#did that love that anger change their family

[bread-crum206]

hi! this is my first ask, I hope you write it. I just had an idea going about. What if reader's a doctor, the same doctor who treated Hwang In-ho's wife? With the limited resources she was provided, she tried her best, but failed to save his wife. Reader's a nice, kind doctor, but after failing to save her, reader just slipped deeper and deeper into despair, and started to drink away all her fortune, and ended up in the Squid Games. Hwang In-ho immediately recognizes reader and vows to end her, but somehow feels himself drawn to her, wanting to destroy her, even more. But, as he joins the game as 001, Reader opens up to him and he sees true regret in reader's eyes. Things start to change, and In-ho feels a dark, deep attraction towards Reader. That's all! It's okay if you don't want to write about it. Thank you!<3

Forbidden Emotions

Hwang In-ho/Frontman x reader

Summary: Haunted by failure, a fallen doctor finds herself in the deadly arena of the Squid Games. Hwang In-ho, hidden behind the mask of the Front Man, recognizes her — the one who failed to save his wife. He should hate her, but a darker pull complicates his intentions.

The room feels suffocating as you sit in the dim light, holding the empty glass in your hand. The soft clink of the ice cubes against the glass echoes in the silence. You hadn’t meant for it to go this far, but the weight of your failure is a constant burden.

You tried everything to save Hwang In-ho’s wife. You poured every ounce of knowledge, every technique you knew into her care, but none of it was enough. The moment her pulse faded away, something inside you died too. You failed not only a patient, but a family, and a man who would never forgive you for it.

Days bled into weeks, weeks into months, as your life spiraled further. The hospital let you go, and with it, so did your self-worth. In the dim corners of your thoughts, you heard his voice again—Hwang In-ho’s voice, sharp with anger, accusing you, blaming you for the death of the woman he loved.

The alcohol came soon after. A glass here, another there. It soothed the sting, numbed the regret, and before you knew it, you were slowly drinking away every piece of yourself. Your wealth evaporated, your career crumbled, and the world you had known no longer existed.

One day, when the debts finally caught up with you, when the choices had been made and there was nowhere else to go, you found yourself in the same hell that had taken so many others—the Squid Games.

The first time you laid eyes on him again, it was like a punch to the gut. Hwang In-ho, number 001 plastered on his chest. He hadn’t changed, except for the coldness in his eyes that made your heart freeze. He was sitting among the other players, his cold, calculating demeanor standing in sharp contrast to your own fractured state. You barely recognized him at first, but when his eyes met yours, you knew.

He had been watching you from the moment you entered. His gaze pierced through you, and you could feel the heat of his anger. You had caused his wife’s death, and there was no way he would ever let you forget it.

“I remember you,” he says, his voice a low growl. “The doctor who killed my wife.”

The words cut deep, but the worst part isn’t the accusation—it’s the way his eyes burn with the desire for vengeance. Yet, there’s something else lurking there too, something you can’t quite place.

In-ho’s hatred festers, consuming him. He came to the Squid Games for a singular purpose: to make sure you paid. But even as he plots your downfall, there’s an undeniable pull toward you—a desire to see you suffer.

As the game begins and you are thrust into a deadly series of challenges, In-ho finds himself growing closer to you, observing your struggle with a twisted mixture of pity and contempt. He sees the shame in your eyes, the weight of the regret you carry like a shadow, and it gnaws at him.

One night, when the bloodshed subsides and the survivors take a brief reprieve, you finally let your guard down. You pour out your pain in front of him, something you never expected to do.

“I never wanted this,” you whisper, your voice raw, trembling with remorse. “I didn’t kill her. I just… I couldn’t save her. And it destroyed me.”

For the first time, In-ho sees you as more than the failure he accused you of being. You aren’t just the doctor who failed his wife—you’re a woman broken by your own guilt.

His own anger begins to unravel as he watches you fall apart. The very rage that once consumed him now seems misplaced, and something darker begins to grow in its place. An attraction—dangerous, twisted, and impossible to ignore.

The more he watches you, the more he can’t resist the pull. He joined the game for vengeance, yes—but now, he’s here for something else. Something he doesn’t fully understand. The twisted mix of hate, regret, and undeniable attraction to the woman who has destroyed his life.

It’s inevitable. The Squid Games are no longer about survival for him. It’s about you.

And as he finds himself standing at the edge of the game, his eyes never leaving you, In-ho realizes that whatever dark path lies ahead, it will be shaped by you. He has no choice but to follow it—to destroy you, and perhaps, to destroy himself in the process.

———————

Much like Oh Il-nam, In-ho ‘dies’ in one of the games. You hear the gunshot, hear the splatter of blood, but you can’t bring yourself to look, so you stay facing the wall.

You feel like you’ve killed him, first his wife, and now him. They’re both your fault. Even though you knew it wasn’t.

———————

The games drag on, each one more brutal and harrowing than the last. But amidst the bloodshed, there’s a peculiar twist in the unfolding chaos. In-ho, despite his initial resolve to end you, finds himself watching you more intently than ever. Every movement, every fragile moment of vulnerability only deepens his obsession.

He can’t understand it. Why is he drawn to you? Why does he feel this burning, unrelenting pull toward you, despite everything? The desire for vengeance had once been all-consuming, a fire that had driven him to join this deadly game. But now? Now, there’s something else—something darker, more complex.

As the final rounds of the game near, In-ho’s gaze never leaves you. The other players have been whittled down, but you remain—surviving by sheer grit and determination, the same qualities that once defined him. You’ve proven yourself worthy of a chance, despite the twisted circumstances.

In the final moments of the game, when the last of the players fall, In-ho makes a decision. He can’t let you die—not like this. Not after everything that has happened. So, when the game ends, he orders his guards to spare you, despite the bitter, gnawing hatred that still lives in his heart.

They escort you to his office, a stark, cold room that has seen too many dark moments. The door closes behind you with a heavy thud, and you stand there, disoriented, your face a mixture of confusion and exhaustion.

You look up at him, your eyes wary but relieved. “Why?” you ask, your voice hoarse from the strain of the games.

“I told you,” In-ho’s voice is cold, but there’s something beneath it. Something raw. “I haven’t forgotten what you did. But I can’t let you die here. Not after everything.”

You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead, your gaze flickers around the room, landing on the polished desk, the chair where he sits, the sharp, sterile environment that feels like a cage. You can feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

In-ho’s eyes remain locked on you. He ordered you to be brought here, but now that you’re before him, he doesn’t know what to do. There’s an unspoken question in the silence between you: What now?

And then, as though the dam has finally broken, he speaks again, his voice lower, almost reluctant. “Do you even understand the pain you’ve caused me? My wife—she died under your care.”

You flinch, the guilt surging back with a force that almost takes your breath away. “I didn’t kill her,” you whisper, your voice shaking with the weight of the truth. “I tried. I tried everything to save her. But… but I couldn’t. And I’ve been living with that every single day since.”

His gaze softens, just slightly, but the anger still simmers beneath the surface. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he mutters, his fists clenching. “She’s dead because of you.”

Your heart sinks, the words like a knife in your chest. You know he won’t understand. How could he? You’re just the doctor who couldn’t save his wife, a failure in his eyes. He’ll never see the truth—that it wasn’t your fault. Not unless he lets go of the anger, the bitterness that’s eaten him alive since that day.

You take a step closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry,” you say, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I couldn’t save her. But I didn’t kill her. I would’ve given anything to bring her back.”

In-ho stares at you, the anger still lingering in his chest, but now mixed with something else. Confusion. Desire. He doesn’t understand why, but there’s something in your words, something in your eyes that makes the ache in his chest twist. His wife is gone, yes, but here you are—broken, just like him—and he can’t ignore the pull. It’s as if your pain is a shared burden, and despite all the hatred, he finds himself unable to look away.

Before he can stop himself, he moves toward you, closing the space between you in an instant. His hand reaches up, brushing against your cheek, fingers trembling just slightly.

Your breath catches in your throat, your body instinctively leaning into the touch. You’ve been living in a haze of regret for so long, and in this moment, it feels like he understands. For a brief second, it isn’t about the game. It isn’t about the failure. It’s about something deeper. Something you both share.

In-ho’s lips are on yours before he can think, a rough, desperate kiss full of rage, longing, and the confusion that’s been building between you. His hands pull you closer, as though he could erase the distance that has always separated you, even before the games began.

You kiss him back, your mind spinning, but your heart starting to race. The kiss is desperate, almost reckless, but it’s also filled with something raw—something you both need, even if you don’t fully understand it.

When you finally break apart, breathless and tangled in each other’s gaze, In-ho looks at you with a mixture of shock and something darker. His expression is conflicted, torn between the anger that drove him here and the pull that now binds him to you.

“You’re still the doctor who couldn’t save her,” he says, his voice rough, his chest rising and falling as if he’s just run a marathon. “But there’s something about you… I can’t stop feeling it.”

You take a shaky breath, your body still thrumming with the intensity of the kiss. “I didn’t kill her,” you repeat, your voice firm now, despite the tumult inside you. “I couldn’t save her. But I didn’t kill her.”

In-ho’s eyes search yours, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he can’t control. He’s angry, yes. But there’s something else—something that makes him want to destroy you… and protect you at the same time.

“I don’t know what this is,” he says, his voice softer now, a mixture of uncertainty and fascination. “But I can’t walk away from you. Not now.”

And in that moment, you both realize something: despite the pain, despite the tragedy, you are drawn together by forces beyond your control. The game, the anger, the past—it doesn’t matter. What matters now is the undeniable connection between you, no matter how twisted or dark it might seem.

And as In-ho stands there, wrestling with the ghosts of his wife’s death and the overwhelming desire to possess the woman who had once been her savior, he knows one thing for certain: he isn’t finished with you yet.

———————

Hi!! Here it is! I hope you liked it! This was fun to write so let me know if you want more and even something a little spicy 🌶️

[blacksea2109]

RED HOOD'S WIFE

🦇🖤❤️👻🔫

DCXDP

Jason todd x danny Nightingale

Hii i hope you enjoy it , I am super crazy for this couple

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Jason and danny was married for so long but Jason don't bother to till his family because danny dear it is non of thier fuckin business, so imagine Danny's luck with the batfam tried to get him to join the family while his is already a part of it , Jason stop laughing it is not funny or you will sleep in the couch tonight!!

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Danny owns a cozy little coffee shop in crime ally , and of course, it becomes Tim's favorite shop because he is allowed to have an illegal amount of shots !! Plus the Barista is just so smart funny shorter than him and so cute sue him he will get him to work in the company one way or another, but if he just stop refuses tim offers uggh, but he won't stop

Tim whined: dannyyyy please i need someone like youuuu in the company, we really need youuuuu and your amazing Brian and ideas

Danny: nope uh huh , I'm happy here in my little coffee shop tim I won't change my mind and don't try the puppy eyes it won't work on me , I will only help you some times but I won't work there .

Tim talking to himself: Then I will just make you part of the family and then problem solving. hehehehehee! Either by adoption or married 🤔 I just need to steal one of bruce adoption papers, Cass will help me she always gets excited to have new family members .

Danny texted jason: please stop your brother from stalking and trying to make me work with him jay

Jason: tim ?! Pppfft good luck there babe you need it

Danny: ohh then I hope you have a good night , cuz y will sleep on the couch today . Love

Jason typing:........

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NEXT , danny just had to get kidnapped with bruce just his luck that the stupid kidnappers though that he was a wayne!!

( babe, you are a wayne remember! I just married one. i am not a wayne ok , sure thing, love)

Bastard 1: we are lucky not just the burce wayne but with one the brats too

Danny super annoyed and sassy: you poor bastard you really need to check your eyes because I am not a wayne fuck you

Bruce " i need to adopt all black haird blue-eyed sassy with anger issues kids " wayne: hnn when we get out of here, i will make him sign some paper 📃 ( adoption papers) for safety of course

Bastard 2: nah you have the looks so you are a wayne

Danny had have enough of this nonsense already get himself free the started hit the shit out of them by the time that nightwing and of fuck course red hood

( which has not stopped laughing for no reason! Jay i will kill you )

Red hood : pfft danny i can't 😂😂

Danny: Hood, i stand my point, not a wayne ok

Red hood: uh huh sure thing sugar i believe you

Danny : couch time for you mister

Bruce giving danny some paper: sign here 😊

Danny: what is this ?

Hood: no the fuckin hell old man you won't adopt him

Nightwing: why little wing, if he didn't , tim will 😂 of not damian

Hood : you fuckers stop try adopting my wife

Bruce: your

Nightwing: wife

The rest of the fam: wheeeennn did you get married!!

Mean while jason just took his short cute wife and ran away after dropping the bomb 💣

Robin: Hood, get back here this instant, you insolant fool , Nightingale will be my new cat and teacher in animal languages , gets him back or i will shall stab you

Red Robin: You how dear you hood you know i waste too long stalking and trying to make him work with me while this whole time YOU WERE MARRIED TO HIM I WILL Destroy , you 🔪

Balck bat happy: new brother ❤️

Bruce crying in the corner: married my baby boy, and I wasn't invited to the wedding 😢 🤧

Nightwing: Gasp the betrayal. How can you do this to your poor older brother ? You better did not have kids in secret. jay gets back here . You don't have kids right RIGHT!!

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for damian part, he finds danny helping some stray kitten, and heard him prrrrrr and just: mine now , come here, kitty kitty 😺

Alfred already knows everything because come on, he is ALFRED. Of course, he knows : i must prepare a room for master danny hmm near master Jason room perfect 👌🏻 , and i need to inform him to bring his wife to dinner nights 🌙

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I imagine it better inside my head, but yeah, anyway, I will edit it or add more later on , i am not sure when . Feel free to take any anything i write here , it or add more to it, but please tag me or send me a link and credit me in your works , have a great night or day , my cute little spooks 👻 👻👻👻🦇🦇🦇🦇 don't let the blob ghosts bit you

[skemford]

Jinx & Caitlyn were supposed to be Arcane S2 character foils/parallels but i don't think that show did a good job at fully accomplishing what it planned.

We got a lot of themes that weren't explored enough outside of visuals and i cannot stop thinking about what could've been.

Under the cut I'll share my thoughts about Jinx and Caitlyn being 2 sides of 1 coin and how Ambessa and Sevika are the opposites (mentor figures,if you'll)

What we see in Act 1 of S2 is a direct consequences of what happened in S1. Both Jinx and Caitlyn are "the monster that you created".

Jinx is a victim of systematic oppression: her biological parents were murdered by the enforcers and her sister (a teen) was arrested without anything that resembled a court. Zaun's system was fleshed out by Piltover's oppression which made people (like Silco) exploit its citizens from the inside. Silco loved Jinx but their relationship was still unhealthy which is almost impossible to avoid in Zaun, to be fair.

Caitlyn is a part of the oppressive society. S1 presents her as someone who wants to make a change. After she visited Zaun with Vi she says that people deserve better & acknowledges that council failed everyone. Despite the way she raised she was portrayed as empathetic and tries to "call out" her mother who's a councilor.

At the beginning of S2 both Jinx and Cait experienced a turning point. Both of them were challenged by their grief — Jinx lost her father and Cait lost her mother. These events are directly interconnected and happen after Jinx's "tea party".

Both of their worlds lost colors which continues to culminate through first 3 episodes of S2.

They deal with grief differently:

Jinx is more numb to everything around her. She feels lost, alone and acts reckless. Silco's death reminded her that she's a JINX and there's no one who'd deny this or comfort her.

Caitlyn focuses on her main goal (catching Jinx) through tunnel vision. She makes destructive decisions which affect both Zaun and her relationships with other characters, especially Vi.

The middle of season 2 puts them on two different roads:

Jinx wanted to fix certain things because "she can" and Caitlyn let her anger take ahold of her morality.

This leads to them getting closer to two other characters: Sevika and Ambessa.

Sevika is an unlikely ally to Jinx. After sharing mutual hatred for years they decide to talk about Silco's "disappearance" right at his office. Jinx and Sevika were vulnerable even in the way they sit: they didn't kept an eye contact which would require at least some amount of trust. Nonetheless, they both felt lost and no one would've understood their grief as much as they did together.

All decisions that Ambessa made were to protect her family. Her search for power and weapons was always connected with it. Mel was Ambessa's "anchor", her disappearance blinded Ambessa and pushed her to ruthless decisions. In some way, she can feel Caitlyn's grief too. They both feel as if they failed their families. Medardas and Kirammans do have a reputation to uphold.

So...where did it lead us?

We know that Ambessa was teaching Caitlyn how to fight during the timeskip (luckily, we even got one demonstration on the screen). They spend time together and Ambessa tried to "replace" Caitlyn's mother which can be noticed by the way she calls her "child" and gives lessons from her own experience. They both participated in Zaun's occupation ("paint the town blue" montage) with Caitlyn questioning why violence is always seen as a solution.

During the timeskip Sevika tried to push Jinx toward action and convince her to lead the revolution which Jinx refused to do. One important change is how Jinx introduced Sevika to her hideout and second one is allowed to walk in without any invitations. They seem to be more comfortable in the presence of each other and Jinx freely jokes with Sevika (who's annoyed but doesn't makes a big fuss out of it).

Ambessa and Sevika are on the opposite sides of Piltover vs Zaun conflict. They're defacto "leaders": Ambessa used her warriors to control Zaun and Sevika tried to organise rebellion by getting onboard as many people as possible. But they're not participating in these events by themselves, Caitlyn and Jinx represent them.

Reasons for why this happened differ too: Caitlyn was chosen by Ambessa while Jinx was chosen by people. Jinx is a symbol of freedom and her position as revolutionary (even though only as a concept) fully reflects the difference between oppression vs oppressed.

Sadly, after episode 4 we never got more in-depth look on mentioned dynamics. Caitlyn was quick to abandon Ambessa despite all the risks, Sevika disappeared and never had lines again, Jinx was going through a lot and Ambessa decided to trust Viktor (for some reason).

Caitlyn vs Jinx were a pillar for Piltover vs Zaun conflict in Season 2. They represented two different societies that were shaped by Piltover's ignorance and classism.

When writers decided to resolve their tension in a couple of small scenes,they also decided that oppression can be easily forgotten. I still think that putting Sevika, 1 zaunite, on the council seat while not letting her say anything either wasn't a perfect solution to decades of oppression

[welcome-to-green-hills]

Why do you think that Sonic 3 received much more critical praise than the previous 2 movies in the franchise? What do you think was improved?

Hi Hon❤️✨

I promise that I haven’t been ignoring your asks concerning this question topic. I was trying my best to locate some interviews and commentary to support my answer to your question. However, I can give you a quick response without extra fluff.

I feel that the third film did as well as it did due to the crew listening to the fans and evaluating critiques. Yes, these are Sonic fans making the movie, but they’re also making professionals in their field. They know how to cater to film critics, casual movie fans, and Sonic fans very well.

One of the things that I feel that they listened to was focus on the characters that they’ve wanted to use. There is absolutely nothing wrong with using original characters. Not at all! And from these original characters, we’ve grown to love Tom, Maddie, and Agent Stone very much. We’re vocal about loving these characters and how they work well with Sonic-based characters. Therefore, we didn’t have any other side characters to worry about as well. It’s creates a balance.

The story focused on one main issue rather than having a subplot. We focus on one problem and how to solve it. I am in no way, no how saying that subplots are bad. What I’m saying is that a subplot can work if it matches the story’s pacing. Sonic 2 (2022)’s subplot needed to happen. We had to have the wedding scene in order to know that Walters and G.U.N. was active and watching the Wachowski family. That, as we needed to know that Rachel’s heart wasn’t broken in the end by an Agent. However, what got in the way was the subplot’s pacing. If the pacing was reevaluated just a tad, then I think that Sonic fans would be more open to it. Other than such, I think that it was a good close to Rachel’s story in the SCU. She’s finally happy.

Sonic 3 felt more like Sonic 1 (2020), which was a movie that a lot of people enjoyed. It focuses on a uniqueness and charm that was there from the film. It makes it a point to show that Sonic and Shadow are “what if situations” if they took different paths.

The music. Holy shit the music. Mr. Fowler explained a couple of years ago that inserting Sonic music into the movie was problematic due to how SEGA copyrighted their music for the games (info on that it’s in my pinned post from January 2024). It’s not that they didn’t want to use it, it’s how the video game company copyrighted it. Whatever Mr. Fowler did to convince SEGA to lift their copyright agreement on the music changed the soundtrack for the film. There is DEFINITELY Sonic music to a movie that is meant to be a representation to a very beloved Sonic game.

Shadow. Just. Shadow. Whether some fans like it or not, Shadow is an extremely popular character. And he’s very popular for a reason. He’s a character that people can relate to on an emotional and mental level. If people have experienced loss and anger, then they relate to Shadow. This is not me saying that fans can only relate to Shadow. What I’m saying is that there are many layers and personalities to Shadow that fans might like where you might not get that with characters like Tails or Amy Rose. With the promotion of “Fearless: Year of Shadow” all through 2024 and a remaster of Sonic Generations, I think that influenced many fans to appreciate him on a level that was never considered before, as well as create new fans to the fandom. Plus, I can definitely see Hollywood utilizing Shadow the Hedgehog more in future films. That, and banking Keanu Reeves to voice Shadow (a very popular fan casting since the early 2010s) has helped tremendously.

And finally, the SCU crew knows now to make fans want to come back for more. They leave trails of breadcrumbs through movies and the miniseries that leads to you research how the “rules” work for the SCU, as well as encourage you to explore Sonic through the video games. When lore differs a between the games, the SCU crew knows how to make it faithful and pay homage to the original idea without trying to proclaim that one idea is better than the other. Both ideas are unique and cool in their own ways.

Anyways! These are my thoughts for now. I’m sure that I’ll have more later down the road.😊

[haru-dipthong]

Fansub release + Analysis of Utena Ep 18

There's a lot of ideas packed into this episode about patriarchy and what it means to become a man. This is an issue that I've personally done a lot of reflecting on, and also something I've been reading about recently with bell hooks' The Will To Change, so this episode I'll be doing a little more textual analysis than usual and comparing readings of Utena with bell hooks.

Utena: つわぶき君はよく続くなー。僕だったらあの生活三日も持たないや。 Anthy: きっと好きだからできるんですよ

Utena: I don't know how he does it. I wouldn't last three days being bossed around like that. Anthy: If you loved someone, you'd understand.

This line is soooo revealing. It really shows how Anthy thinks about love. And god, the way she says it — so condescending to Utena with the んですよ. Like “you poor naive thing who has never experienced love, I know better than you do”. It sounds very "you'll understand when you're older". And it tears me up inside to see Anthy believing that she is the one who knows better. Even Utena’s naivity is better than Anthy’s horrible warped idea of what love is. And obviously the reason Anthy essentially takes a stand behind the idea that love is unconditional servitude is because of her curse and her relationship with Akio. She is obliged to be at the beck and call of her betrothed, a position of love. And she has learnt from Akio that love is running yourself into the ground, from his time serving the people as Dios. And her relationship with Akio, a familial relationship that is traditionally one of love, is essentially slavery. What else can she do, how else can she live with herself, if not by telling herself that this is what love is meant to be?

A more literal translation of Anthy's line would be something like "I'm sure he can do it because he loves her". But her tone and phrasing in Japanese makes it clear that she's extrapolating - she's thinking that anyone in love would do the same. That's why I translated the line the way I did.

I also tried "That's just what love is" but it didn't sound condescending enough. I needed Anthy to sound like Utena's mum in this exchange, because that's how she sounds in Japanese.

大人になりたい！大人になって世界をめちゃくちゃにしてやりたい！

I want to grow up! I want to become a man so I can fuck up the world!

Oh god oh fuck. What is happening to our little Mitsuru… who could have predicted this?! Well, bell hooks did:

Boys are encouraged by patriarchal thinking to claim rage as the easiest path to manliness. It should come as no surprise, then, that beneath the surface there is a seething anger is boys, a rage waiting for the moment to be heard. The Will To Change pp. 44

In isolation they lose the sense of their value and worth. No wonder then that when they reenter a community, they bring with them killing rage as their primary defence. pp. 43

The word めちゃくちゃにする is difficult to translate. It’s a word used often in casual conversation, so it doesn’t sound very formal or proper. It kind of means “to throw into complete disorder; to make everything a complete mess”. E.g.

その地震は何もかもめちゃくちゃにした

The earthquake destroyed/smashed up everything.

In this context though, “destroy” or “smash up” doesn’t work because we’re not talking about buildings and furniture, we’re talking about “the world”. Other translations try their best to translate this line without swearing (I want to become a man and wreck the world! // I want to be an adult and just kick over the whole world! // I want to a grown up, and just… just do whatever I want with the world!). But I really don’t think it’s possible. THE translation for めちゃくちゃにする in this context is “to fuck up”.

経験を積んだ大人を倒してこそ子供は大人になる

But a kid who beats an adult… will become an adult himself!

Maybe I’m reading too much into the word 倒す here, but allow me to digress: I don’t think this translation is particularly controversial. 倒す literally does mean “beat”. But I originally had this as “defeat”, a much less violent word (also used by the one of the translations I’m using as reference). However, I think “beat” is better for several reasons.

First, 倒す is a word that comes up a lot in anime and manga targeted at the 12-16 year old boy demographic. “Beat” is similar — “can superman beat goku in a fight?” It has the same schoolyard feel to it. Using a word like this emphasises Tsuwabuki’s boyishness.

Secondly, while 倒す means “to defeat”, this meaning is actually metaphorical. Its literal meaning is “to knock down/to fell”. I’m guessing the “defeat” meaning comes from its use in boxing, where knocking someone down is equivalent to defeating them. Because of this, the original Japanese could be interpreted more literally — Tsuwabuki wants to batter an adult, he wants to prove his manhood by beating a woman, by knocking her down. I think this reading is reinforced by Tsuwabuki’s violent patriarchal outburst in the Seminarium elevator.

Another except from bell hooks’ The Will To Change (emphasis mine):

Researchers found that boys agreed that to be truly manly, they must command respect, be tough, not talk about problems, and dominate females. pp. 42

And another:

Boys who are allowed to assume the role of “mini patriarch” are often violent toward their mothers. (…) Obviously, as small boys they do not have the strength to overpower their mothers, but it is clear that they see the use of violence to get their needs met as acceptable. pp. 61-62

As always, thank you to my editor @dontbe-lasanya for their amazing editing skills! This project wouldn't be possible without you!

Remember to follow the blog if you want to stay updated with new episode releases. For all episodes released so far, go here:

Rose divider taken from this post

[nemesis-writer]

Five Minutes (Chapter 4)

Masterlist Utter Silence TW: mentions of blood, mental illness

No one knew who was next. They all guarded the streets to check any odd behaviours. Tim was in charge of security systems, and everyone changed the streets they looked after every hour.

But what they didn't know is that all business was being held beneath the ground they walked so gladly upon.

At the base...

"We need to hurry up. Now" I commanded as I watched my men place the traps and riddles all over Gotham.

Me and Michael were sitting together on the couch of our library just enjoying the silence with each other until one of us broke the ice.

(Italics are Reader's)

"This will work darling. Don't worry"

"I know, I'm just scared of losing you"

"You could never lose me. Even when I go to hell, I'm gonna drag your pretty ass down there with me."

"Why?"

"Because I love you, and I'd do anything for you."

"Even if it means I have to kill my family?"

"I would make a monument of all their heads for you."

"Ti amo di piu mi amore"

"Ti amo bambola"

At the Wayne mansion...

The silence engulfed the very walls where fighting, or excitement was being heard. Even the smallest pin drop could be heard around the gothic walls.

No one knows when nor how the riddles shall come.

And no one knows who's next.

There are many crimes that are to be attended to, but the more criminals they kill, the higher the chances are of exploitation.

Blood flows, and breathing could only be heard. No one could talk, breathe, or blink without the fear of possible death.

Jason has died once before, and he assumed that death wouldn't scare him anymore, but with all the tricks and casualities that are bound to happen, he fears of watching other innocents suffer.

"Who do you think is next?" Duke asked.

"Probably Tim or something", Jason muttered

"It's your fault she's like this", Damian said.

"Our fault? Let me just remind you, who beat her and made her life a living hell." Jason retorted

"Settle dow-" Bruce said until he was cut off.

"I will not calm down because our sister, and might I add, your daughter has left us because of what we did" Jason yelled.

"Did you even noticed how much she tried to go to you, any of you? I died for a year, and I was sent to multiple missions, so I'm not the one at fault here." Jason added.

Jason fears what you'd become, he loves you and could never want to let go of the one person that was supposed to be the best of them. The balance. The truth in their pit of lies, and the light of their impenetrable darkness.

But yet, you've became worse than them.

No.

You've became better than they ever were. You are born brilliant, hot, bad, and really mad. You relish in others sufferings whilst Jason, tries to prevent them. You're the cause of everything they have tried to stop.

And that's what Jason truly feared in you. You had followed the five stages of grief:

denial

anger

bargaining

depression

acceptance

Well what's the harm of adding one more? Revenge...

A/N: Cruella warning lol, I'm a bit busy so I didn't really updated, but I hope you like this.

Taglist

@lunayaps, @not-aya, @iluvcatzz, @vanessa-boo, @ivyrose9194,@thesehandsarerated-e, @eyeless-kun, @errorunfound1, @gwyneveire, @alishii, @cxcillia

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 44

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Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: The Ruins Of Desire.

Notes: Btw, sorry about the unupdated masterlist. I keep bumping into a strange limit that tumblr set and will have to fix it somehow.

!!!Special Warnings for this chapter: Contains a brief spicy(?) part.

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  44/47

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You had to search the castle grounds for Lancelot, finding him only when thinking of what could bring him some comfort. In the stables he stood by Goliath, brushing the horse’s coat with some straw. He seemed not too happy to see that you had found him, preferring to have been left alone.

You kept some distance. “She could have killed you.”

It did not sit well with you at all that he had handed over his sword and was prepared to die if the Fey had chosen it as his fate. It hurt.

His tone was distant and bordered on being dismissive. “I needed to know what I was facing. If they wished to see me dead, I prefer to know it instead of spending every hour of the day looking over my shoulder.”

You shook your head, feeling a pinch of anger at how he had put himself at such risk. “And if she had killed you, I would have had to watch it happen.”

His response was colder, “You should have stayed outside the room, as I suggested.”

It was obvious he was trying to push you away, to wallow in his remorse alone. But you could be as persistent as he was.

Your anger spilled out as you spoke, “Forgive me for loving you so much that I wasn’t going to let you walk in there alone. I am sorry for believing that you cared enough about us to not put yourself willingly at the risk of death. Next time I should just close my eyes and ignore how simple it is for you to put down your life like you have nothing to fight for!”

He was taken aback by the outburst. “You do not understand.”

You took a few steps closer. “I understand perfectly. You were raised to believe that suffering will ultimately bring salvation, and so you seek it out to try and silence the guilt you feel.”

His gaze dropped to the ground at your feet, letting you know your assumption was correct.

You came to a halt right in front of him. “You can let your remorse destroy you. Or you can show the same dedication to helping the Fey that you showed to the scriptures. The only true salvation for any of us is to find peace within ourselves.”

He moved past you slowly, taking seat atop a bale of hay. Head in his hands tilted towards the ground. “I never meant to cause you distress. I… it is hard for me to believe that there could be a day when I no longer feel that I must apologize for merely breathing.”

“That day will come. I promise you that.” You sat down beside him. “I fear for you, Lancelot. And I cannot stand to see how you believe you deserve pain more than you deserve all else.”

He remained silent, lost in the storm that threatened to take over his thoughts once more. What had been said to him by that woman had devastated him, tore right into his being and struck his weakest spot.

You rubbed his back for a while, aiming to comfort the pain under the surface. “I’m sorry for getting angry. It just scared me to death to see it happen.”

He sat up more, taking your hand in his. “I believe I would have responded much the same way.”

Gently you touched the red mark on his cheek that the slap had caused, softly you brushed your lips to the spot. He exhaled unsteadily, tilting his head just a little to brush his nose over yours. When you leaned back a little, he was quick to copy what you had done. His lips came to your cheek, hand cupping your other and brushing his thumb over it. He lingered and you heard the whispers of the Hidden before your markings rose to the surface. Quickly you put a hand on his chest to push him back just a little.

“How did you do that?” You were stunned.

He cocked a brow. “Do what?”

You didn’t believe that he had not just used his connection to the Hidden to lure your markings to the surface. “You made my markings appear…”

There was a timid look in his eyes, one he tried to hide by tilting his head down a bit. “I did not think that the Hidden would listen to my wish so well.”

You tilted your head down as well, still having to get used to the fact that you didn’t need to hide them.

He brought his lips to your other cheek, kissing the other mark. Whispering against it, “I love them. They bring out your eyes.”

You were undeniably flustered and failed to make proper eye-contact. Your markings slowly hid back under your skin when he let go of you.

He stood up, letting out a deep breath. “I am going to see if Arthur needs someone to come along to the village.”

By the look he shared, it was clear that he hoped to get out of the castle for a moment to clear his head and hoping you’d understand.

“A good idea.” you said.

“I will see you tonight then? At supper?” He was hopeful.

You rose from the hay, stepping closer to him. “Of course.”

The light in his eyes had not yet fully returned and still he mustered up a small smile just for you. He gave your hand a light squeeze before walking out of the stables.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Rain descended down upon Lancelot’s head and by the sight of the sky he could tell that if the group did not find shelter soon, they would arrive back at the castle in soaked clothes.

It was Arthur’s idea to seek shelter in the inn of the village. Kaze had been more determined to just ride back to the fort in the gushing rain but fortunately Gareth had carefully convinced her not to. It came as no surprise to Lancelot that ale would be part of the evening once those of Red’s crew stepped into the inn.

He kept himself a little away from the others at the large table, a wise idea as the crew had a tendency to spill ale all over the place and some of it got awfully close to his sleeve as his arm rested on the table. One of the crew proved foolishly brave to try and charm Kaze by trying to lean a little closer to her, he prevented this amicable evening from turning into a blood bath by making the man sit upright again and away from Kaze who looked seconds away from murder. It was perhaps a small thing, but he could have sworn she looked appreciative of his interference.

Arthur took a moment to compliment everyone on being able to work together well enough to build a new future for the Fey.

“We couldn’t have done it without the Ash Man’s help.” Gareth surprisingly pointed out between sips of ale.

Lancelot almost stared at him, a mistake as he could see the gears in Gareth’s head start to turn.

“That is true.” Arthur concurred, looking at him. “If you hadn’t broken that curse, we would still have been looking for a place to live and those are sown thin in the land these days.”

He barely knew how to respond to the acknowledgment. “I did what had to be done.”

Gareth chuckled. “Don’t be so modest. Say, now that we are among men-” Kaze send him a glare and he corrected himself, “-and Kaze of course, mind if we speak more freely?”

“I mind.” he deadpanned, sensing where this was heading.

Gareth retorted, “Oh come on, Lancelot. We’re all curious here about you.”

“I’m not.” Kaze chimed in coolly.

Arthur sided with Gareth on this. “I can’t say that I’m not just a little curious to hear what it’s like to have been a monk.”

“Indeed.” Gareth said. “Go on. What was the clergy like for you?”

Lancelot leaned back against his chair, trying not to show that it bothered him to be put in the center of attention by the group. “It was strict.”

Arthur poked further, “Strict? You mean the rules you had to follow? No sinning, no ale too?”

He gave a nod. “Yes. But there was more. We followed orders as soldiers would, or faced the consequences of refusing.”

Gareth went ahead and ruined his mood. “And there is the vow of celibacy as well.”

“He’s married.” Arthur pointed out.

Gareth stuck his nose in matters that were not his. “To the Church a marriage is only valid if it was consummated. Ask any of the clergy and they will tell you the same. So our friend here must have some story he can share with us about the first time he indulged in the desires of the flesh.”

Lancelot sat frozen, hoping his eyes or expression gave nothing away to the rest of the table.

An unconsummated marriage was indeed not considered a valid one by many. It had not bothered him until now, now that they could claim it as invalid if they knew.

Arthur very carefully inquired, “Was your wife the first?”

His tensed up, refusing to meet any of the curious eyes staring at him. “I believe that is none of your concern.”

Arthur knew right away not to press on, he had heard the warning in the Ash Man’s tone. But the one who had annoyed Kaze earlier, now decided to annoy him.

The man sounded lighthearted. “He doesn’t want to tell us, doesn’t want us to tell her he’s probably had a dozen before her.” He nudged him with his elbow. “Maybe she’s had a dozen of her own, eh? Nothing wrong with that-”

Lancelot rose from the chair, seeing how half the table flinched in response. His jaw was set, amicably or not he would not let his intimate affairs be used as a topic of conversation among the group.

Kaze sensed his anger and to his surprise she got up as well. “We head back now. Before the rain returns.”

It was not up for debate, they could tell. Lancelot gave her a discreet grateful nod. He ignored how they mumbled amongst each other while avoiding all eye-contact with him as they got up and went towards the exit of the inn.

Arthur however proved less cowardly. “I’m sorry, Lancelot. I was not asking to make you uncomfortable. You’ve just lived such a different life from mine and I was curious.”

The apology calmed him down only because he could tell that it was genuine. “I believe you. But you must understand that I do not find it proper to speak of these matters like this.”

“Because it’s a sin?” Arthur wondered.

“No.” He almost rolled his eyes. “Because it is not proper.”

Arthur held his hands up in defeat but did manage to smile. “Fine then. Keep your secrets.”

The Manblood kept smiling, even under the Ash Man’s glare.

If only they knew the turmoil they had caused him by reminding him what a lack of consummation meant for a marriage. He did not want to keep thinking about it, but it had set it’s claws in him. No wedding, no vows, a ring that took far too long to be placed on your finger, and now this….

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Supper came. Supper passed. Your will to eat had been absent just like Lancelot was. Even Gawain was starting to get nervous by the time passing without a sign of Arthur, Lancelot, Kaze, Gareth and the few of Red’s crew that had gone with them. Perhaps they had sought shelter from the rain for a while somewhere, perhaps that was why they were so late. Or maybe they had run into thieves again and they were in trouble. You had voiced your concerns to the Green Knight.

    ~“Try not to be alarmed yet. We will wait a little longer and if they have not returned then we will go and search for them.”~

    But you were too worried to keep waiting, the sun had gone down already. You went to the stables to ready Bear for the ride. A sound coming from outside halted you, it sounded like… singing? You went outside and felt relief wash over you at the sight of Lancelot and the others returning. Those of Red’s crew were singing some sea shanty that could wake the whole castle from it’s beginning slumber and Arthur was participating, it only stopped when Kaze told them, not so politely, to keep quiet.

“You have been singing since we set foot in that inn.” Lancelot remarked to one of them who grumbled something unkind about her that Kaze was unable to hear. “Our ears are pleading for rest from it.”

You were walking up to them, locking eyes on Lancelot who looked content to be back. You watched as he reached down and caught your hand just as it reached up for him. “Did you run into trouble?”

His mood seemed a little better. “None at all. Arthur decided we shelter at the inn and waited for the rain to pass or lessen.”

You tried to figure out if the change in his mood had something to do with that. “Ah, enjoyed some ale?”

He scoffed a little. “They enjoyed it. I found that the taste resembles that of a polluted river.”

You whispered up at him, scolding him for his bluntness. “We can’t all be so fortunate to drink the Church’s wine.”

The others went on towards the stables, while he had come to a halt. With a mischievous smirk he gave your hand a little tug.

“Mount.” he said.

You let him help you up to be seated in front of him. “Why put me on your horse so close to the stables?”

He hummed amused. “I could ride into the stables, or I could take you away into the woods.”

Boldly his hand glided down from your hip to curve around your thigh, there was a blatant attempt to slide it further to touch your rear. You turned to look at his face, taking a whiff to see if he was truly not influenced by ale. The scent was there but it was very, very vague and almost faded. Some could have just spilled on him, or the scent of the ale in the inn lingered on his clothes.

He knew that discreet way of smelling a person but all too well. “I must say that I find it quite exciting to see you smell me. Once, I caught you smelling my clothes, do you remember that time? Even though I could not show it, it exhilarated me to see how you looked so tempted by the scent of me.”

Heat rose to your cheeks, especially because he had said it in the deeper tone he could reach. “I remember. You were still a monk back then, you had to behave.”

He put his chin on your shoulder. “It was difficult to behave proper when I saw how aroused your eyes looked back at me just from my scent.”

You got very quiet. He seemed different tonight, bolder, braver. His breath ghosted hotly against the side of your neck.

Your voice was only a whisper, “Are you aware of how lustful you behave now?”

He flashed that boyish smile, but this time his eyes were less innocent. “I am aware.”

“Did that ‘polluted river water’ cause you to speak like this?” you jested nervously.

He was quick to respond, “No. The sight of my lovely wife does.”

To his dismay, Gawain was approaching, coming straight towards the two of you. You heard him sigh behind you when you dismounted from Goliath.

He dismounted as well, offering the reins of Goliath. “Could you bring him to the stables for me?”

You could tell that Gawain was there to talk to him. “Of course.”

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Not much later, you were preparing for bed. Just as you had taken off and put down your bodice, Lancelot entered your shared room.

He took off his cloak and put it down on the dresser, then spoke to you whilst he took off his weapons belts. “Gawain informed me that there is a blacksmith among the Fey who arrived here. We will attempt to use the forge soon. According to Merlin we may never forge a weapon like the sword, but we will be able to forge weapons of great strength.”

You stepped closer. “That’s good, is it not? And we can make armor.”

Carefully he put down the sword against the dresser. Nodding. “We are in great need of good armor. And in even greater need of people who know how to fight, especially now that Gawain wishes to continue seeking Fey who are forced to flee their homes.”

You hummed. “Gareth once told me that Gawain searched for the Fey to take them to safety. It is no surprise that he wishes to continue that noble cause.”

He tried not to show that it caused him stress. “A noble cause that we can only continue if we have enough people to do so. This fort needs to be guarded, the lands surrounding us must be kept under watch as well. These searches for Fey can only continue if we have enough people helping us.”

You sensed his concern. “I am certain that those who have arrived will wish to help. The Fey will stand together. Surely some must know how to wield a sword or other weapon.”

He turned to you. “There is something I must tell you. Gawain has requested that I will guide the Fey in the skill of battle. He hopes I can show them how to defend themselves and how to stand their ground in a battle.”

“And what did you tell him?” you asked.

He walked past you to the wash basin, splashing some water in his face. “I gave him my word that I would take on the task if the Fey allow me to.”

It was a big step forward for him, a chance to find his place among his people. You were glad to hear it. “You fear they will not?”

“I have my doubt,” he admitted.

“All will be well.” You went up to him, giving some encouragement whilst reaching around him. Your arms wrapped around his low abdomen to hold him close while you placed your head to rest against his back. “I have faith in you.”

Instantly he straightened his back and stretched his neck. A shudder went through him and he couldn’t help but smile that charming smile. Then he blurted out, “He knighted me.”

You spoke against his back, “What?… Who? Gawain?”

He gave a nod. “Yes. For saving Percival. For my desire to protect the Fey… I am not certain I deserve the honor.”

You let go of him when he turned to face you. “Who are we to argue with a knight on that, hm? I think Gawain made a good decision.”

He went towards the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. “It is just all so much. Everyone is putting their faith in me and I fear failing them.”

You could see his eyes grow distant, his thoughts lost in the war of his conscience. Without a word, you approached and began to help him out of his jerkin. He glanced up at your face, at how focused and patient you were with the belts that held his jerkin shut.

“I know you are afraid.” You gently took the leather off of him. “It’s normal to be worried when faced with such responsibilities. But I know you, Lancelot. I know that you are a very capable man and Gawain knows this too. A lot has happened. Much has changed for you, it’s normal to be overwhelmed, your whole life is different. Just know that you’re not alone in this. You saw how even Percival ran over to protect you.”

His eyes locked on yours, a nod. “Thank you. For listening.” A bitter chuckle fell from him. “When I tried to speak to Father about my concerns or problems he just dismissed them.”

You gave his chest a playful pat. “I won’t dismiss my husband.”

“Oh?” A tempting smile grew upon his lips.

You crawled onto the bed, taking place behind him to massage the tension out of his shoulders. He leaned into the touch instantly. You gently kneaded at his shoulders, easing the tension in them. His eyes fell shut, his breathing slowed down.

He loved your gentle touch, the warmth of your hands tending to the muscles that were suffering under the strain of the work he had done. But it was new even for him that such an innocent caring touch could awaken not so innocent desires.

Suddenly he let out a sound that you mistakenly believed to be from discomfort. Your hands halted immediately. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Do you want me to put some salve on your scars again?”

His answer came delayed. “I won’t decline that offer.”

It took you only a few seconds to dart for your satchel, the healers had been generous to supply everyone with some medicinal items. You bit back a grin when he took off his shirt without a word from you. The salve smelled quite good, a faint flowery smell. He did not wince once as you smeared it onto his back.

His thoughts trailed back to earlier. “In the inn tonight, none of them treated me as the ‘Weeping Monk’. I never thought it could be like this.”

“I’m glad to see that you and Arthur did not kill each other.” you said. “What did you talk about?”

Conversation, that did not include strategy for battle, was still a point he needed to work on. “I do not want to upset you.”

You went to sit beside him and put down the bowl of salve on the nightstand, trying not to jump to bad conclusions. “Lancelot.”

He weighed his words. “Some were curious about our marriage. They had questions and I believe the ale made them brave enough to ask them.”

Your eyes narrowed at how uncomfortable he was beginning to sound. “What sort of questions?”

He began to fidget with his hands, a tell-tale sign that he was struggling to find the right way to say it. “They asked if you were the first… and about the consummation. Among other matters.”

You winced, realizing how uneasy he must have felt to have been questioned about it. Your voice grew quiet, “What did you tell them?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

He glanced over at you. “Why should I speak of such intimate matters with others? I do not know if I can trust them with it.”

It was no surprise that he wouldn’t let others pressure him into answering questions he did not want to answer. But still, you got the feeling that it bothered him.

You caressed his shoulder. “What is it? There is something bothering you, I can see it.”

“It’s nothing.” he said, shutting the door to the truth.

You wouldn’t push him for an answer when he was clearly not feeling at ease about the topic. “Alright, well… If you don’t mind I will finish washing up so I don’t ruin our clean sheets already.”

He chuckled at that. “Ruin…”

You kicked off your boots and went up to the wash basin, grabbing one of the rags to use. “You know what I mean.”

Seeing you take your boots off reminded him to take his own off too. After that he got up from the bed, eyes glued to the way the wet rag moved over your neck.

You had hoped to wash thoroughly, but there was no opportunity for privacy in the room and you didn’t want to create an uncomfortable situation for him to be in again. So you tried to wash properly without taking your shirt or trousers off. It felt odd to still feel uncertain about these matters, to have to blindly search were the line was for him so you didn’t accidentally do something he wasn’t ready to experience yet. He approached and nearly fell over your boots, kicking them aside to prevent an accident. You gave him an apologetic sheepish smile for it.

He came up behind you, snaked his arms around you, kissing your shoulder before resting his head on it, not bothering to hide that he was inhaling deeply.

“Are you smelling me?” You couldn’t ignore it.

There was no shame in him about it anymore. “We both know how strong that urge is in our kind.”

You rinsed the rag in the washbasin to continue using it. “If I smell like sweat, it is because I am not able to wash properly.”

“Why not?” he asked.

It was part a jest and part honesty, “I don’t know how you would respond seeing me half-bare all of a sudden. Don’t want you to face the fear of damnation so late in the day.”

By the look on his face, he saw right through the jest. He stole the damp rag from your hand. “There is a solution.”

He didn’t turn you around. You felt him snake his hand under the back of your shirt, the rag came into contact with your bare back.

“We can compromise.” He whispered close to your temple, “If you are so kind to protect my soul, I will be kind and protect your modesty.”

You couldn’t form words when he began to basically wash you at the washbasin, steering your arms to make it easier for him. It didn’t end at your back, no, he continued at your lower abdomen and worked his way up. Well, late in the evening or not, this Ash Man was not so protective of his soul. He spend more attention to your bosom than a wash truly needed. That gentleness, the braveness combined with timidness, he was such a mixture of everything that you had to think of other things before it would leave you with pent up desire.

He was still learning of course, but he was very much pretending not to be aware of what this was causing. “Do you like this?”

He gingerly moved the rag under your breast and cupped you with only some of the rag between his palm and your skin.

“You’re practically fondling me.” It was a statement.

True. It was quite erotic to him to feel your damp skin, the shape of your breast… He would let his soul burn to experience this intimate moment.

He hummed, unable to deny the truth of what he was doing. But he continued the task you had tried to spare his eyes from, he turned it into a pleasant bonding moment and traced his lips slowly over your neck.

He did not have to see anything, feeling was enough, hearing your breathing stutter. All he saw was your flustered expression, a certain timidness and innocence that made you evade his gaze. On purpose he breathed out near your ear and felt you shiver. The haze of lust had descended upon him and made him bolder.

He slowly sank his hand into the front of your trousers, moving the rag right down between your legs and teasing it over you. “You respond so well to my ‘fondling’.”

You grabbed hold on his arm around you. “Practising, are you?”

He changed the angle and moved the rag more into you, increasing the friction with a purpose in mind. “I find it very rewarding to see the results of my dedicated practise with the guidance from a willing tutor.”

You jolted at the stimulation it caused. “Lancelot-”

“You asked me what was bothering me.” His mouth grazed your earlobe. “It bothers me how I have failed to consummate our marriage, to many it would mean the marriage is void.”

The puzzle fell into place. Realization hit. “Is that what they told you in the inn?”

“Gareth was right to bring it to my attention.” His lips touched your temple. “Now I can rectify the situation.”

Rectify… as if it was wrong… and now after some foolish remark he wanted to…

“No.” You squirmed out of his hold, stepping away from him.

He looked so lost, as if your response had pushed him onto a frozen lake with ice breaking all around him. “What have I done?”

“You were trying to bed me tonight… that is why you’re doing this… why you acted the way you did upon your return…” It all fell into place and became clear. “You’re doing this because Gareth told you that our marriage would not be true without a consummation?”

His mouth fell slightly open, quickly he put the rag down and tried to step closer only to stop when you held up a hand to halt him. “That is not…”

You saw him falter and fall quiet. “I do not want to sleep with you if you’re only doing it because some idiot is trying to make you believe it is the ‘right’ thing to do.” You held your hand up, showing him the ring around your finger. “We are wed, Lancelot. Having to consummate for a marriage to be valid is in the scriptures… isn’t it?”

He couldn’t even make eye-contact. It had not just been Gareth’s stupid remark… it was also the scriptures still attempting to seize control over his life.

“You would have regretted it.” you quietly said. It took him a moment to reply and you felt ill at the thought that he felt he needed to rush himself. “I’d never forgive myself if I’d sleep with you and you’re pushing yourself to do it.”

He heard the emotion threaten to overtake your voice, and as you went to pass him to go towards what he feared to be the door, he caught you by the elbow. “I would never regret it.”

There was a hint of anger in his tone, as if it had insulted him to insinuate it. Instinctively you send him the same frustrated glare back.

He did not let go, no, with a tug he got you so close your elbow bumped into his chest. “It is true that the scriptures demand a marriage be consummated to be valid. But we have proven that to be a lie too, have we not?” His eyes pierced into yours. “It is not Gareth’s foolery, nor the scriptures, that makes me long to lay with you!”

It was said so loud that you feared those in the rooms nearby had heard. “Will you please keep your voice down?!”

He let go, letting you slip through his fingers, watching as you paced the room a little. You were trying to find something to look busy, something to focus on to not crumble under the intensity of his eyes on you. You found your distraction in the form of lighting a candle on the nightstand with the one that was on the dresser.

He had gotten closer again, lightly brushing his hand over your back to try and have your attention back. You turned around to face him, hating how the mood had so suddenly turned.

He cupped your face, wishing to chase away the sadness in your eyes. “You were right to reject me when uncertain of my true thoughts regarding it.”

You did understand the reason behind his trail of thought. “I know you struggle to accept that we didn’t have a choice and that we lost out on everything regarding our wedding. But I love you, and as long as you love me than it doesn’t matter whether we consummate or not. You are my husband, you will always be my husband.”

You blinked, and then his lips were on yours. With no warning they seized control over you, promising you everything you could wish for and soothing every buried fear. He was as gentle as he could still be when kissing with a fiery passion that almost keeled you over.

He parted from your lips but did not stray far. “Allow me to be forward then. Even if we had not been wed, I still would have asked to lay with you tonight.”

There was not a speck of doubt in you that he meant it, it was in his eyes. His thumb brushed over your mouth as you drew in a breath of air.

Your voice got sultry, “But then I would ruin you and your virtuous reputation.”

The warning was meant to make him think it all through again, but all it did was make him oh so terribly curious.

“Ruin?” His voice reached a deeper timbre, “You already made a ruin of me.”

A shiver ran down your spine, he moved you closer against him.

“You tore down everything I had build.” he said, growing more and more intense. “And I let you. I have let you destroy it all because you gave me something better.”

Your eyes spoke the question that your lips could not form now that he was so close.

“Ruin me.” He breathed into your ear. “Be my wife and ruin me.”

With trembling hands you cupped his face, drawing the pads of your thumbs down his markings. Your voice was but a whisper, “Do you truly want this?”

He cupped the back of your head, leaning in to graze his nose against yours. “I do.”

Never before had his eyes seem so warm, so intensely blue that it put the heavens to shame. It was your gaze falling from his eyes to his lips that sealed your fate, the second he saw it he slowly began to kiss the side of your head and trailed over to your temple and cheek. It was meant to tempt and you weakened at the mercy of his affections.

“Lancelot…” your heart was hammering away.

His arm came around you, reeling you in against him. With the patience learned from a former life, he seduced you with touch, scent and sound. His mouth brushed to your neck, leaving behind a ghostly presence that made you wish for it’s return.

He spoke into your ear, gentle as he could, “Will you have me tonight?”

The answer fell so effortlessly from your lips now, “Make me yours.”

Taglist:

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Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story. Using this old list from the previous fic.

[sockatoothewafflebird]

I MISSED IT.

oh my god. if i had known sooner, i would have done something- drawn a tribute, maybe- for this show. this show is a part of me. this show has been with me through so much and it is impossible to overstate how much it means to me. it was there during the best and worts times of my life. i cannot ever ever imagine my life without this show.

so, as a tribute to it, because i MISSED THE DAMN ANNIVERSARY OHMYGOD, i'll tell my story with it. i feel like it should be shared because i know there are others out there that appreciate the show just as much as i do. this is pretty long so uhhh word wall warning teehee

i remember when i first discovered it,

about halfway into 2020. season one had finished airing by the time i found it. i had heard things about this "lumity" characyer and decided to try it out because i was an "ally" at the time (oh, how things can change).

it wasn't on a streaming service yet, nor did my family use cable TV, so i watched the entirety of the first season through clips pirated on youtube.

i fell in love with it. watched every theory video i could get my grubby little hands on, watched reaction videos, watched those iconic lumity animatics and listened to the songs on loop for months. it became a part of me.

and, guess what? i made the lego eda meme my pfp on my school laptop (remember that one guys?? oh man that was a WHILE ago) and someone in my school, a new guy, asked me about it. said he liked my pfp and asked if he could sit with me and my friends during lunch. and now, even after both of us moving thousands of miles away, we're still in touch.

that was FOUR YEARS AGO. i know that seems kind of a short amount of time, but i've never held a friend that long before, having moved around a lot in my life. long story short the owl house got me like half the friends i have today.

anyway, back to the show.

i can never forget the hype when season 2 was announced.

i remember scrounging youtube like a starving dog for any content, teasers, theories, etc etc etc i could physically find. i was a pretty sheltered kid back then so i couldn't see any hype for it on social media other than youtubers gushing about theories. but i felt like i was there with everyone, squealing and kicking our feet together over our favorite show getting a new season.

most vividly, i remember being fucking pissed when i saw that the third season we could've had was cut short. i remember all the angry videos, and the petitions, everyone, everyone was all collectively screaming for this to change. we wanted the show to get what it deserved, but alas, it's Disney. so of course we just had to make do.

when season two began airing i forgot all about my anger. i forgot everything because, i had to watch it as soon as possible. i'll remind you, dear random internet user, that my family did not have cable TV at the time, so i couldn't watch it the second it aired there. i watched youtubers' reactions to the episodes.

it was the best feeling ever waking up on a saturday and seeing all of the reaction streams to the episode from all my favorite youtubers- i had to watch it all through the tiny top left corner of my phone screen and i was ecstatic. i loved being able to watch the show with everyone else, even if i sometimes missed reaction premiers or streams and got to them a day late- it was in the top ten most fun months of my life.

oh, and, do you remember? do we all remember Through The Looking Glass Ruins? the episode where gus develops his character and powers, and also the episode in which... you know... amity and luz indirectly admit their feelings for one another? TO each other? you just had to be there for the EXPLOSIONS that happened online that day. the absolute SCREAMS of joy from everyone when amity cheek-kissed luz at the end. it was amazing to witness so many people everywhere, in my social circle and online, collectively cheering and shouting for joy over a queer couple. a sapphic couple, portrayed positively, and casually, and OPENLY.

you have no idea how amazing it felt, after years of questioning myself, to see that on screen. to see that and to see everyone happy about it.

in the time between season one and season two's release, i opened up about questioning my sexuality to my parents, and they were... reluctantly supportive. i took a ton of time to figure it out myself, like maybe two years of constantly cycling though labels and wondering and wondering and thinking really really hard about it.

i remember seeing luz and amity very clearly being a potential couple in the show, and then they actually BECOME A CANON COUPLE a few episodes later, and feeling utter jealousy because i wanted what they had. the world exploded because, for a lot of people, this was a huge finally moment. finally, we have something good for ourselves. i remember watching and re-watching the lumity scenes in the first part of season two over and over and over, and thinking, "i don't want this with a boy. i want it like that." and it was liberating. i cannot thank this show enough for that feeling of fully accepting myself as a 100% organic home-grown lesbian.

that's just my experience with the show, but i'm sure there are tons of other similar stories, because this show was my first exposure to positive queer rep (raine whispers and amity blight are me favorite characters, i think you can guess why) and that changed everything for me.

anyway, on with the show.

the second part of season two released, and the fandom went wild. i cried. i sobbed. the finale was amazing, the lumity moments were amazing (they're portrayed as one of the healthiest couples i've ever seen in modern media ohmygod), the story was amazing. every episode, banger after banger. every minute, smile after tear after mind-blowing moment. the owl house team took disney's smelly, rotten lemons, and they made fucking lemonade. the best lemonade i've ever had.

and also, can i talk about how amazing it is to see so much representation of usually horribly portrayed groups? luz is canonically ADHD. many characters could also be seen as neurodivergent (gus my beloved) eda's curse is a stand-in for chronic illness. hunter's entire story is one about abuse, and belos's is a story of how a person can become a monster, about how sometimes monsters cannot and should not be redeemed. this show is a fucking masterclass in rep.

anyway, "season three" (fuck yoy disney) was amazing, and every episode made me bawl.

i remember seeing that they released the episodes in youtube, and i remember the absolute beauty it was to see millions upon millions of views for it. i remember watching the first one while making myself an omelette. that omelette ended up having my tears in it. i'll have you know that i almost never cry at media, so the owl house really fucking achieved something with all of the tears i shed.

i remember crying when luz "died," crying when she came back and screamed in bel-ass' face , "EAT THIS, SUCKAAA"- and i remember crying at the collective "byeeee" from the whole cast. i remember feeling a sense of bittersweetness that it was over. but the whole cast got the endings they deserved, and that was enough for me.

the owl house is a part of me now.

the owl house's run was a comfort when the news was screaming and crying, it was a comfort when i needed escape, and it was a huge part of the person i am today. i cannot ever thank this show enough.

i'll probably draw something to commemorate the anniversary if i ever find the time, but for now, this post is a way for me to send my appreciation towards the fandom, the creators in the fandom, and the creators of the show that made it possible. this show is over now and has been for years, but it will never leave me. happy five years, everyone! here's to many more! 🥂

[abluescarfonwaston]

Hey... What do you think Mia called her Dad? Papa? Father? Daddy?

Because she must have been at least 9 or 10 when he died if not a little older. Like. She remembers him. Even if he was always outside the village for work she remembers him. Remembers Misty losing him. Had to explain to Maya, or maybe worse- never had to at all - why he wasn't there. How she got his sense of humor and his laugh and neither of them can be held tight by him anymore but she can hold Maya tight and maybe then he doesn't feel so far gone.

What did she call him? Did she love him? Did Maya ever get that chance?

[lemongogo]

they should get to kill each other at least twice .i think

[blizardstar]

Dispite my best efforts I simply cannot stop thinking of the implications on the larger The Lion King canon of various sources that Mufasa has (a movie I have not seen and refuse to)

[rhymaes]

The Untamed (2019) // “You’re Not a Girl in a Movie,” Hala Allan

[arolesbianism]

I should rly start eternal gales posting again I need to make sure the ppl who follow me know how much Tali and Aris make me to insane so that the isat au can have its full effect but alas I am allergic to drawing the human eg cast like 99% of the time and rn the only thing stopping that from being 100% is that I like fucking around with different art styles sometimes

[entitled-fangirl]

Tradition.

Cregan Stark x Pregnant!reader

Summary: the reader and Cregan go to King's Landing to support her nephew, Luke's, Velaryon claim. She goes into early labor away from the North.

Warnings: Aegon is his own warning, body shaming, talks of brothels and stuff, labor, blood, death, fighting, all that stuff.

A/n: Based on an ask! I'll proofread later 😭

Masterlist

.......................................................

Cregan held out his hand to help his very pregnant wife out of the carriage. 

He absolutely hated riding by carriage. It seemed pointless when you could ride a horse instead. But when summoned to King's Landing by King Viserys with his Targaryen wife to join the rest of her family, he had to guarantee her safety on the travel by any means necessary.

Alicent's face lit up at the sight of her daughter, practically running over Cregan to get to her. She embraced the pregnant woman tightly, "Oh, my love! How you've changed!" 

Y/n hugged her mother back just as firmly with a smile, "I've missed you, mother."

Alicent pulled away and admired her grown girl, "King's Landing is better with you here." Only then did Alicent notice Cregan, "Oh. Lord Stark."

Cregan bowed his head politely, "My queen."

"Cregan has been eager to see King's Landing again," Y/n chirped in, "He has only been a few times."

Alicent's brows lifted, "Really? I wouldn't have thought that."

He nodded, "I could've been patient enough to wait until after the birth, but alas, when the King calls, you answer."

Alicent gave a forced smile, "Right. Of course. The birth." She looked to her daughter, "How far along are you, my dear?"

"Nearing eight moons now," she said nervously with a hand on her swollen stomach.

Alicent didn't miss the equally nervous and protective look in Cregan's eyes.

…

Dinner that night was beyond tense. 

What was joy for Viserys was misery for everyone else.

Watching the king decay at the table and the rest of them squabble over trivial matters that seemed of great importance.

"A toast to the young princes and their betrothed."

Aegon leaned over to his nephew Jace, "Well done, Jace. You'll finally get to lie with a woman."

A glare was sent his way by Jace and Baela.

Y/n caught on and quickly looked to Aemond, who sipped his wine with no reaction.

"You do know how the act is done, I assume?" Aegon continued. "At least, in principle. Where to put your cock and all that?"

Jace's jaw clenched, "You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed."

"Aegon." Y/n hissed through her teeth across the table.

His head immediately snapped to his sister in annoyance, "What?"

"Let it alone."

He scoffed lightly, "What do you mean? I'm only asking." He gained a grin, "It's not like I have to ask Lord Stark that. Look at the state of you!" He gestured to her swollen belly.

Cregan's grip on his fork tightened, turning his knuckles white. 

She placed a hand over her stomach and grimaced, "At least I was able to find a husband that wanted me. Mother had to force you to marry the only girl around, and that was Helaena."

Aegon gave an incredible glare, one that his sibling shot back.

Aemond became amused.

"Let us not fight at the table," Alicent reprimanded lightly.

Y/n looked to Jace, who gave a small nod of gratitude.

Silence filled the room until the King's long monologue of the need for peace in the house. 

Rhaenyra and Alicent gave small and seemingly back-handed toasts but Y/n was too set on the continuous mischievous look in her brother's eye.

And she called it right when he stood and moved to whisper in Baela's ear.

It was clear that it was muttered with the intention of riling up Jace, which it did quite well.

He stood up in anger, slamming his fist on the table.

Cregan, who had remained entirely silent thus far, instinctually moved a hand across his wife as if shielding her and the child.

The tense toasts only got worse from there.

Luckily, the music seemed to drown out the intensity, as well as Jace's good gesture of faith in dancing with Helaena. 

Y/n leaned over to Aemond, "Brother."

His brow raised as his eye traveled to look at her.

"It has been… long since I've seen you. I see you've faired quite well."

He hummed lightly, "I see you've… managed."

She could feel Cregan's intense gaze from behind her, "Wh…what do you mean?"

Aemond smirked and leaned in to where only the two Starks could hear him, "Inpregnanted by a brute-"

Cregan's jaw clenched so hard he feared for his teeth. His voice was a hushed whisper, but still held furiously to it, "Watch your words."

Y/n held Cregan's shoulder, "Let us not do this here."

Aemond smirked with Cregan sighed and leaned back in his chair.

When Viserys was escorted from the room due to his pain, Y/n decided to leave as well, and Cregan behind her.

They claimed a pregnancy illness and Rhaenyra smirked, knowing she'd used the same card many times.

…

Cregan helped her into bed, "I don't understand their need to crawl under everyone's skin like beetles."

She sighed, "They've never known life outside of a castle, Cregan. They've never been told no, and they never will. It's best to let it go."

"They mock us both. My name has been through dirt, blood, and tears, and I do not care, but yours?" He scoffed, "I will not stand by the next time you are mocked."

"It is only for a little while longer," she rebutted.

"Know that I do this for you, and only you, my love."

She smiled, "That's all I ask."

…

"The north has done a number on you, really," Aegon said as he appeared at her side.

She tilted her head, "I don't know what you mean."

He shrugged, "You're…" he then gestured his arms widely. "I dunno… well indulged?"

She pushed down the tears that welled up in her eyes, "Why do you care?"

He scoffed and leaned in towards her, "You know how many friends of mine asked for whores that looked like you? Many."

"And?"

"And?" He asked mockingly. "And? Who wants to fuck a whore that looks like you now?"

Her jaw went slack for a moment, completely shocked by his words. 

Finally, with now watery eyes, she spoke. "You're the worst kind of man, Aegon."

"Oh? And what kind is that?"

A sudden punch came from nowhere, landing on Aegon's jaw and sending him to the ground. 

Cregan stood over the man's body, a predatory look in his eyes and a murderous tone in his voice, "One that can't defend his fucking words."

Y/n pulled Cregan back, "Stop!"

He wanted to fight against her, but he knew better. His shoulders rolled back and he stood tall. 

She cursed under her breath as she took in exactly what had unfolded, "They could have your head for this, Cregan."

"Only if your brother wishes to defend his words against me again," Cregan scoffs as he looks down at the man.

Aegon sits up and huffs, wiping his nose that begins to leak blood. "Northern brute-"

"-Aegon!" She reprimands. 

Cregan glared at Aegon for a while, then scoffed and walked off a few steps to calm himself.

Aegon stands on shaky legs as he glares at his sister, "I liked you better when you lacked a guard dog."

Cregan immediately turned back to the man with a look that said he was ready to murder him. As he stepped forward, Aegon stepped back as he began to regret his words.

"Take me to our chambers, Cregan," she lightly pleaded. 

The wolf of the north only stared for a while before nodding, "Lead the way."

She sighed as she gave a final look to her brother. "Clean yourself up. You look like shit."

…

Standing behind Rhaenyra, Y/n and Cregan whispered idly to Daemon when someone would comment something out of hand. 

Luke's legitimacy was coming into question, and though the Starks knew the truth, they would not dare pry the inheritance from the boy's hands. That was not their place. So next to Daemon they stood as petitions were made to and against him.

Daemon leaned in to speak to Y/n, "how far along did you say you were?"

"Eight moons now," she whispered back.

Daemon let out a surprised grunt. "You're to have the child here then? That seems unlike you."

"Uncle, my father insisted I come, and I have. Whether the child is born in the North or the South, it is a Targaryen and Stark all the same."

He smiled lightly, "I suppose you're right. If you wish for someone to accompany Lord Stark to the dragon pit to choose a proper egg for the child, only say the word."

Cregan, who had been listening quietly, now leaned in, "I am to choose an egg?"

"It is tradition," she explained. "It can be before, during, or after the birth, but the father chooses the egg. If… If you would wish to continue that tradition."

He grinned, "I'd be delighted to try."

When Vaemond Valaryon stepped up forward to speak his mind, the Starks quieted. 

He spoke in anger, trying to take Luke's right. 

Y/n looked past him to her mother and siblings. 

Aegon looked like he'd rather be doing anything else. He didn't care the outcome of this ordeal. Aemond watched intensely with his one eye, taking in every detail. And Helaena… sweet Helaena. 

She needed to visit her and the children soon.

"And her children are…" Vaemond paused.

The room stilled.

"Say it," Daemon whispered under his breath.

"Her children are BASTARDS!" He screamed.

Y/n jumped back in surprise as Cregan's steady hands caught her waist.

"And she. Is. a. Whore." Vaemond finished.

The air in the room stilled and became stuffy as the tension reached an all time high.

Viserys stood on unstable legs as he unsheathed his dagger, "I will have… your tongue for this."

A sudden slice moved through the air, and half of Vaemond's head was gone.

Blood splattered across the ones' nearest, meaning the Starks. Cregan let out an annoyed grunt.

"He can keep his tongue," Daemon said proudly as he lowered his sword.

Y/n rested a hand over her swollen stomach with a shaky hand, trying to ignore the blood that began to seep into her clothes. 

Cregan leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Are you alright?"

"I… I want to go," she shuddered back.

He nodded, looking around as the crowd began to whisper amongst themselves. He held a hand firmly against her back as she became to let out an uncomfortable whine.

"Cregan, please," she whispered.

"Alright. Alright, let's go, my love," he said as he tried to move her through the crowd.

But her legs faltered as she let out a pained noise.

He caught her in panic, "Are you in pain?"

"The babe…"

No longer caring for proper manners, Cregan stood tall and looked over the crowd. "MOVE!" He yelled out.

The people quieted and moved as Cregan helped his wife through the room and out of the doors.

Alicent only saw a brief glimpse of her daughter's silver hair go through the doors, and she was on edge. She ran through the crowd to follow behind them.

He held onto his wife's arm with one hand and held her waist with the other, trying to support her as they moved to their chambers.

Y/n let out a gasp, and her water broke.

Alicent caught up to them and grabbed her daughter's other arm. "It's alright. You're alright." She turned to a servant and ordered him to get the maester. 

Sweat began to break out of the poor woman's forehead as the weight of what is happening began to settle. 

Once on her bed, Cregan refused to move from her side, Alicent as well. Alicent rubbed soothingly across her daughter's forehead as Cregan paced at the foot of the bed.

The maester and midwives came quickly, immediately moving to the woman in labor.

"My lord, it is best if you remain outside," one of them said.

Cregan's brows furrowed in confusion. "Out… Outside?"

Alicent chipped in, "It is tradition. The husband waits outside of the doors."

He stared at Y/n in thought. Tradition. How that word weighed on them like boulders. 

"Alright."

…

He tried to ignore the sounds of her cries as he stood in the corridor. 

Nothing could ease his worries. 

In the North, it was not uncommon to be by their wife's side. 

This was unusual to him.

"My lord," a midwife questioned as she poked her head from the room.

His eyes widened, "Is she alright?"

"The child is… having trouble, my lord."

That was Cregan's greatest fear. The maester in Winterfell had spent endless hours with Cregan to determine a plan for if such a thing were to occur. Now he was without a plan entirely.

"Alright?" He finally breathed.

"What do you wish for us to do?"

"What options do I have?" He spoke barely above a whisper.

The midwife gave him an empathetic look. "We can cut the child out-"

"-No." He was quick with his answer, the very thought of taking a blade to her seeming the greatest sin he could commit.

"Um… it will be painful, but we can help her force the child out."

"Is that safe for her?"

The midwife shrugged lightly, "More than any other option I can give you."

He nodded.

She gave a weak smile and moved back into the room, but Cregan caught the door before it closed and forced his way in.

At the sight of his wife, he felt as if a blade went into his own stomach.

She was crying in pain, the midwives forcing her hips down as she tried to move away from the pain, as if that was possible.

At the sight of him, her entire face relaxed, "Cregan…"

He moved to her side, "I'm here. How can I help?"

Alicent glared slightly at him. 

"They won't… I can't…" Y/n whimpered out.

"They won't what?" He looked up to Alicent, "What are they doing?"

"She wishes to get up. We cannot have her standing," she explained.

Cregan was thrown off by that. "She cannot? W… Why ever not?" When in labor with him, Cregan's mother was said to have walked the length of Winterfell 3x over. 

"It hurts… please, Cregan…" 

He nodded as his expression hardened. "Let her stand."

The maester shook his head, "She is nearing the labor. She should not-"

"-She wishes to stand. She will stand."

Alicent spoke up. "Lord Stark-"

"-This is my wife and child. If she wishes to walk, then she will," he barked. 

A fire lit behind the queen's eyes. "She will not."

The midwives watched the tension grow.

Finally, Cregan calmly reached down and began to help his wife sit up.

Alicent cursed under her breath and grabbed Cregan's wrist in an effort to stop him.

Cregan's eyes slowly moved up to Alicent's face as anger began to overcome him. 

But she was first to speak. "You are no longer in the North. You abide by our traditions when you are here."

He'd heard enough of that word for a lifetime. 

His words came out sharper than he intended, but he cared little to soften them. "Your family is made of vipers and cutthroats. When I take my wife and child back to Winterfell, it will truly be a miracle if you ever see them again, for I will not let her sit and be neglected and tormented. I am a brute, but I am not without heart. Now, Let. Go."

Alicent reluctantly let go.

Cregan helped Y/n sit, and she immediately felt relief. "I want to walk," she panted.

He nodded, practically holding her up as she stood. "We will walk the corridor and return." His voice had no room for argument.

Once they paced the corridor a few times, she was returned to the bed, only to find that Alicent had left. Cregan only cared about it when he noticed the tinge of sadness that moved over his laboring wife.

But he was quick to fill the gap. As she moved back to the bed, Cregan sat behind her and held her against his chest, messaging anywhere that began to ache.

The labor came soon after that. Cregan held her close as she screamed in pain and gripped his wrists. She surely left bruises.

"The babe is crowning, princess," the midwife exclaimed. "Keep pushing."

The pain came in waves that made her see white. 

Cregan began to panic when the midwives gave one another a look. "What?"

"She is not pushing hard enough."

Y/n began to cry in frustration.

"She is pushing," Cregan sighed. "What else is there to do?"

One of them reached up and began to push on her stomach, prompting the princess to cry harder as the pain multiplied. 

"Allow me," Cregan shifted her in his hold and carefully placed his hands where the midwife had, slowly applying pressure to the same place.

As Y/n screamed and cried, Cregan placed assuring kisses against her neck and cheek and whispered calming words to her. "You're doing well."

If the pain had not been so bad, she may have blushed.

…

Cregan held the baby close to his chest as his wife slept.

"My lord," a servant finally entered and interrupted the silence. "The queen has requested to see the child."

An annoyed feeling washed over the man. Of course, she wished to. 

The servant took note of his changed demeanor, "I can take-"

"-No," he countered. "I will go myself. Should my wife awaken in my absence, give her anything she desires."

His heavy feet stormed from the room and he walked to the queen's chambers.

Alicent turned and shock overcame her. "Lord Stark. I did not expect you to-"

"-Neither did I."

The two stared at one another for a moment before Alicent's eyes wandered to the bundle in the large lord's arms. "Healthy?"

"The very picture."

She nodded, unsure of what to say next.

"A boy," Cregan stated.

"A boy?" Alicent whispered. Any thoughts of annoyance were past to her, and she walked to the lord and eagerly looked at the child.

The baby was indeed the picture of health. Bright purple eyes looked up at the two. Dark hair sat atop his head.

"He's quite northern," she stated.

"Indeed." Cregan was sure she meant it as an insult, but he could care less. The thought of such a gift as a northern boy filled him with pride. 

"Congratulations, Lord Stark."

He nodded. "Your daughter is fine as well."

Alicent moved away from Cregan and sat down. "That is a blessing. To all of us. She will be a perfect mother."

"Aye, she will."

The tension between the two was evident, but they wouldn't let it dull the excitement of the newest addition to the line.

"I should return to my wife."

"Please, do."

Cregan moved to the door.

"Lord Stark?" She asked.

"Yes?"

Alicent stared at him and then the babe. "Thank you. For caring for her. And now him. You are a better man than most."

Cregan sighed. It wasn't a compliment, but it was something. "Thank you, my queen. She will want for nothing until my dying breath."

"This is all I wished for her."

......................................................

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver

[florencemtrash]

Take it Off - Azriel x Reader

Summary: You and Azriel have been friends for centuries... but what happens when he wakes up one day to find that things have changed? And how will he react when you start wearing Cassian's clothes?

Warnings: Angst. Jealous Azriel. Suggestiveness and then some (I don't know what warning to put, but it's spicier than my usual stuff is all I'll say). Cassian is an absolute menace... good for him

Author's note: Did I write this to procrastinate editing SSIB Ch 22 after watching Bridgerton S3?... yes

Is this a fucking game to you?

Cassian grinned over the lip of his cup, raising his brow in a poorly disguised expression of confusion. He’d been playing the innocent fool all throughout breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the daggers Azriel was throwing his direction every time he made you laugh.

Internally, he and Nesta were both cackling. He threw his arm over the back of his mate’s chair, plucking the cream puff she held out for him, and tossing it into his mouth with a shit-eating grin. 

I’ve not the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Azriel. Although it hurts me deeply to see you so upset.

Upset was an understatement. Azriel was holding onto his glass of orange juice so tightly cracks were beginning to form beneath his fingertips. 

You elbowed Azriel in the ribs, brows furrowed as you pointed your slice of toast towards his hand. “Are you ok?” You whispered low and just for his ears. 

The molten anger in his eyes melted away, hazel eyes softening as he took in your concerned expression. You were the first and only one of his family members to watch him so intensely. You could unravel the meaning in every twitch of his jaw, every rhythmic tap of his fingers against his thigh, every flicker of his shadows. You knew when he was upset, when he was happy, and when he wanted to laugh but had trouble expressing it. The only thing you weren’t aware of when it came to Azriel was how unbelievably in love with you he was. 

But that was his own fault. 

You’d watched him fawn over Mor for centuries, watched as he practically crawled on hand and knees for any kernel of affection she was willing to throw his way. Then, when you thought he’d finally gotten over his feelings for her, he’d chased after Elain’s heels like a dog in heat. You didn’t even want to begin thinking about Gwyn and the way she’d trampled over his hopes with the simple phrase, “I love you as a friend, Azriel. Nothing more.” 

No. It was entirely his fault that you’d learned to bury your own feelings for him so deep they’d become background noise — as inconsequential and ever present as the sound of your own breathing. 

Still… you couldn’t help but notice the secrets swimming in his eyes, the hurt and longing there that you could only guess the origin of. Who’d hurt him this time? You wondered. 

“I’m fine.” Azriel whispered, his hands ghosting over your thighs before deciding against touching you there. 

You hummed, clearly unconvinced. You held your toast in between your teeth, tasting the raspberry jam explode on your tongue as you reached over and carefully peeled Azriel’s fingers off his injured glass. 

His heart stuttered at the sight of your lips as they closed around your thumb, licking away crumbs and jam from your fingertips. But then his gaze dropped to your chest and his stomach soured. 

As Madja’s apprentice, you’d acquired a special interest in botany — an interest that had all but shoved you into Feyre’s studio so you could learn the skills necessary to depict all manner of flora and fauna in your field journal. When you’d complained about finding paint and charcoal stains over your clothes, Cassian had jumped on the opportunity to give you his old shirts to use as painting smocks. He had to congratulate himself for the stroke of genius. After all, he and Nesta had been discussing plans on how to get Azriel to admit his feelings for months now. 

Azriel did not respond well to outright suggestions or bullying. If he told Azriel to pull his head out of his ass and ask you on a proper date, the Shadowsinger would only hunker down on his preconceptions that he was unloveable, and that you were far too good for him. If he revealed to Azriel that you’d secretly loved him for decades that would only make him feel even more embarrassment and shame. 

No.

  Jealousy worked far better when it came to Azriel.

You looked comfortable and happy in Cassian’s clothes — a fact that escaped no one’s notice. You had the sleeves rolled up past your elbows, the rows of buttons at your back haphazardly done without wings to accommodate. You’d worn that particular shirt a half dozen times now and replaced any scent of Cassian with your own. 

Still, you were wearing another male’s shirt… and it was starting to drive Azriel insane.

“I was going to get rid of these and thought you might like them for… painting.” Azriel shifted on his feet, holding out the neatly stacked pile of clothes for you. 

You were laying on your stomach in bed, colored pencils and textbooks splayed out around you, but quickly righted yourself and sifted through the piles he handed you.

You held one up for a better look. 

“Azriel, you were just wearing this last week.” It still smelled like him — the scent of the Illyrian mountains at night woven through the soft, cotton material. “I can’t take this. Or this. Or this!” 

“I have more just like them.” 

You huffed, fists balanced on your hips. 

Azriel was a simple male with ample space in his wardrobe. When he wasn’t in his Illyrian leathers he wore the same three outfits on rotation, all of them nearly identical. If there was anyone who shouldn’t be giving away clothes, it was Azriel. 

“I really appreciate it, Az, but I’m ok. I don’t need these. Cassian already gave me enough hand-me-downs to last two decades at least.” 

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw jumped out. “Well I’m glad for that.” He was practically seething. You noticed, as you always did, but you couldn’t imagine that you were the cause of his frustrations. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Az? You’ve been acting strangely the past few days.” 

“It’s nothing.”

“I doubt that.” 

There were various things on his mind, chief among them you. So he took hold of the olive branch you’d extended him and laid down beside you, talking about everything and nothing at all. But one thing he avoided talking about at all costs was how the gentle scraping of your nails through his hair as he rested his head in your lap made him want to lock the door and never come out. 

He wanted to bury his face beneath your sundress and then tear it to pieces. He wanted to dive under the covers and leave an assortment of marks on your skin. To hold you so close that you began to smell like one another. 

You lay down beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder so he caught whiffs of your elderberry and lemon shampoo. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right? That’s what friends are for.” 

Right… friends. He was starting to hate that word. 

“Yes… I know.” 

How long do you think he’ll last?

Nesta felt Cassian’s soft laugh blow over the back of her neck as they crouched just behind the door of Feyre's painting studio.

Azriel had been undeniably irritable the last two weeks, his patience fraying like a linen skirt with the hem torn off. Cassian was still sporting a bruise on his cheek from this morning’s sparring session after one of his teasing remarks had hit a little too close to home. 

Not much longer. Look at him, Nes. He’s practically vibrating.

Nesta slapped her hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter. 

Azriel was restless, his wings kept opening and closing with agitation and the curve of his ears had long since turned a bright shade of pink. He’d had his shadows knock over a cup of ink earlier, sending its contents splattering over your shirt and staining the fabric beyond repair. But you’d only shrugged and said, “It’s my painting shirt. It’s meant to get dirty,” before going back to your canvas with a soft smile. The moment you’d turned your back to him, he’d silently cursed the ceiling. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He kicked himself, too focused on your continuing conversation to think that his meddling brother and sister-in-law might be watching. 

He hadn’t expected his emotions to take over so quickly, least of all with you. You’d been his best friend for over two hundred years. You were a staple in his life, more familiar to him than the childhood blanket he still had tucked away in his drawer. There was no reason why he should suddenly wake up one day and realize with a shock of surprise that he loved you and couldn’t imagine living in a world that didn’t have you in it. 

It had been such a silly moment as well. You’d been getting ready for Starfall, your hair done up and a flush of color spread over your cheeks and lips. He’d come to check in on you and lost his breath when he saw you sitting at the vanity, holding up earrings to your neck to see if they matched the satin of your deep blue gown. And then you’d politely asked him to lace up your dress and he’d nearly swallowed his tongue in surprise, forcing his hands to stop shaking as they brushed against your spine. Gods he’d wanted to throw himself off a balcony that night, if only because you’d be the one tasked with healing him. 

He wanted to throw himself off the balcony now. Let the ground swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to make a fool of himself in front of you… again. 

I give it another week. Nesta declared.

Cassian smirked. I know my brother. He won’t last another three days.

In the end they were both wrong. 

It only took two days for Azriel to finally snap.

“Take it off.” 

You swiveled around in your chair, tongue pressing against your cheek as you wondered what gave Azriel the audacity to march into your private lesson with Feyre and make such an out-of-character demand. 

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows. 

Azriel stood as still as an obsidian statue in the doorway. His wings loomed over his shoulders, talons reaching towards the ceiling tense and twitching. 

“Take. It. Off,” he repeated through gritted teeth. He clutched a neatly folded shirt in his hands, knuckles pale and bloodless from the tight grip. You’d been wearing Cassian’s clothes almost every day this past week and he couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t stand sitting beside you at the dinner table or in the library, the laughter in his throat dying when he caught Cassian’s scent drifting off your skin. 

It was maddening the way you didn’t think anything of it. 

Yes, Cassian was practically a brother to you, and yes, he was a mated male but… fuck it bothered Azriel so much to think of anyone else laying claim to you. To think that one day you might actually walk around wearing another male’s clothes because you loved them. To think that that male wouldn’t be him. 

He’d tried to bring up the topic with you in his own round-about way, but you’d shrugged off all his suggestions of wearing something — anything — else. 

“If you want painting clothes, why don’t we go shopping this afternoon? I’m sure Feyre has recommendations. Or we could just walk around the Rainbow until something catches your eye.” 

“I’m not a full time artist, and it seems silly to spend money on clothes you intend to ruin.” 

“Why don’t you ask Feyre or Mor for hand-me-downs then? They’ll fit you better and the sleeves won’t drag so much.” 

“I like it when my clothes are loose.” 

Feyre glanced between the two of you, namely the flare of Azriel’s nostrils and the way he ground his teeth so intently you worried he’d crack a tooth. 

“I’m… going to leave now.”

“Wait—Feyre!” 

The High Lady kissed your cheek, a knowing look in her eyes, before scurrying out the door. 

Don’t scowl so much, Az, you’re making her nervous. She chirped to the Shadowsinger before slipping down the hallway and disappearing. 

She made it all of ten feet down the hall before crowing, “It’s happening!” to the others. 

It’s happening?! Mor leapt out from her bedroom, a robe hastily tied around her waist and soap suds clinging to her hair. “Fey—” she hissed.

Feyre pressed a finger up to her lips, cutting her off. They’re in the art studio now. 

I fucking KNEW IT! Mor squealed in delight, stomping her feet soundlessly into the floorboards as she allowed Feyre to grab her wrist and drag her forward. 

I won the bet, Nes.

You didn’t win, we both lost!

Semantics. 

Why you bas—

Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Cassian, and Nesta streamed into the foyer. There was an air vent here that led directly to the art studio two floors above them and painted over so expertly it may as well have been part of the molding. The sounds traveling through it were muffled by echos and distance, but nothing that fae hearing and magic couldn’t overcome. 

“That’s it!” The chair you’d been sitting in skittered back with a squeak. “What is your problem, Azriel? You’ve been agitated for weeks now. You won’t tell me, or any of the others, what’s wrong and every time Cassian so much as glances in your direction you look like you want to tear his throat out!” 

Azriel said nothing as you stomped forward and dragged him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Whiskey eyes flickered down to your hand — the hand you currently had closed around his wrist — and he shuddered. 

You didn’t even want to begin to unpack the hidden meaning of that response as you brought him to the center of the room and let go. 

He dropped the shirt on the nearby desk, hands lowering to the hem of your painting smock with a grimace. 

“I need you to take this off.” He repeated with a frown.

“What kind of person marches into a room and demands that their friend take off their shirt?” 

He flinched at that word — friend.

“Az!” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and his anger. “What is going on with you?!” 

“It’s nothing.” He growled out, but he tugged at the hem like its very existence was a personal offense.

“Clearly it’s not nothing.”

“Can you just take off your shirt and put this one on?”

You shoved him away. It wasn’t even like he was asking you to get naked, you both knew you were wearing something beneath this, but it was the way he was asking that grated on your nerves — like what he was requesting was perfectly normal and you were the ridiculous one for not listening.

“No.” You folded your arms over your chest with a huff. You were just being stubborn now, but you didn’t care. 

His eyes turned tortured and he clasped his hands together in front of you. “Please?” He begged.

“No! Not until you tell me what’s going on and why you’re acting this way!” 

“I don’t want to have this discussion while you’re standing there smelling like another male!”

That was… not what you were expecting.

You gaped at him, unsure whether to howl with laughter, or slap him across the face. 

“That’s what this is about? You’re upset because I’m wearing Cassian’s clothes?” You gagged at the mere thought of what Azriel was insinuating. 

“Well that was a little hurtful.” Cassian mumbled. 

Mor slapped the back of his head. “Shhhhh. I’m trying to listen.”

Azriel shifted on his feet, color beginning to spread high on his cheekbones. “It’s not about Cassian… not really…”

You tapped your foot on the ground, waiting for him to continue. Azriel felt naked. Stripped back like one of your insect specimens lit up beneath a microscope. Your eyes raked over his every movement. Even his shadows, usually so attention-seeking, cowered behind their master’s back whispering to one another about how Azriel might dig himself out of his own grave. 

“Well?” You snapped. 

Azriel shrank back, “I… I like you, Y/n.” 

You rolled your eyes, “I know, that’s why we’re friends. I like you too.”

“No. Not… not like that.” Azriel groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh I’m fucking this up so badly it’s not even funny anymore.” 

“I don’t even know what it is you’re fucking up. I—”

“I love you, ok?” He said in a burst of energy.  “I love you and not in the way that friends are meant to love one another and Cassian’s an idiot and I’m a jealous bastard and I… I…” 

You stared back dumbly. “You can’t mean that.” 

Azriel’s face fell. “And why not?”

“Because I have been here for decades, centuries,” you jabbed his chest with a finger, “And you never once looked at me that way. Never once considered me as anything more than a friend. You’re upset because I’ve been wearing Cassian’s clothes the last few weeks? Well guess what, Az, I’ve watched you walk in and out of those doors for years with your poorly concealed hickies and that lovesick look on your face, and I never made it your problem or anyone else’s.” 

“Well I want you to!” He shouted. It was the first and only time you could remember him raising his voice. “I want you to make it my problem, Y/n. I want you to tell me that you love me and I want you to shout at me for all the stupid decisions I’ve made because I’m yours. I’m yours to shout at. I’m yours to get angry with. I’m yours to love if you’ll still have me and…” Azriel gasped for breath, chest heaving as he came face to face with the fact that he’d just said those words out loud. Those words that he’d kept close to his chest with the rest of his secrets. Those words that proved just how completely at your mercy he was. 

Please say you’ll still have me. His eyes begged. 

When you didn’t move or say anything, he felt a piece of his heart wither away. He lowered his eyes, suddenly interested in a speckle of red paint that had smeared under his boot, “Forgive me. I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t… I shouldn’t have—” 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Azriel.” You muttered breathlessly. 

Then you flung yourself into his arms and crashed your lips into his. 

Kissing Azriel was better than you could have ever imagined. The fantasies you’d constructed late in the night when you were lonely blew apart like paper houses, crumbling in the face of reality. His mouth fumbled for purchase against your lips before slotting into place with a strangled moan. He lifted you in the air and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, tightening them until you could feel him harden between your legs. 

His tongue flitted over your lips tasting like oranges and magic. 

But his hands. 

His hands. 

You couldn’t get enough of them as they slid up and down your back, squeezing and pressing into your skin until he’d memorized the curve of your spine. You wove your fingers in his hair, tilting his head so you could stare into his hazel eyes before diving in for another taste. 

He walked you back to the desk, shadows flinging the tins of charcoal and pastel pencils off the furniture so you could perch there instead. Then he surged forward, pressing his hips into the space between your legs so he could feel the heat that gathered there. It sent shivers down his spine.

This… this was everything he’d ever wanted. You were everything he’d ever wanted. Not some unapproachable female he admired from afar but hardly knew, but someone who’d seen every inch of his soul and never flinched. Someone who’d nestled into the hidden corners of his heart and grown there like a willow tree. 

You moved your hands over the wide expanse of his back, digging your nails in to feel every twitch of muscle, every shudder, as he latched onto the side of your neck and slid his tongue over the sensitive skin there. 

He smelled like mountain rain. Like fresh wind and petrichor and sea salt. 

You smelled like lemons and safety. Like maple leaves and lavender and… Cassian.

Because you were still wearing his gods-damned shirt. 

Azriel felt his blood boil, and an instinctual rage took over as he growled low in his throat, bunched the fabric of Cassian’s shirt in his hands, and tore it in two.

You pulled away from him at the sound of ripping fabric, but kept your grip on his solid shoulders as air blew across your skin.

Azriel’s pupils were blown wide, his lips pink and raw as he leaned his forehead against yours in a daze. You continued to breathe each other’s air like you were drowning. He seemed just as in disbelief as you, if not more. 

“Azriel…” You whispered, chest heaving. 

He looked at you with half-lidded eyes full of heat. “... yes, Y/n?” He asked breathlessly.

“I think you ripped through my dress… and my bra as well…” 

“Oh…” He fingered the ruined fabric that fell loose around your shoulders and realized that your back was indeed on full display. The straps of your bra slipped down and the mangled buttons of your sundress clung to their loops by weak threads. “Oh…oh gods.” 

One hand flew up to your chest to keep the fabric in place while the other slapped over your mouth, suffocating the laughter that threatened to burst forth. 

Azriel’s ears and cheeks turned brighter than the sun as he slowly lowered you down to your feet, fumbling over apologies like he hadn’t been shoving his tongue down your throat mere seconds ago. 

“I’m so sorry—” 

“Azriel, it’s ok.” 

“No, I was being an ass and now I’ve ruined your dress and—” 

“You can buy me more.”

Azriel’s shoulder dropped. “I can?” “You can.” 

He shook his head very seriously. “Yes, yes you’re right, I—” Azriel had always been the beautiful one — the one that drew eyes when he walked into a room. The one that had females and males falling out of their seats for a proper look at his elegant features. But right now he looked so helpless, so flustered and unsure of himself that you finally lost it. 

Champagne bubble laughs slipped out of your mouth, light and airy, and sent a shock of warmth through Azriel’s chest. It was infectious the way the skin stretched over your cheeks. The light in your eyes couldn’t be contained no matter how hard you tried. 

He couldn’t help himself. 

He started laughing too. 

What began as one of his reserved chuckles grew into uncontrollable peals of laughter that echoed throughout the studio and had you clutching onto the desk for support. 

Azriel doubled over, one hand holding the stitch in his side together as you howled. 

“Oh gods. I can’t—” You hiccuped. “I-I-I can’t breathe.” 

Soon you were both kneeling on the ground, clutching each other’s arms for some semblance of stability. You gasped for breath, wiping away tears from the corners of your eyes. 

Azriel captured one of your hands, weaving his fingers through yours before bringing your wrist to his lips for a soft, reverent kiss. You thought you’d experienced enough emotions for today ranging from frustration to anger to a joy you couldn’t begin to put into words. But you were certain your heart could handle one more shift in the atmosphere. 

Wordlessly you tugged off Cassian’s shirt, dropping it to the side where shadows caught hold of the cursed fabric and quickly tossed it into the fireplace. The flames crackled with triumph, eating away at the shirt with a vengeance. 

“A little dramatic, don’t you think?” 

“We can agree to disagree.” Azriel murmured, his eyes growing dark and heavy. His gaze drifted down to the soft skin now exposed from your tattered dress, the thin straps clinging to your arms, the gentle swell of your breasts as you breathed heavily. 

His fingers danced over the straps in silent permission, eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But you were open and wanting and desperate for his touch. You crawled into his lap and a faint nod was all he needed before the pale blue fabric of your dress fell down and bunched about your waist. The bra followed, and then you were sitting there naked from the waist up, feeling the heat grow between your bodies as Azriel looked at you with pure adoration in his eyes. 

“Am I dreaming, Y/n?” He whispered, rubbing circles into your hip bones. 

You smiled softly, “Have you dreamed of me before?”

“Yes. Many times.” He kissed your chest, slowly dragging his hands down your ribs as you shivered and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and then his belt buckle. “But we never got this far.” 

“Hmmmm, I think we could go a little further.” 

“NOT IN MY STUDIO!” Feyre’s voice echoed oddly through the room, sounding muffled and far away. 

Azriel’s wings flared out, hiding you from view as you yelped and pressed your chest against his. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment about being found in such a compromising position. But the door was closed! And so were the windows!

His shadows finally found the culprit in the air vent.

“Godsdamnit—HAVE YOU BEEN LISTENING THE ENTIRE TIME?!” Azriel shouted. 

A moment passed before Feyre answered, “... No,” in a much softer tone. 

“We missed part of the beginning,” Cassian chimed in. 

Azriel groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as you were stunned into silence. He muttered something beneath his breath that sounded oddly similar to, “I swear I’m going to kill him one day.”

Azriel helped you to your feet and finally, you put on his shirt. 

“Are you happy now?” You teased, arms dropping to your sides. 

The corner of his lip twitched upwards. You looked… very good in his clothes with the sleeves rolled up and a sliver of your dress (now skirt) peeking out from beneath. 

He looked towards the vent, then wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close so he could whisper, “I would be happier if I saw my shirt and that dress of yours on the floor of my bedroom.” 

His hand slid up your skirt, squeezing the back of your thighs in a way that had you stiffening. 

All at once he was second-guessing himself. Maybe he’d taken things too far. Maybe the lust-filled haze had cleared and you didn’t want him anymore. 

You swallowed and wrapped your hand around his wrist, gently guiding his fingers to your core. You let him know just how much you wanted this. 

A roar of blood sounded in the Shadowsinger’s ears. 

“I think that sounds like a very good plan.” You murmured in agreement and his eyes turned black as night.

He stole another long kiss before scooping you into his arms. 

“Az, where are we going?” You giggled into the curve of his throat as he flew down the hallway and stairs. “We just passed your bedroom.” 

“We’re not going to my bedroom.”

“Well we missed my bedroom too.” 

He didn’t respond.

Azriel skidded to a stop at the top of the staircase, already well aware that his family had gathered at the bottom and were waiting to bombard him with questions. 

Azriel smirked at you, leaned down, and kissed your cheek. “When I take you to bed properly, it won’t be with our nosey family members in the house.” He ran his tongue across the line of your jaw all the way to your earlobe and whispered, “I want any noises you make to be for me, and me alone.” 

“You are certainly a man of poetry, Az.”

He smiled. “Only for you.” 

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the two love—” Shadows flew into his mouth, muffling his words. “HEH! Azz! Whazthf—”

“I’ll see you in a week.” He said to no one in particular, his shadows opening the door of the River House. 

“Where are you going?” Mor asked, her eyes zeroing in on the bright red mark blossoming on your neck. What the fuck? She mouthed at you, giving you two thumbs up as Azriel crossed the doorway with you in his arms.

“None of your business. I’ll see you in a week.” Then he looked down at you, eyes growing soft. “We’ll see you in a week,” he corrected himself. 

Your stomach bottomed out, heat flowing through your body as you heard him make such a declaration in front of... well everyone. You couldn't wait to see where he would take you and where he would take you.

"Ready?" Azriel asked, a sultry smile growing on his face.

"Ready."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in the hollow of his throat as he took off into the air. 

[a-b-riddle]

Part Four

Can't stop thinking about reader losing her cool.

"So we're closed, John." You said, trying to be cordial.

"Is that all you have to fucking say?" He practically growled before huffing. A humorless chuckle rumbling out of his chest. "I suppose not since you won't respond to any of us."

"Don't do that." You said taking a step back. Trying to create some distance between you and him. John would never physically hurt you. That much you knew.

"What?" He asked. His voice rising as he stepped closer to you. "Be angry that you pulled that shit and then left? Stopped talking to us. Changed your fucking locks. Last thing we even knew about you was that you got on a fucking plane and left. Even your friends wouldn't tell us anything besides that you were okay." "Which considering this came out of bloody nowhere, I find it highly unlikely that you are in any way 'okay'."

You took a deep breath. You wouldn't be intimidated. You wouldn't clam up. You wouldn't cry. You won't go back on your decision. You will be cordial and polite and not unleash everything you want to.

"I understand you might be upset, but it's for the best. It wasn't working out and I wanted to end on somewhat good terms. I would appreciate it if you lowered your voice and stopped speaking to me in that way." You could barely recognize your voice. It sounded so scripted. So robotic. But it was something you had been telling yourself. Excuses you had been telling yourself.

Because if you told yourself the truth. The picture you would paint would tell a different story. It wouldn't highlight the fact that John spoke to you like he was one of your men or that Johnny had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. It wouldn't show what a flake Kyle was or that Simon was well and truly a mean-spirited person.

It would show how you weren't worth it. Four possible men. Four possibilities of happily ever after and none of them chose you. That no one ever did and no one ever would. You weren't worth it. You weren't loveable.

It wasn't right, but it was what the voices had been telling you late in the night. When you would crawl into your cold bed. The silence of the room not filled with John's steady breathing or the sound of Kyle's heartbeat as you laid you head on his chest. The absence of Johnny's occasional snoring or whatever Simon was watching playing in the background of your dreams.

In the void, all your dark thoughts came back at you.

"Upset?" He asked, his voice still louder than you would have liked. "An understatement considering the stunt you pulled."

"You think it was a stunt?"

"So Johnny thought with his dick and didn't plan things out. You should have told him instead of crying to Simon and then pulling this shit." "Christ, I knew you were still young, but I didn't take you for that immature."

"You know what?" "I'm done." "I am so fucking sick of making excuses for you all." "You want to act like I'm the immature one, John?" "You are 35-year-old man who cannot separate his work from his work like. You have continuously talked to and down to me like I am one of your men, only to turn around and always blame your shitty fucking attitude on work. I get that your job is stressful, but I did not sign up to be your verbal fucking punching bag."

"And this come and fucking go incident with Johnny. It has been a consistent issue with him coming over just to fuck. I've asked him for that last six months that 'hey, we've been seeing each other for a year and a half, I would love to meet your family' and suddenly the dates stop. He doesn't ask to see me until after 7 PM. He brings food occasionally, fucks me and leaves. Sometimes before I even wake up."

"And the only reason Kyle is the person I am the least pissed off with is because I haven't even seen him." You took a step closer, not noticing how the anger in John's eyes had softened. "I have not seen Kyle in weeks, to no fault of my own. I stopped reaching out to make dinner plans after the third time he canceled on a date night when I was either on my way or already at the restaurant."

"And Simon?" You scoffed. "Well, it doesn't really matter. After all, as he said I get mine. You all make me cum which is supposed to magically erase how shitty you've all been as partners. It's supposed to erase the nights I've cried myself to sleep debating on whether or not there was something wrong with me. How I'm not good enough to meet anyone else in your lives like some dirty fucking secret. How none of you can even bother to pencil me for a group dinner so I can tell you a publishing house picked up my book. How at some point you all stopped caring or maybe never did."

You took a breath. Blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay.

You wouldn't cry. You wouldn't cry.

"As Simon said it best, I should have known that spreading my legs wouldn’t end with one of you putting a ring on your finger.”

For once, John was silent. Unsure of what to say. An apology starting to form at the tip of his tongue before realizing 'sorry' wouldn't cut it. Not this time.

Had he really been that sharp with you? He knew that there were times he had gotten short, but he almost always apologized immediately after. If not at the very moment he took in your crest-fallen face, then definitely later. But he almost always told you he was sorry. Didn't he?

"So as I said," you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "I'm closed. We're done. Now get out." Your face held no sadness. Even though your eyes were nearly full to the brim with unshed tears, you weren't sad.

You were finally angry.