest hours seeping through shut curtains, the haziness--the easiness--you offer him is persistent.

Louis has grown accustomed to the feeling, to the consistent warmth of your friendship, but every once in awhile the sentimentality of it all digs at him.

"This is..." You trail off, legs crossed beneath you and television remote still loosely held between your fingers. "Complex."

Louis's focus flits between you and the screen you're intently staring at. The two of you hadn't set out to watch a documentary on some nature channel, but this is far from the first time you've gotten distracted by some default program while attempting to put on a movie. "Very."

His sarcasm is enough to break the spell. You turn your head, frowning, "Don't make fun of me."

The documentary cuts to a well lit, sparsely wooded forest. The camera focuses on a deer patiently grazing on the surrounding foliage.

"I’d never," he mumbles, suppressing a smile in an attempt at seeming as serious as he needs to be for the joke to work.

You let out a sound that's too gentle to be a laugh before straightening your shoulders and returning your attention to the television screen. There's something ironically pointed about the way the peaceful background melody fades into something more sinister. Looming Danger.

The deer, alerted by some sixth sense, stiffens, its body stretching to its full, insignificant height. The camera zooms in, focusing on the deer's wide eyes and unmenacing features. "That kind of reminds me of you."

This time, your laugh is full, sharpened by a partial scoff that's as amused as it is offended. "That's the weirdest thing you've ever said to me."

The comment is almost enough to ease him. The camera pans out, allowing the audience to see the other surrounding deer. "Maybe the deer from that one animated movie."

You're quiet for a moment, thinking through the implication of the words before turning your head towards him again. "You mean Bambi?"

He had been much too old to be interested in the film by the time it came out, but the name is vaguely familiar enough. "I think so."

You blink at that, tilting your head slightly. "How do you know Bambi?"

"I don't know Bambi," the argument is a relatively flat one. Louis turns to better face you, resting his arm against the back of your couch. "I've just seen some commercials."

That only seems to confuse you further. You straighten, pulling your legs towards your chest. "Where would you have seen Bambi commercials?"

"They were everywhere when it came out in the 40's."

You don't respond right away, your attention shifting away from Louis and towards your bent legs. As far as references that remind you of his lack of humanity, this is far from a drastic one. The 40’s weren’t long enough ago to be inconceivable to you.

Still, you’re quiet, as if thinking through the potential outcomes of your reaction. You nod once. “Right."

When you look up at him again, there's a hesitant sort of curiosity behind your eyes. It's an expression Louis's more accustomed to than he wants to be, it's the way you look at him when you're reminded of the reality of the differences between the two of you.

You tap your nails against your knee. "Does it feel weird?" The question comes out with a suddenness that doesn't suit you, the stiffness of the words sharp and uncertain. "All that time--carrying it inside your head?"

For a moment, all he can bring himself to do is sit with the question. Your question. It's a simple enough thing to ask, but not a exactly a straightforward thing to answer. Especially not to you, who has yet to experience a significant passage of time even by human standards.

"Well," he starts, "You know about the way that time has impacted aspects of my memory." You watch him patiently, saying nothing to prompt or rush him as he thinks through his response. "It does make things feel different--years spent with someone can feel like moments, and moments with others can feel like eternity."

You nod once, allowing his answer to sink in. "Which one am I?"

He knows his answer before he knows how to put it into words. You’re too familiar for either.

“You’re more like a memory.”

Your eyebrows briefly pinch together at that. You part your lips, but before you can respond the documentary’s music swells.

You turn your head in time to see the coyote lunge at a deer. You sigh, screwing your eyes shut before leaning forward, You press your forehead against his arm. “That’s depressing.”

Louis could have anticipated the reaction, you’re usually more bothered by animals dying in movies than people. Still, though, your ability to find comfort in him of all things will never not perplex him.

Instead of pointing out that you’re the one that chose to watch this, he gently reaches for the remote. “Fine, I’ll put on the movie.”

----

The familiar ringing is so muted, so low, Armand's certain that if it wasn't for his enhanced senses, he wouldn't have been able to hear anything at all. By the time he's turned his head, Louis is already reaching for his coat's pocket.

Armand frowns. If the late hour and limited number of people Louis talks to weren't enough to let Armand know who the message is from, Louis's smile as he unlocks his cell phone would be evidence enough. You--it's always you.

He continues forward, allowing Louis to type out a response without interruption. Once he's certain the message has been sent, Armand begins, "It's her again."

Louis's attention shifts away from the screen. "She's my friend."

"I know," he says, voice flat, "Your best friend."

"Stop it." There's nothing aggressive about Louis's response, but there's an underlying warning pressed into the syllables, the same almost-sharpness that Louis relies on whenever Armand implies a lack of fondness for Louis's latest source of entertainment. "It's not like that."

No, it really isn't. When you first began to weave yourself into Louis's life, Armand had almost convinced himself that this was a blatant betrayal that defied Louis's usual preferences. After about five minutes of assessment, Armand realized that the two of you really are as affectionately platonic as you claim to be.

"No," it's an easy enough concession. Armand continues forward, the coolness of the night's air sharp against his skin. Their walk hasn't exactly been the most exciting night of their companionship, but it has been non-contentious in a needed way after their latest session with Daniel. "You do spend a lot of time with her."

Louis's quiet for a moment, thinking through his response in a way that Armand finds unusual. "You could spend time with us, too."

The sentiment isn't as true as Louis intends it to be. While Armand's been around you regularly enough to consider you familiar, there are a few things that the two of you want to do on your own. Your weekly movie nights, casual drinking at bars, the surprise trip to Milan. And during the evenings in which Armand is there, Louis regards him with a subtle uneasiness that if you've noticed, you know better than to mention.

In your presence, what they are may only be portrayed in the softest of lights. The facets of vampirism must only ever be suggested, alluded to so faintly that they're rendered incapable of tarnishing that darling soul of yours Louis is so determined to preserve.

"And subject the poor, little fawn to an evening with two vampires?"

Armand keeps his gaze focused on what's ahead of them, but he can practically feel the lack of amusement radiating off of Louis. "Come on," he tries again, "She's not like that."

Although he'd love nothing more than to solely resent your existence, Armand does have to give you credit for that. You hadn't so much as missed a single step when Louis revealed the truth to you, never once treating him differently. You also barely flinched when Armand appeared in your home with no warning as a way of hurting Louis during a particularly lively argument. Armand's yet to determine if your bravery is a sign of idiocy or a testament to how certain you are in your connection to Louis.

It's far from rare for Louis to feel the need to defend you, but there's a determination there that seems urging. "She asked you to come over."

Louis's hesitation, though brief, is confirmation enough. He almost stills but seems to think better of it, placing his phone back into his pocket as if that will be enough to make Armand forget that you're the source of this. "She just ended things with the boy she's been seeing."

Hm. Not exactly an interesting update, but intriguing...more intriguing than why you usually call Louis, if nothing else.

"Alright," Armand agrees, "Let's visit your puppy."

----

The apartment building you live in is far from run down. You've slowly but surely transformed yourself into one of those rare artists with a curated following so obsessed with being able to credit themselves as the discoverer of the next big thing that they go out of their way to purchase anything that you've labeled as yours. Existing at the cusp of fame has allowed you to afford a decent apartment in the city, but it's nowhere near as nice as where you could be if you'd accept Louis's offer to get you a place closer to them.

Louis knocks on your door twice. In less than a second, you're clicking the lock out of place. You're beaming as you pull the door open, "Louis."

Armand watches Louis's expression melt into one of total warmth. There's a definiteness to your friendship that Armand might envy if he understood it any better. What's so special, so interesting about you that your presence is always desireable?

Louis extends an arm, offering you the bouquet of flowers he insisted on purchasing before visiting you.

Your smile widens even further at the arrangement. If it wasn't for the information that Louis gave him earlier, Armand would have no reason to think anything remotely upsetting happened to you tonight. "I love peonies. Thank you."

You lift a hand, your pointer finger gently brushing a thin petal as you examine the flowers. After a moment, you straighten, turning your head enough to acknowledge him. "Armand, hi." The greeting is cordial yet far from cold, the way you often are with him.

"Hello," he replies. You step back, pulling your front door open as a way of inviting them in. "I'm sorry about your boyfriend."

You pause at that, parting your lips as you look back at him. Louis speaks before you get the chance to, "I told you to look sad when we got here."

It's a playful chastising at best, but you react as if Louis had really meant it. In some ways, Armand believes he did. "Oh," the sound falls flat. You walk further into your home's entryway, giving them the space needed to enter. "Give me a second, I can do better." You turn slightly, holding onto the flowers a little tighter as you bring your free hand to your chest. "I'm distraught."

Your performance isn't worthy of a standing ovation, but there's a humor there that might have been charming if Armand's disinterest in you was less inherit.

"Nice try," Louis mumbles as he wanders towards your couch. He sits down with a casualness that highlights how used to existing in your space Louis really is. "Armand wasn't up for visiting anyone and I wanted you to at least look sympathetic."

You walk past your living room. Armand watches you for a moment before following, if for no other reason than to feel something resembling Louis's familiarity. He keeps his steps even, making a point of remaining a few paces behind you.

You stop in front of a cupboard. After opening the cabinet, you have to extend your arm so fully to reach a vase Armand's surprised when you manage to grab it without knocking it off its shelf.

"Trust me," you say, exaggerating the syllables as you approach the sink, "I'm very sympathetic." You place the vase beneath the sink before turning on the faucet.

Armand steps forward, setting a palm against the granite that makes up the island attached to your sink. "I'm sure." The words are spoken so lowly they're nearly drowned out by the sound of running water.

"What did he do?" Louis asks from his spot on the couch.

You lift the vase out of the sink's basin, shutting off the faucet as you move to set the glass onto the counter. "Broke up with me because he thought he had a chance with his ex-girlfriend."

"What?" Louis turns fully at that, craning his neck to look at you.

You nod sharply, completely validated by Louis's shock. "I know." You remove the plastic binding your bouquet together. "Men are the worst." You carefully pull a flower away from its bundle before placing it in the vase. The process of arranging the flowers must remind you who brought them to you, because after a second, you amend your statement, "Except you guys. Obviously."

"Obviously," Louis repeats in a way that only feels somewhat sarcastic. "So are you...upset? Angry?"

You pause, giving yourself a moment to really think about your response. "A little of everything, I guess." You pick up two smaller flowers by their long stems before placing them in the vase. "But not crushed." You reach for a filler flower. "I don't know...it's not like I was in love with him."

Louis rests an elbow against the back of your couch, propping his head up as he watches you continue to adjust your flowers. "I'm glad you weren't." You raise your eyebrows at that. "He wasn't the right person."

"You always say that."

"And I haven't been wrong yet."

You give him another look that would be threatening if it wasn't for the underlying fondness there. "Don't start." You don't wait for Louis's reaction before returning your attention to the flowers.

Armand watches you for a moment before allowing himself to take in your apartment. This place is a known entity, but it's not exactly familiar. He's never seen anything beyond the living but he has heard you talk about a room that you've converted into a studio space.

It's not as easy as it should be to imagine a space solely dedicated to your work when touches of it seem to cover your entire apartment. Two canvases too uniquely you to be purchased are hanging behind your couch, there's a ceramic vase on your dining table that reminds him of the way you paint, and then there's the abandoned palette and partially finished canvas still on its easel.

Armand walks forward slowly, approaching the painting as you and Louis begin discussing your least favorite things about the boy that ended things with you.

Even unfinished, the project is strong in its certainty, in its style. Your brush strokes are sharp, unafraid. Next to your well loved palette, there's a small photograph that parallels but doesn't exactly fully match the partially completed house on the canvas.

"That's an idea for a new collection--the repurposing of abandoned things, places..." Your explanation is abrupt in a way that borders on shy. "It's not meant to be as pretentious as it sounds."

There's a self deprecating quality to the disclaimer that doesn't fit you. Perhaps he's stumbled onto an actual insecurity. "Does someone seeing it like this make you uncomfortable?"

"Uh," you start, confused by his own suddenness, "No, not really. As long as you know to look it as a work in progress." You tap your nails against the counter. "I--I have a room down the hall that's full of half-finished stuff if you want to look at those, too."

The offer feels more like an attempt to convince yourself that you're okay with his analysis of your work before it's been polished than anything else. The concept of your uncertainty makes Armand curious enough for him to actively reach for your thoughts.

Armand's concentration shifts onto your mind, and he's immediately thrown by the vaguest implication of resistance. Your mental defense is so feeble it might as well not exist, but the fact that it does...that you're trying to at all is almost endearing enough to convince Armand to leave you be. Almost. "Are you attempting to block me out of your thoughts?"

You blink, the blood beneath your skin rushing its way up your neck at your embarrassment. "Are you trying to read them?" When your counter question doesn't impact him at all, you sheepishly offer an explanation, "Louis taught me."

Of course he'd teach his pet a new trick.

Louis lets out a small laugh at that. "The fact that he felt it at all tells me you're better at it than I'd thought you be."

Armand's gaze returns to your painting. You've managed to find a warmth, a beauty in the forgotten. "The implication of resistance isn't the same as resistance itself."

The criticism stings, but you don't let it impact your expression. You let out an exaggerated sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly to add to your point. "Be nice, I was just broken up with. Over text."

He continues to study the painting, his mind attempting to break the piece down by individual brush strokes. "That doesn't matter to you. Not really." Armand can almost imagine the creation of the house's boarders, of the formation of each individual stone and the heavy ivy covering them. "You're not 'crushed' because you're interesting and he's not, and a part of you knows that."

The sentiment behind the words leaves you desperate to push him away. Blood settles itself beneath your chest. Your feeble mental shield returns, this time determined enough for Armand to feel its desire to push him out.

"You don't know if I'm interesting," the response is too soft, too curious to reflect your unease.

You tap your nails against the counter, the gentle clicks of them hitting the granite echoing throughout the space. Armand refocuses on the canvas. "Louis wouldn't like you if you weren't."

Something about the statement seems to ease you. Armand's reminded of how almost overly genuine your friendship is. "Thanks."

Louis lets out an almost-scoff at that, his eyebrows briefly drawing together in a display of mock offense. "Don't make me sound so shallow."

"It's less about your shallowness and more about my winning personality."

"Uh-huh," Louis mumbles, pressing a synthetic lack of interest into syllables, "Well, as long as its about you."

----

a/n this is lowkey way longer than i expected it to be but i loved this dynamic so much so if you want to see more of them pls let me know <3

#iwtv x reader #iwtv x fem!reader #itwv x reader #interview with the vampire x reader #louis de pointe du lac x reader #armand x reader #fem!reader #x reader

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zorosbeau33 · 10 months ago

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Working~ Sting Eucliffe Headcanon/Drabble

❖ Fairy Tail, Sting x genderless reader

❖ Headcanon, Drabble, Fluff, Romance, established relationship au

❖ No warnings for this one~

❖ wc: 843

❖ @tojiseviltwin @kimnamshiks ❖ Masterlist ❖

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

This ended up nearly becoming a imagine by accident oops? So uh headcanon/drabble. Might do nsfw headcanon if anyone is interested sometime

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Being guildmaster is something he takes great pride in, although he knows he is only so good at it because he has the support of people like Rogue and Minerva

He already finds it very hard to concentrate on paperwork when there are so many cool things out there and his guild is having fun partying or relaxing in their new pool

Which is how he would end up holed up in his office desperately trying to get himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

Digging himself out of all the backed-up paperwork that hadn’t been deemed important enough to be a same day issue.

Funny that those projects and paperwork which wasn’t really needing to be dealt with for another two-three weeks suddenly were all due at once

Rogue had been tasked (by Minerva) with letting the guild members know he was not to be disturbed for anything, even the guild burning down (Rogue could handle that without Sting's help).

The members were on their best behavior too! Trying so hard not to disturb but to also be helpful, like delivering the finished mail for him, or leaving snacks at the door with a tiny knock. (I think they forget about his sharpened senses because yes Orga he sees and smells you hiding behind that thin ass pillar at the other end of the hall)

Sting feels even more determined with all of them being so kind and helpful to him, especially you

Your willingness to sit beside him and carefully help sort the paperwork, file it away or arrange it to be sent out in the mail was making this process so much faster. He could tell you had teamed up with Minerva to find out exactly what she as financial and aid needed from him because before she could do it you were already guiding Sting to the next document she needed him to address

Thus after three days with late nights and early mornings the end was nearly in sight

The budget for the festival was making his eyes swim as he tried to allot the right amounts where, and Minerva herself had stepped out to take care of a time sensitive task for him when your “help” suddenly became “hindering”

“I am working babe” He would whine and pout a bit trying to ignore you sitting on his desk and moving in closer to him, a tactic that normally had him jumping into your arms or pulling you into his lap with a laugh

Sting was such a good boyfriend he always put your needs first whenever he could, and that included entertainment or cuddles…yet another reason he may have fallen a bit behind because even after your needs were met he overindulged himself in spoiling you

Your pout and little cooes and pleas for just a few minutes made him whine louder looking distraught

How could you do this to him? Puppy pout when he was trying his best to be good and do everything so he could in fact indulge himself all he wanted in your magnificent presence?

Did you wear his clothes too knowing how that made him melt even more for you? This had to be a plot, you waited until Minerva and Rogue had stepped away to pull this.

“Please?” He would whimper and beg, eyeing you desperately wanting nothing more than to tackle you for cuddles and a nap, or some kisses “I just have a bit more, I need to…just a bit longer…”

It was his downfall, the minute his eyes glanced at your lips he knew it was over

Crashing your lips together in an exhausted but needy kiss Sting was quickly falling into your trap

Looping his arms around your waist, hugging you as he leaned up out of his seat to reach your lips for the kisses he’d been longing for.

Sting's exhaustion would hit him all at once and despite kissing you like a man who would drown without air, his body went slack leaning against you to stay up. Sunken eyes closing as he surrendered to the bliss of your taste

Minerva would be fuming when she came back but right now he just needed to lean into you as you sat on his desk before him and steal as many kisses as he could before falling asleep

Her anger would melt though when she saw only a few small things left, and the soft way you were stroking his hair as he used your lap as a pillow

Maybe a small nap couldn’t hurt, she could also maybe use one

Sure enough, Sting did still finish his paperwork that night

Lastly, he made sure to pay you back for interrupting and distracting him like that too ;)

From that day on Sting however, would request your kisses as a reward and a “rejuvenating spell” whenever he needed to do paperwork

Though skeptical of the method Minerva and Rogue were both relieved that paperwork never truly piled up anymore they guess they could say it’s “working”

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imagine-darksiders · 1 month ago

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Girl, I have a serious question I need to expertise on. What Christmas gift does one give the four Horsemen?

War: This one's tricky to buy for. But, if you get him an electric bench grinder, his eyes will light up when he realises how sharp he can get Chaoseater in less than half the time it takes for him to sharpen the sword with a whetstone. Also some chrome dumbbells, as heavy as you can get them, for training purposes. In War's opinion, presents have to have a purpose that will work towards his benefit. But the bamboo socks you got him with little skulls on them are a nice luxury, he supposes.

Death: A Fortnum and Mason's tea selection, 120 tea bags of all different flavours for him to try. Guaranteed there'll be flavours he's never tasted before, and for a being as ancient as Death, putting in the effort to give him something he's never experienced before will always leave an impression. He'd also respond well to a new chess set. Don't forget to give something to Dust too. Death will accuse you of trying to spoil the bird, but he'll be privately touched at your thoughtfulness.

Fury: Stroke her ego. Get her a mug that says 'World's Best Horseman' on it with a picture of her on the back. Or get her portrait painted. She'll insist you hang it in your living room where you can always bask in it when she isn't there. If you really want to get into her good books, buy a present for Rampage as well, something like a new pot of leather oil for his tack, or a bunch of the juiciest apples you can find.

Strife: The best Christmas present you could get this man is renovating one of the rooms in your house and showing it to him like, "So, I thought it'd be nice for you to have somewhere familiar to stay between your missions, and well... I wasn't really doing anything with this room, so I fitted it out to be a sort of... bedroom for you, y'know, if you ever needed a place to crash.... Here's a spare key to our home too. Oh, also, there are two Nerf guns hidden in here. Get to finding them so we can shoot each other without either of us getting hurt."

Strife doesn't trust himself to speak for a good five minutes because he's convinced he'll accidentally confess his love for you if he opens his mouth.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #Horsemen #Christmas #gifts

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buckets-and-trees · 3 months ago

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Red, White & True: Houston [3/?]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 3.4k Summary: Things are shifting in just the ten days since realigning the campaign strategy to keep you and Steve on the trail together and to sharpen some of the policies and messaging. You're starting to hit a new stride as you make a stop in Houston, and the city also affords you a unique opportunity to meet with a former President and First Lady.

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn, brief political discussion of climate change

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

POLITICAL NOTES: It's been a big week with the 2024 election. This story - while a romance - revolves around a presidential campaign, and so there will be political policy incorporated, but I am not inviting political discourse. If you don't agree in regards to anything in the brief section climate change policy, that is okay but I do not want to hear about it.

Previous Chapter | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[SEPTEMBER 17 - Houston]

The Houston heat hits you like a wall as you step off the campaign bus, the air thick and heavy with humidity. You blink against the bright Texas sun, grateful for the large sunglasses shielding your eyes. The crowd gathered outside the community center is already substantial, a sea of red, white, and blue signs waving in the afternoon heat.

Steve steps off the bus behind you, and you feel his presence at your back, solid and reassuring. You turn to him, offering a smile that's part genuine, part for the cameras you know are capturing your every move. He returns it, his hand coming to rest lightly on the small of your back - a gesture that's become second nature for public appearances, yet still sends a confusing whoosh through your stomach each time. But you push through and ignore it as you both wave to the cheering crowd.

"Ready?" he asks, leaning in close enough so you can hear over all the noise.

You nod, taking a deep breath. "Let's do this."

The two of you make your way along the line of the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging greetings as you go. You've gotten better at this part over the months - the constant smiling, the brief but warm interactions, the way to make each person feel seen and heard in just a few seconds. Steve, of course, is a natural at it, his charisma and sincerity shining through with every handshake and small bit of conversation.

As you near the entrance to the community center, you spot a group of young people holding signs about climate change and renewable energy. Your eyes meet Steve's, and you see the same thought reflected there - these are exactly the voters you've been trying to reach.

Without missing a beat, you veer slightly off course, heading towards the group. Steve follows your lead, and you can practically feel the collective intake of breath from your security detail.

"Hi there," you say warmly as you approach. "Thank you, we’re so glad you came out today.”

"Thank you for being here," Steve adds, his voice warm and genuine. "I see you're passionate about climate change. That's something I care deeply about, too."

A young woman with curly hair and bright eyes steps forward. "We appreciate that, but we've heard a lot of politician talk before. What specific actions will you take to address the climate crisis if elected?"

You exchange a quick glance with Steve, impressed by the young woman's directness. This is exactly the kind of engagement you've been hoping for.

"That's an excellent question," you begin, "and I'm glad you're asking it. Steve has developed a comprehensive plan to tackle climate change, including immediate steps he'll take in the first 100 days."

Steve nods, picking up where you left off. "We're committed to a systemic overhaul of energy sources and infrastructure along with transitions and expansion for public transportation. We know that infrastructure is an opportunity - not only to address climate change, but to transform the economy by creating job opportunities as we build and transition away from coal, gas, and oil. It will also address the severe need to update existing power grids that are failing.

"But it's not just about policy and output right now," Steve continues, his voice passionate. "It's about creating a sustainable future for your generation and those that follow instead of just talking about it. But as we talk, we want to work with young leaders like yourselves to make sure your voices are heard in shaping these policies - you’ll be living with them longer than the rest of us."

You watch as the young woman's expression shifts from skepticism to cautious interest. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?" she asks.

"Well, for starters, we're here listening to you right now," you say with a smile. "But Steve plans to create a Youth Climate Council that will have direct input on policy decisions. We want to bring fresh perspectives and innovative ideas to the table."

Steve nods in agreement. "And we're not just talking about advisory roles. We want to create pathways for young people to enter public service and take on leadership positions in environmental agencies."

The group exchanges glances, clearly impressed by the specifics and taking Steve more seriously for not brushing them off or placating them quickly in a picket line.

Steve presses further, "What specific actions do you think are most critical? What solutions have you seen proposed that resonate with you?"

The young woman looks slightly taken aback, clearly not expecting to be asked for her input. But she recovers quickly. "Well, you mentioned it, but we need to transition away from fossil fuels much faster than current plans allow. The movement for offshore wind farms should be accelerated - especially on the East Coast. And we need to protect vulnerable communities who will be hit hardest by climate change."

Steve nods encouragingly. "Those are excellent points. In fact, environmental justice is a key component of our climate plan. We're proposing initiatives to ensure clean air and water in all communities, especially those that have historically borne the brunt of pollution."

Another young man in the group speaks up. "What about jobs? My dad works in the oil industry. He's worried about losing his livelihood if we move too quickly on clean energy."

Steve turns to him, his expression thoughtful. "That's a valid concern, and it's one we take very seriously. We're not looking to leave anyone behind in this transition. Our plan includes a comprehensive job retraining program for workers in fossil fuel industries. We want to create new opportunities in clean energy sectors, so people like your dad can be part of building a sustainable future without sacrificing their livelihoods."

You nod, adding, "We're looking at ways to incentivize companies to retool their existing facilities for clean energy production. It's not just about creating new jobs, but also about transforming existing ones."

The young man seems to consider this, nodding slowly. "That sounds... promising. I'd like to learn more about that."

Sophia and Bucky begin to press in, signaling that you need to move along to get into the actual event.

"We're limited for time here, but we’d be eager to discuss more details," you say, reaching into your bag and pulling out a business card. "Here's my contact information. Please reach out soon, I mean it.”

You and Steve then get ushered inside, hand in hand.

Later that night, you get a rare opportunity, and one you’ve been excited but also nervous for since it landed on your schedule the week before.

Former President and First Lady Matt and Helen Santos have invited you to their Houston home for dinner and drinks. It’s not a public appearance, so that takes some of the pressure off, but you're still acutely aware of the significance of this meeting. The Santos administration remains widely regarded as one of the most successful in recent history, and their endorsement - even an implicit one - could be a game-changer for the campaign.

Beyond that it's a chance to learn from a couple who've been through the crucible of a presidential campaign and life in the White House.

Helen Santos greets you at the door, her warm smile immediately putting you at ease. "Come in! We're so glad you could make it," she says, ushering you inside.

The interior of the home is tastefully decorated, a blend of modern and traditional styles that feels both impressive and comfortable. You spot several family photos on the walls, reminders that despite their status, the Santos family is just that - a family.

Matt Santos appears from what you assume is the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Welcome, you two," he says, shaking Steve's hand and giving you a brief hug. "I hope you’re hungry! It’s humble, but I’m putting the finishing touches on my chili."

“Don’t let him fool you,” Helen says, “he’s anything but humble about it.”

“Sorry, did I forget to mention the recipe won a blue ribbon before I got into politics? Because it did, so it wasn’t a biased award,” he clarifies.

You all laugh, and the warmth and welcome these two generate in those first few minutes is remarkable, and something that truly soothes your heart in ways you didn’t know you were hungry for.

As you settle into the Santos' comfortable living room, Helen offers drinks. You accept a glass of wine, grateful for something to occupy your hands. Steve opts for water, ever the responsible candidate.

"So," Matt says, leaning back in his armchair, "how's the campaign trail treating you? I remember those days - exhilarating and exhausting in equal measure."

Steve nods, a wry smile on his face. "That's an apt description. It's been... intense. But rewarding."

"And how are you two holding up as a couple?" Helen asks, her eyes kind but perceptive. "The campaign trail can be brutal, especially on a relationship."

You glance at Steve, unsure how to answer. Your relationship is still mostly for show, but you've grown closer over the past few weeks. Before you can formulate a response, Steve speaks up.

"It's been an adjustment," he says diplomatically. "But we're figuring it out."

Matt nods knowingly. "Helen and I had been married for years before we ran, and it was still a challenge. I can't imagine doing it as newlyweds."

You smile, trying to hide your discomfort. "It's certainly been a unique experience," you say, opting for honesty. "We're learning a lot about each other very quickly."

Helen leans forward, her expression sympathetic. "I'm sure it's overwhelming at times. The scrutiny, the constant demands on your time and energy. It can be a lot to handle, especially when you're still getting to know each other."

You nod, feeling a wave of relief at her understanding. "It is overwhelming," you admit. "But it's exciting, in its own way. We're building something together, not just as a couple but for the country."

Steve reaches over and takes your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. The gesture surprises you, but you try not to let it show. "She's been incredible," he says, his voice warm. "I couldn't ask for a better partner in this.”

Helen regards you both, her expression warm but serious. "I hope you don't mind me saying this, pulling out my First Lady moment already, but I've been watching you two. Not just tonight, but throughout the campaign. There's something there, between you. A spark, a connection. Don't lose that in all the craziness of the campaign."

You feel your cheeks flush slightly, caught off guard by Helen's perceptiveness. You wonder if she’s speaking in general or if she suspects yours is a politically arranged marriage. You glance at Steve, who looks equally surprised.

Matt chimes in, "Helen's right. The campaign is important, but at the end of the day, it's your relationship that will sustain you through the challenges ahead. Trust me, if you make it to the White House, you'll need each other more than ever."

Steve nods, his expression thoughtful. "We appreciate the advice. It's not easy to find that balance."

You squeeze Steve's hand, grateful for his honesty. "We're working on it," you add softly.

He pulls your hand casually into his lap and envelops it in both of his. You can't help but feel a small thrill at the contact, the very normal expression of intimacy that speaks of a more comfortable and normal connection, and you love the way his large hands hold yours. This feels like something that could be real, on more days than this.

Helen smiles warmly. "That's all anyone can ask. Now, who's ready for some of Matt's famous chili?"

As you move to the dining room, you can't help but feel a mix of emotions. The Santos' warmth and wisdom have touched something deep within you, reminding you of the very real human element at the heart of this political whirlwind.

Over dinner, the conversation flows easily, touching on everything from campaign strategies to favorite books. You find yourself relaxing, laughing at Matt's stories from his time in office and Helen's witty comebacks.

As the evening winds down, Helen pulls you aside while the men are engrossed in a discussion about foreign policy.

"Can I give you some advice?" Helen asks softly, her eyes kind but serious.

You nod eagerly, grateful to glean even more guidance from someone who's walked this path before.

Helen takes a deep breath. "The hardest part of being First Lady isn't the public scrutiny or the demanding schedule. It's maintaining your sense of self in the midst of it all. Don't lose yourself in the role, in the campaign, or even in your marriage. Remember who you are and what you bring to the table."

You feel a lump form in your throat, touched by Helen's words and the understanding behind them. "Thank you," you manage to say. "I... I'm trying to find that balance."

Helen smiles warmly. "I can see that. And from what I've observed, you're doing a remarkable job. But it's a constant effort, believe me."

You nod, absorbing her words. "How did you do it? Maintain your identity while supporting him and taking on such a public role?"

Helen's eyes grow distant for a moment, as if recalling a memory. "It was hard," she admits. "There were times I felt lost, like I was just an extension of Matt's presidency rather than my own person. I learned to carve out spaces for myself - my own initiatives, my own passions. And most importantly, I made sure Matt and I had time just for us, away from the politics and the pressures."

You feel a pang in your chest at her words. You and Steve barely have time alone, let alone time to just be yourselves without the weight of the campaign.

Helen smiles warmly. "This journey you're on - whether or not he gets elected - it's meant to be shared."

You nod, feeling a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. "Sometimes I feel like I'm still getting to know him, even as we're presenting this united front to the world."

Helen's expression softens with understanding. "That's not uncommon, especially given your unique circumstances. But I see the way he looks at you when you're not watching. There's admiration there, and something deeper. A lot of people in this country get married, but not every married couple has that for each other, and even some of the ones who do don’t realize the treasure they have. Don't be afraid to explore it. Grow it together."

Your heart skips a beat at her words. Could she be right? You think back to the conversation you overheard back in that hotel conference room in Cleveland, Steve's hesitation, his fear of letting you in. But also his words of praise, the gentle touches that have become more frequent lately. Could there be more there than just a political partnership?

Before you can respond, the men rejoin you, Steve taking his place beside you, and his hand comes to rest gently on your lower back. "Ready to head out?" he asks softly. "We've got an early start tomorrow."

You nod, and the four of you initiate your goodbyes.

“Thank you," you say, turning back to Helen, hoping she understands the depth of your gratitude. "For everything."

She pulls you into a warm hug. "Any time," she says. "And I mean that. Call me if you ever need to talk, about anything."

You and Steve finish your goodbyes and make your way to the waiting car. The evening has given you much to think about, not just about the campaign, but about your relationship with Steve.

The car ride back to the hotel is quiet, both of you lost in your own thoughts, but you realize it’s a comfortable silence.

Arriving at that night’s hotel, the silence lingers all the way until you enter the elevator, Steve turns to you, his expression thoughtful. "That was enlightening," he says softly.

You nod, feeling a mix of emotions - gratitude for the Santos' wisdom, hope for what could be, and a lingering uncertainty about where you and Steve stand. "They're incredible people," you reply. "So generous with their time and wisdom."

Steve hums in agreement. The elevator doors open, and you two head down the hallway to your suites, right across the hall from each other.

Normally, this is where you'd say goodnight and go your separate ways - Steve to his room, you to yours. But you hesitate, because tonight feels different.

"Helen gave me some really good advice," you say.

Steve looks at you intently, his blue eyes searching yours. "Oh? What about?"

"About maintaining my sense of self through all of this. And... about us."

"What did she say about us?" Steve asks.

You hesitate, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "She said... she sees the strong connection between us, and that we shouldn't lose sight of it in the chaos of the campaign."

Steve's expression softens, a mix of surprise and something else you can't quite read. He takes a step closer to you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

"And what do you think?" he asks, his voice low and gentle.

Your heart races as you look up at him. "Steve, I..." you begin, but the words catch in your throat.

He reaches out, gently tucking your hair behind your ear. The touch sends a shiver down your spine. "I know," he says softly. "I've been... distant. Guarded. And I'm sorry for that."

The truth is, you know you’ve been guarded, too. And you’re not sure you’re ready to risk anything with exploring more. Not only do you both need to be focused for the campaign, but you locked your heart in a box, and you don’t know if opening it will be a mess that you can face right now.

But you do think there’s a possibility you could have more connection without risking messy feelings.

So you ask, “We’re building a good partnership in this, aren’t we?”

"We are," Steve agrees, his voice warm. "You've been incredible through all of this. I meant what I told the Santos’s - I couldn't ask for a better partner."

You feel a flutter in your chest at his words, but you push it aside. "I was thinking," you say carefully, "maybe we could try to spend a little more time together. Not more campaign events or strategy meetings, but... just us. Getting to know each other better."

Steve's expression softens, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'd like that," he says quietly. "I think we could both use a friend who’s also in the eye of the storm of all of this."

You nod, feeling a mix of relief and nervous anticipation. He has Sam and Bucky on this campaign trail with him, but their roles are not the same, not giving speeches or being asked for comments.

"Maybe we could start with a meal a day? Just the two of us, no campaign staff or memos or prep."

"It's a date," Steve says. Then quickly adds, "I mean, not a date-date, but... you know what I mean."

You can't help but give a small laugh at Steve's flustered correction. It's endearing to see this side of him - the man behind the polished candidate facade.

"I know what you mean," you assure him with a warm smile.

Steve nods, looking relieved. "Good. That's... good." He pauses for a moment, then adds, "How about breakfast tomorrow? We have that early flight, but we could grab something quick before we head to the airport."

"Sounds perfect," you agree. "I'll meet you in the lobby at 6?"

"It's a plan," Steve says, his smile reaching his eyes in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

You both linger for a moment, neither seeming eager to end the conversation. His eyes are so blue, and when you're this close, and he just looks at you like that, your chest tightens in a pleasantly uncomfortable way that you're not ready for but can't pull away from.

Thankfully, Steve clears his throat. "Well, I guess we should get some sleep," he says, taking a step back. "Big day again tomorrow."

You nod, feeling a mix of disappointment and anticipation. "Always. Goodnight, Steve."

"Goodnight," he replies softly.

You unlock your hotel room door and step inside, your mind racing with thoughts of the evening - the Santos' advice, your conversation with Steve, and the promise of breakfast tomorrow. As you get ready for bed, you can't help but feel a glimmer of hope for what's to come, both for the campaign and for your relationship with Steve.

next part: Fort Wayne, Toledo, Detroit

SURPRISE CAMEO FROM THE WEST WING! If you're not a fan of the show, I didn't think it would be a problem - they're just a former Presidential couple. But if you ARE, then I hope you liked seeing them! I'm deep into my every-few-years (every four) rewatch and haven't bumped into them yet, but I'm about to...

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