#eventually had to just make a decision on the shading and run with it

[carnage-queen-exe]

Vivid Shadows Summoning

[heartpascal]

or is it loneliness?

▹— (eventual) spiderverse found family x platonic!reader

▹— summary: you need closure, and information. two visits kind of give you that.

▹— a/n: guys idk what im DOING. i have things planned for atsv but not how we’re gonna get there … rn im just yolo-ing. im not a big fan of this one but im gonna start writing the next one asap, which will hide fully be more found family-ish lmao arachnid is gonna start warming up to them all some day i swear

▹— warnings: angst, injuries, not good thoughts, dead parents, sensory issues, explosions, violence, fighting, blood?, damaged hearing for a good minute, peter b parker eating burgers deserves its own warning, food, mention of throwing up / nausea, insecurities about being good enough, refusing help, idk what else, if ive missed anything let me know!!!

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree (everything taglist) @justmare @uniquemonstrosity @lacunaanonymoused @erensbbg @dulceteris @noxxing @escherichiacolli @ray-rook @i-3at-kidz @miwagila @stoneforests (is it freedom’verse) — also i only tagged those who explicitly asked to be tagged!

MASTERLIST , part one

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

You spend a long time sat on the edge of the open window, staring out at the traffic below after getting back from Spider Society HQ. There’s a tangible relief that comes with returning to your dimension, like a weight being removed, a tension that is finally released from where it had been pulled taut. Your shoulders feel just as heavy as they did when you left, but you try not to think about it. You try to be happy that you’re back.

While you wouldn’t say it aloud, and you hate to even have the thought, you don’t think anybody had noticed you were gone. But then again, who would? You have no reason to be so upset about such a thing.

Time slips by as you diligently sew up the tears in your suit, frowning as you hold it up once you’re finished. It looks nothing like it used to, but then again, neither do you. Things have changed, it only makes sense that your suit would, too. You wonder if travelling through alternate dimensions can alter your perception of things. You’d swear that your suit had been a different shade before you left, lighter, maybe, but you have nothing to compare it to.

At least now, this time, when you put on your suit there is evidence of damage that Gwen Stacy had caused. The stitching along your the material where she had tore into you is a tangible thing, physical, and you run your fingers across it as if it might disappear. It’s almost a relief, to be able to feel where she had caused you pain, as opposed to the invisible ache she had left within you after fighting her the first time around.

Alongside the scar raised on your body, the fight with Gwen had left you with a sort of paranoia. An uncertainty in the back of your mind that has you glancing over your shoulder, has you messing up simple manoeuvres as you panic, thinking you hear her voice.

It must have been your third day back from the HQ that you come to the conclusion that you have to visit Gwen Stacy in her prison.

The decision doesn’t come easily. It comes slowly, torturously so, a realisation that deafens you as you glare through squinted lenses at the city around you. You won’t be able to go on like this, getting yourself hurt in stupid ways all because you’re not certain that she’s back in her prison. You’re meant to be a hero, which means that messing up, despite whatever paranoia that lingers in the back of your head, is unacceptable. It has consequences.

Seeing her in the flesh will likely be the hardest thing you’ll ever do. Except, maybe, not killing her when you caught her in that other dimension. You keep your mind on the fact that she won’t be able to touch you, that she’ll be walled away, to reassure yourself that there is no risk of either of you hurting the other — at least, physically.

But seeing her isn’t the only difficult part.

No, the hardest part is stepping back into an identity that you had lost your grasp on, long ago. You wear your old clothes, clothes that you hadn’t put on in months, and try to remember how it felt to be you, rather than Arachnid.

“Hi, Mrs. Stacy.” You say, when the door to an all too familiar apartment opens just a slither, and you catch sight of her wrinkled eyes. There’s a noticeable change to them when she realises who you are, and she’s slamming the door shut, undoing the chain, and reopening it before you can say another word.

She whispers your name like she can’t believe it’s you — and you can’t blame her.

You had disappeared, months ago, after the death of your father. Going missing was far easier than being placed in a foster system that would only hold you back. It had been so much easier, not having to face anyone, not having to speak at his funeral.

“Hi.” You repeat, when her stare lingers in the silence for far too long. The sound of your voice once again breaks her out of her trance, and she’s rushing forward to pull you into her arms as if you were her child. You suppose, in some ways, it was quite a lot like that. At the very least, your presence will remind her of the daughter she had lost.

“Where have you been? Oh, honey, I was so worried.” Mrs. Stacy says, her voice trembling by your ear as she squeezes you tight, unfazed by your lack of reciprocation. “Come inside, please.”

You follow her through the doorway, closing the door behind you as you had done so many times before. Not looking around at the apartment is near impossible, but you’re not sure how much familiarity you can take. Even just seeing Mrs. Stacey’s aged face makes your chest ache, your legs feeling shaky.

“Sit down, honey, let me get you a warm drink.” She says, a tremor to her voice as she bustles towards the kitchen which is adjoined to the living room. The news plays on the television, and you’re glad to hear a weather report, rather than some city-wide attack. Mrs. Stacy is quiet as she goes through the process of making your favourite drink, but with your enhanced hearing you listen to the telltale clink of a spoon against ceramic. You listen closely to her hitched breathing as her footsteps pad back into the room. “Here.” She hands you the warm mug, and you don’t comment on the way her hand shakes.

“Thank you.” You say, though it feels stilted, wrong, too formal. It’s hard to be normal in this setting, to be whoever you used to be, especially as she stares at you like she’s seen a ghost.

Mrs. Stacy stares at you for a long while before she speaks again, as if she’s still not sure that you’re real. “Where have you been? After—After your dad… we didn’t know what happened to you. Are you safe? Do you need help?” She asks, frantic once she’s gotten started on her questions.

“Mrs. Stacy, I’m fine, really.” You lie, smiling tightly over the rim of the mug as you hold it towards your face. Before, you would’ve burnt your tongue drinking it too fast, but you’re hesitant to drink it at all. The last thing you want is to become too familiar to your old life. “I’ve been staying with some friends, downtown. It’s been good.”

She raises a brow at you, and stares for a moment longer. “Honey… you don’t look well.” She tells you, and raises the back of her hand to press it against your forehead. Her frown only deepens when you flinch away from the touch. You try not to curse yourself too much, but can’t help reprimanding the way you hadn’t anticipated such an action.

The skin on your forehead is clammy, but that’s just the anxiety, the nerves at being back here. Arachnid can’t get sick.

“Listen, I… I was hoping I could ask a favour from you.” You say, hesitantly, gripping the warm mug tight between your hands, but loosen your fingertips against the ceramic when you hear a minute crack.

Mrs. Stacy furrows her brows, looking more concerned by the second, but nods. “Of course, anything.” She tells you, and places one of her hands against yours on the mug.

“I was hoping I could visit Gwen.” You voice, after one last moment of hesitation. The way her face immediately crumples at the request doesn’t give you much hope, especially as her hand withdraws from your own. “I—I know you don’t get to see her very often, and maybe it’s selfish, but… I don’t know. I wanted some kind of closure, I guess.” You ramble on in response to her silence, glaring down at the liquid still swirling in your mug.

“Honey,” Mrs. Stacy interrupts, her voice soft in contrast to the way yours was growing in volume. You quiet immediately, your gaze drawn up to where her tearful eyes stare at you, her expression almost mourning. “I would never deny you that, but you should know… I haven’t visited Gwenny since she was put in there.” She admits, her stare dropping to her lap, almost ashamed.

“Oh,” You voice, softly, in response. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed— I—I mean, I can’t even imagine—”

“No, don’t be silly, how would you have known?” She replies, raising her eyebrows at you strictly. “Now, I can get you that visit. I’ll call my attorney first thing tomorrow, but… really, honey, do you need me to call someone for you? Who are these friends?”

Her voice is familiar, and it’s kind, which makes it all the more painful. It’s strange, seeing the resemblance between her and the Green Goblin, and it makes a part of you ache. Your life wasn’t the only one torn apart by Gwen. In fact, her mother probably faced the worst of it. With her husband being long gone, her oldest son away at college, youngest withdrawn after her daughter became a homicidal maniac, who did she really have left? Who was looking after Helen Stacy?

You smile at her, as best as you can without tearing up, and reach out to grasp her hand, which she readily accepts. “I’m okay, Mrs. Stacy, I… It’s just a few friends of my dad, from his home town. Their kids, too. It’s better than being put in the system.” You tell her, and can only hope that she believes you. You have no way to back up these lies, knowing those friends of your father don’t exist.

“You could’ve stayed here, you know?” She says, teary and squeezing your hand so tightly you can hear your bones creaking. You smile sadly at her.

“You’re a much stronger person than me, Mrs. Stacy. I couldn’t even face my dad’s funeral, let alone be around the memories of somebody I lost. This place, it—it reminds me of her.” You explain, voice shaking as you hold back your own tears, swallowing them down and trying to breathe through the ache in your throat.

The way her heart breaks is almost loud enough for you to hear it, but she nods her head understandingly, regardless. “Of course,” She says, nodding still, “But know you always have a place here, okay?”

“Okay.” You respond, heart clenching so tightly you’re not sure it can pump your blood any longer.

“Now, what’s your number? Your old phone was disconnected.” She says, shaking her tears away to pull out a pad and pen from the coffee table. She sets the notepad against her knee, looking expectantly toward you.

“Oh, right,” You stutter, teeth chattering as you comb your mind for the number of your burner phone. “There was a mixup, because it was in my dad’s name.” You explain needlessly, still searching your mind for the answer. Finally, you remember it. You listen to her ballpoint pen scrape along the paper as she writes the numbers as you say them, and then she clicks the pen off after writing your name beside it, underlining it twice.

“How about I give you a call with the details of your visit, okay, honey?” She asks, nodding with a pleased hum at your affirmative. “Good. Stay for dinner, okay? I’ve missed you.”

Who are you to deny her that?

Though, even as you try to pretend that you help to set up the table for her benefit, and as you hug Gwen’s little brother tightly when he comes home for his, you know, deep down, that it’s for you. That this is a moment of selfishness that you’ll let yourself have, because god, you deserve it, don’t you?

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It’s thirteen days post Spider Society discovery, and you’re starting to regret the way you discarded that watch so carelessly. Not because you want to be a part of some cult of superheroes, but because you wish you had asked some more questions.

Surely Miguel O’Hara must’ve known a way to stop these villains from appearing in other universes? And if he did, had he already implemented whatever it was to stop Gwen escaping again? How exactly did she escape the first time? Was it a coincidence? Is there somebody out there, working behind the scenes, helping her get out?

You, unfortunately, have no way to answer any of the burning questions nagging at the back of your head. While a part of you hopes that you never see any of the Spider Society weirdos again, you also desperately want answers. Especially if it meant you could call off your visit to Gwen Stacy.

But the day arrives as any other does, and you spend every moment before the drive over to the prison desperately hoping that one of the Spider-people will show their face. None of them do, and you’re left to get into Mrs. Stacy’s car and simply brace for the journey ahead.

You’re pretty sure that swinging would be quicker, or easier, but you had no way to explain that way of transport to an interrogating Mrs. Stacy, and so you had to relent to her insistence on driving you. Now, you sit here, shifting in the seat of the car, uncomfortable without your suit underneath the clothes you used to wear on a daily basis. Even the knowledge that it’s stuffed into the bottom of your tattered backpack in the boot of Mrs. Stacy’s car doesn’t bring you any comfort.

Instead, the rough material of an old jacket has your skin crawling like you were being bitten by a thousand mosquitos, and the trousers on your legs itch like you’re allergic to them.

You suppose, really, that the spider bite that gave you so many powers had to have more drawbacks than just destroying your life. It only makes sense that your heightened senses would extend to the receptors on your skin. It makes every movement in these clothes torturous, and you wonder if it had always been this way, or if you were just so unused to wearing your old style of clothes. Either way, you hope that you won’t have to wear them for much longer.

If it all goes to plan, you should be in and out of the prison, just ensuring that Gwen Stacy is actually in the cell as she’s supposed to be. Then you just have to endure the fifty minute drive back to the city with Mrs. Stacy, and you’re free. You won’t have to wear these clothes again, won’t have to use your name, no — you can just sink back into the half life that is being Arachnid. It’s better that way.

“Okay, honey, here we are.” Mrs. Stacy says at last, having shifted her car into park. She pointedly avoids looking at the looming high-security prison ahead, instead focusing on you as you wipe your sweaty palms against your trousers. “Now you take as much time as you need in there, alright? I’ll be just out here, if you need me.”

You smile tightly at her, nodding with what you hope is more of a grateful expression rather than a grimace. “Thank you, Mrs. Stacy, really. I appreciate it, more than you know.”

That much was true — after all, it wasn’t like you could tell her that she was allowing the vivid paranoia you had been experiencing to be put to rest after her daughter escaped to another universe. Mrs. Stacy, from what you could gather, didn’t even know that Gwen had been missing for any amount of time. She had no idea what Gwen had done, how many more people she had hurt, but you assured yourself that it was better that way. Mrs. Stacy already had to deal with plenty, and that knowledge surely wouldn’t help.

She was already dealing with her own grief and feelings on the situation, as well as trying to support her two sons in the matter. Given what Gwen’s little brother had asked of you when he found out about you visiting her, you knew that he hadn’t been to visit Gwen, either. It seemed that he wasn’t coping with it all very well.

“Of course, you’re family. You should know that by now.” She says, smiling with teary eyes, reaching across the console to grasp your hand tightly in her own.

Her words take a stab at your chest, especially considering what had happened to everybody else who had seen you as family. Dead parents, villainous best friend — it really didn’t bode well for your loved ones. You just reassured yourself with the fact that you’d be able to disappear as soon as the two of you returned to the city. You couldn’t put her in any danger, that way, or her remaining kids.

“I’ll—I’ll see you after, okay?” You respond, squeezing her hand in return before quickly letting go and throwing open the car door, getting out and catching a slither of Mrs. Stacy’s surprised reply before you shut the car door.

There are guards waiting for you at the gates, checking you are who you say you are, scanning you for weapons before you even get in the building. They’re satisfied after their searches, content that you weren’t stupid enough to bring a weapon into a highly secure prison. You keep your focus on your breathing as they walk you in, handing you clothes to change into as well as a box to put all of your belongings in.

The scrub-like clothes they give you are even worse than your own, sending shivers up and down your spine at the feeling of each fibre scraping against your skin. You just try to breathe through it. Luckily, the rest of the security checks blur by, which means less time spent on agonising over this visit. You barely hear a word of the statement they read to you before you go in, and your hand cramps as you write your signature against a dotted line of a waiver. All of the other legal things were sorted out by Mrs. Stacy’s lawyer, which you are more than thankful for.

Instead of having to deal with that, you just have to wait.

You think that the waiting might be the worst part of it all. With the scrubs making your hairs raise and promoting uncomfortable shivers up and down your body, as well as the cold metal seat that they sat you on, you’re far too aware of everything around you. You can hear the hundreds of heartbeats in the buildings, the beeping of security doors, the footsteps heading your way. You can smell the coffee that the head guard in the adjoining room to the one you’re in is drinking, as well as the day-old sandwich in his desk. Worst of all is the way your own heartbeat is thrumming in your throat, padding harshly against your chest, so loud in your own ears that it slowly starts to drown out everything around you.

Gwen’s footsteps are heavy, accompanied by the clinking of the chains she’s shackled in. You can practically hear the maniacal laughter that had come from her whilst in that alternate dimension, even though she’s completely silent as she enters the room.

She smiles at you when you look up, and for a moment you’re fooled — it’s soft, gentle, kind. But then you see the glimmer in her eyes that was distinctly not Gwen, and you feel the scar along your side throbbing with phantom pain.

You smile tensely at the guards, who regard you with looks of gentle concern and caution, before they attach her chains to a link on the floor beside a chair three metres away from where you sit. They nod at you, which you return, and you watch as they go and take their positions beside the door before you move your eyes back to the elephant in the room — which is Gwen Stacy.

“So, you missed me?” She asks, baring her teeth in a grin that has too much teeth to be anything friendly. Gwen regards you closely as you stare at her, watch for any signs of flickering, any signs that this isn’t real. Her brows raise slowly, the longer you’re silent, but you’re in no hurry to talk. “No? Is that not it?”

“Sure, I miss you.” You respond after another stretch of silence, tilting your head to study her more closely. You don’t acknowledge the way that your voice shakes as you speak, the way it comes out in something closer to a croak before you swallow harshly against your dry throat. “Thought I’d come to check in.” You add, brows furrowing to make sure she gets your true meaning.

“Ah,” She voices, then laughs, shoulders shaking, chains clanking loudly against her metal chair. “I get it, now.”

Gwen doesn’t add anything else after that, even though you suspected that she may take this opportunity to loudly claim that you were Arachnid, outing your identity once and for all. Apparently, if she does want to out your identity, she doesn’t want to do it like this, as she stays silent until you speak.

You sit forward on your chair, ignoring the way the guards at the edges of the room shift uneasily at your movement. “Your mom arranged this for me, you know?” You say, eyebrow raised. She probably knows what you’re doing, or what you’re trying to do, but she doesn’t voice it. Instead, she just shifts to lean backwards in her own chair, sighing as if relaxing.

“Hmm, so she can visit.” Gwen says, nodding her head as if it’s all making sense now.

“She can, she just doesn’t want to. Neither does Georgie.” You respond, and find satisfaction in the way her eyes flash at the mention of her little brother, the nickname that the two of you both used to call him. She recovers quickly, but you can tell that she knows it wasn’t quick enough. The Green Goblin cracked, right in front of your very eyes. It’s proof that, if anything, her little brother has some meaning. “He wanted me to tell you something.”

Her head tilts across from you, though she doesn’t move from her laid back position.

You clear your throat, and look at the words you’d written on your skin. She tilts her head forwards the slightest amount, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, glancing at the guards who look just as uncomfortable as you feel. “He said that he misses his Gwenny, but he doesn’t want you coming home.” You stare at her as you repeat his message, the one he had told you nervously, as if he was truly afraid that Gwen would escape and come back. Her eyes twitch as she focuses on keeping her expression cool, but you know that the words have hit something in her, even if it’s part of the Green Goblin. “Looks like you even ruined your own family.”

You’re up on your feet as she lurches forwards, flung backward from where she tried to go against her chains to rush toward you. The guards are in front of you in mere moments, but you weren’t in any danger. Not as long as she stayed in here.

It’s almost satisfying, to see her chained up. It’s so different to seeing the Green Goblin on the outside, where she could be your Gwen Stacy. Whereas in here, bound by chains of heavy metal, clothed in uncomfortable looking prisoner scrubs, she was nothing but the Green Goblin. It was reassuring, almost, to be able to pick apart something physical between the two.

She bares her teeth at you, animalistic in a way that Gwen never was, and glares at you as you follow one of the guards out of the room, the others closing in on her, ready to take her back to whatever cell she came from.

The clothes you wear become less overbearing as you keep your focus on the guards taking Gwen away the whole way back through security, only switching back to your surroundings when they hand you the tray of your own belongings to change back into. You’re relieved for many reasons, and you try to focus on that feeling as you approach Mrs. Stacy’s car rather than the way your jacket itches.

Mrs. Stacy looks as if she wants to speak as you get in the car, as if she wants to ask about your visit, but she seemingly can’t bring herself to do it. You keep your mouth shut.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Not a month later, your daily activities are back to normal, uninhibited by the daunting idea of Gwen being free. Still, though, you think about her more often, as much as you did in the time after she was put away the first time.

Mrs. Stacy had tried to call you more than once since, and at the two week mark you’d had to invest in a new burner phone. You just couldn’t risk anybody getting a hold of it and seeing her contact, or the ringer going off and exposing your position in a fight. No, it was better for her not to have your number. Besides, you had hers memorised if you needed to call her.

It was better if you tried to reduce any connections to Gwen Stacy. You’d be much better off, the less you thought about her.

Despite knowing that, you couldn’t help it. And despite seeing that crack in the Green Goblin exterior at her little brother’s words, you didn’t have much hope for her. You don’t think they’d let her out of prison even if you could find a cure, somehow. The fact of it was that Gwen Stacy’s life was over. She had no hope of a future in this world, the Goblin had destroyed that. All you could do was remember her and hope beyond anything that in one of those alternate dimensions, you and Gwen were happy together.

The thought of it played on your mind every day, a lingering pain that stung at your eyes. You thought about it so much that you had even imagined the world where Gwen had never become the Goblin, where you and your Gwen were happy. It was a suffocating image, one without any hope of being true, but you couldn’t help thinking about it.

Even as you fought villain after villain, petty criminal after petty criminal, you thought about it. Even now, as you were swinging around a bridge, dodging all the debris this villain was throwing your way, it played on your mind.

It was a distraction, and it was one you needed to get rid of.

That much became certain as the villain you were facing, Tombstone, managed to get a hit on you, sending you flying across the bridge. You landed on a car with a groan, the windshield cracking below you, and you rolled your eyes as the person in the car held a hand on their horn until you managed to climb off, a distinct Arachnid-shaped dent left in the bonnet.

Well, that would be aching tomorrow, that much was for sure.

He grinned where he was stood across the bridge from you, showing off his filed teeth, as if trying to intimidate you with the pointy edges of them.

“You’ve been a formidable foe, Arachnid,” Tombstone says, his voice barely a whisper above the wind, but you can hear him perfectly. You suspect he knows as much, and that only makes you nervous. “But I think it’s time for our battle to come to an end.”

“I actually agree.” You respond, stretching your aching back and feeling a bone shift when it definitely shouldn’t. You can’t help but wince, gritting your teeth and glaring over at Tombstone across the bridge.

You’re getting tired of these villains, of their constant spiel about how the world should be, about how everything should be how they wanted it to be. What was so wrong with the human population that everybody couldn’t just get along? Surely, if everybody got along, listened to each other, the world’s problems would be solved. But then again, this is New York, and it’s a city in which greed is bred.

A light press against your webshooter has you slinging high up on the bridge, staring down at Tombstone as he watches you intently. You’re planning your next move, considering all the variables, when a burst of orange manifests into the air behind him. He looks confused as you falter in your web slinging, dropping slightly before you catch yourself, and he turns around just in time to receive a curled fist to the face, courtesy of a familiar man in a red and blue suit.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” You murmur, lowering yourself to the bridge to approach this Spiderman, glaring at where Tombstone stands, straining against a red barrier that had materialised from the device Spiderman had placed at his feet.

“I hate that guy!” The familiar voice of Peter B. Parker says, shaking his fist as he hops slightly from one foot to the other, his lenses squinted before he finally turns to acknowledge you. “That guy sucks.”

Your brows are furrowed, eyes squinted behind your lenses as you stare at Peter, confused. This Tombstone guy isn’t an anomaly, is he? While you hadn’t faced him before, you knew that there had been a battle between him and another vigilante down in Hell’s Kitchen. And he knew your name, hadn’t been calling you Spiderman like the last anomaly. So why was he here?

Peter sighed, as if he was disappointed to be met with your confusion. “You got a place, kid? Or a burger joint, maybe?”

With that same amount of confusion, you nodded, brows furrowed as cops came to collect Tombstone, who was still in a fit of rage. You can just barely hear him swearing to get you back, both of you, through the barrier. Peter gestured a hand forwards for you to lead the way, and with slight hesitation, you swung off with him following.

Now, the two of you are sat in a Shake Shack, despite you wanting to head back to the offices you were set up in. Peter had ordered two burgers, one for you and one for him, though you had decidedly rejected the one he pushed towards you. He had only shrugged, and accepted it onto his own plate.

“My wife’s pregnant, can’t even stand the smell of these.” Peter groans, stuffing what must’ve been at least a quarter of the burger in his mouth. You just nod at his statement, though you had to admit you were slightly surprised that this guy was going to be a dad. But then again, you’re pretty sure you can remember your dad scoffing down his favourite food in a similar way. “Now listen,” He continues, speaking with his mouthful and paying you no mind as you cringe at the sound. “Miguel wants to strike a sort of… deal with you.”

“Okay?” You respond, brows furrowed. You look around the place, uncomfortable with all the people staring at Arachnid in a booth beside an old man stuffing his face. The lenses of your mask squint with you as you look at Peter, waiting for him to add anything on to explain his statement. “Then why’d he send you?” You ask, at last, when Peter makes no move to speak of his own free will, too engrossed in his second burger.

Peter held up a finger, gulping down a sip of his strawberry milkshake. “Said something about this being good practice for me,” Peter eventually answers, flashing you a smile. “You know, being a new dad and all.”

He seems to realise quickly that that was the wrong thing to say as your eyes narrow further, visible only through the shift of your lenses. The last thing you need is some random guy trying to father you. Even just the idea of it irritates you, makes the very blood rushing in your veins feel hot with anger. You had a dad, and look what good that did you. He’s gone.

Not to mention the implication of you being a child! You’re far from being a kid. You’ve been looking after yourself for some time now just fine. Whatever deal Miguel wants to strike with you is because they need you. Not the other way around. You knew that you shouldn’t have let that Spider-doctor fix you up.

“I’m not some kid. I don’t need you lot, you need me. Don’t get it all twisted, Peter.” You respond as he continues to look like a deer in headlights, clearly kicking himself for revealing what Miguel had said. You keep your voice low, fighting to stay unheard with the quietened air in the diner. “Now hurry up and tell me about whatever bullshit deal you want to strike with me, so I can say no and we can go our separate ways.”

“Kid,” Peter sighs, before immediately wincing as he realised he just directly disregarded your statement about not being a kid. “Sorry, Arachnid,” He corrects, settling his hands on the table in front of him, finally taking a break from his almost-finished food. “Nobody’s saying you can’t do this.”

“Sounds like that’s exactly what you’re saying.” You mutter, averting your eyes from Peter and instead narrowing your lenses at the people still staring in your direction.

“All we’re saying is that you shouldn’t have to do this alone,” He continues, ignoring your interruption with nothing but a quirked brow. “It’s a tough job. Everybody needs someone to look out for them, you know? It’s in our nature to feel responsible for everything around us, as Spider-people. But you can’t carry the whole weight of the world on your shoulders, it’s too much!”

You stare blankly at him, remaining unimpressed with his whole speech.

Peter sighs once more, looking at you with hesitant hope that you’ll come around. Unfortunately, you’re not about to let these people think that you’re incapable. If anything, Peter’s little speech was just adding fuel to your fire. You liked proving people wrong — it’s what you thrived on. You needed to prove them wrong. Because if you didn’t, what did that make you? You couldn’t let people be right about their assumptions of you. If you couldn’t prove everybody wrong, then that meant some of the things people said about you were right. And with the amount of people who accused you of being responsible for more deaths than you saved, who portrayed you as a menace rather than a vigilante, who said you weren’t worthy of your powers, who said whatever divine intervention had given them to you was wrong, you couldn’t let them be right. You wouldn’t.

“I already told you people. I’m not interested.” You spit out at him, feeling your frustration brimming over the edge. Why would nobody just trust you? Was that so much to ask? You understand that you had made mistakes, that you had cost people their lives, but you were trying. Why couldn’t that just be enough?

Peter says nothing as you slide out of the booth, stomping your way out of the Shake Shack as if you were some kind of grumpy teenager. He could only hope that his unborn child was a less grumpy teen, but then again, he was pretty sure you had every right to be miserable. Correcting himself, he could only hope that his unborn child never experienced your reasons for being so miserable.

You make your way towards your office building, swinging through the streets whilst doing your best to keep your heightened hearing down. You really didn’t want to have to deal with anything else, tonight. All you wanted was to get back, to put on the only clothes other than your suit that didn’t make you want to crawl out of your skin. Even if it was just for an hour, you’d take it.

While you had gotten used to how quiet it was in the building a long time ago, you couldn’t help but think that tonight, it felt almost… eerie. There was something tingling, buzzing at the very base of your skull, but even as you strained your hearing, your sight, everything, you couldn’t detect anything out of place. Everything seemed normal, so you couldn’t understand why you were so on edge! It couldn’t just be Peter’s presence, surely, because he posed no threat to you. So what was going on?

Picking up your backpack filled with belongings, you stared around at the empty office, the breeze that flowed through the open window sending a shiver down your spine, even though you weren’t feeling cold. Something wasn’t right. You just couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Hello? Anybody there?” You call out, straining your hearing once more, trying to listen out for even the slightest sound. A movement, a breath, anything, even as you couldn’t help but think that this was the most cliché horror movie like moment that you had experienced to date. Still, you heard nothing, but that nagging feeling didn’t dissipate, and you quickly lost all desire to change out of your suit.

The unease you felt only grew stronger as you stood there, unsure what to make of the feeling. It was quickly growing towards being overwhelming, but you didn’t know what to do.

Luckily for you, you didn’t have to make a decision.

Unfortunately, the decision was made by one of the very people you were trying to prove yourself to.

Peter B. Parker — or at least, you were pretty sure it was him — swung through the very same window you had, only to grasp a hold on your arm and pull you out of the window as he jumped straight back out of it.

Now, you had been Arachnid for a long time now. You had gotten used to the swinging, to the way your stomach dipped and your throat tightened, but you had never experienced it where you weren’t the one in control. Finally, you understand why people you brought to safety had, on occasion, thrown up immediately after you set them down on their feet again. The feeling of falling, of having no choice but to trust somebody else to catch you, it was terrifying.

But what was infinitely more terrifying was the way that the very floor of the building you had just been stood on exploded.

The blaze was blinding, even with your lenses protecting your eyes, but the noise that came moments later was much, much worse. And sure, you had been around explosions before, but never one that big, never so close. And never so unprepared for one.

Your ears were ringing, and you vaguely realised that you had become dead weight in your shock, with Peter struggling to keep his grasp on your arm firm. After a moment, you had the sense to grab his forearm in return, trying to assist him in holding you up. He didn’t seem as effected by the explosion in comparison to you, and you wondered if he’d had the time to put earbuds in his ears as you had sometimes done before a fight. Either way, you were insanely envious as the pain in your ears increased, leaving you struggling to focus on holding on to Peter.

When he set you down, which couldn’t have been more than a minute after he had grabbed you, considering you could still see the office building smouldering, you had to hold a hand over your mouth even over your mask, trying to rid yourself of nausea. Smoke was leaking into the darkening sky, and you saw the flash of sirens below, but heard nothing other than the distinctive ringing that felt like it was melting your brain.

Peter’s hand was squeezing your shoulder, and after a moment in which you didn’t acknowledge him, he was gripping your other shoulder with his spare hand, shaking you the slightest bit. You looked up at him with a groan, squinting past the floating lights in your vision to see that his mouth was moving, no sound coming out. You shook your head, trying to get rid of that incessant ringing, but it didn’t work. You dropped your chin to your chest again, hands bracing against your ears as if they could ease your pain, and you didn’t make a move as Peter removed one hand from your shoulder.

Mere moments later, the same tingling you had felt before the building you were in exploded returned, stronger, more intensely. Your head snapped up, frantically looking around, paying Peter no mind as he spoke into the orange-glowing watch on his wrist. You breathed through your nose, trying not to cough at the smoke permeating the air, and you just managed to push Peter over the edge of the roof of the building, with you diving after him, as another explosive went off.

That explosion was smaller than the last one, and the only reason you had managed to avoid it was because you knew it was coming. You knew what the alarm bells in your head were trying to tell you now, and you spotted the projectile just seconds before it reached your feet.

Part of you was glad that your senses were dulled from the first explosion — your hearing, especially, as it meant you were less effected by the close-range on this one. You saw Peter’s eyes widen as he looked up above you at where the explosion had just occurred. You just about managed to web him before shooting a web towards the next building, feeling something in your shoulder pull sharply with his extra weight and the suddenness of the move.

You squinted down at him as he gripped the web attached to his chest with one hand, his lips moving more frantically as he spoke to a hologram projected by the watch on his other hand.

“Shit, what is going on?” You asked, though mostly to yourself, but the only way you could tell you had even voiced the words was by the way they rumbled out of your throat. That explosion had messed up your hearing, for the moment, anyway, and you quickly realised that with your slow healing and the ringing in your ears, this fight was going to be majorly difficult.

You only had a moment to think that, before something snapped the web that was holding you to the building, sending both you and Peter falling through the air. Embarrassingly, you’re pretty sure that you let out a yell of some sort.

All the air was knocked out of you the next second as something hurtled into you, sending you careening towards the windows of the closest building. Peter, for a moment, had a shocked expression on his face, before he seemingly realised what was going on, smiling and letting out a string of words that you didn’t hear. You groaned as your sore back collided with the window, smashing upon your impact, and you were sent sprawling over a desk, a monitor breaking underneath your sudden weight.

Yet again, there was a hand against your shoulder, and you paid it no mind as your head dropped back, thudding against the desk. You couldn’t help but groan, the duress that your back had been under today was certainly taking its toll, leaving your whole spine throbbing with pain. On top of that, you were struggling to catch your breath, and with the sudden adrenaline provided by the spider-sense fading, the intensity of the pain in your ears was increasing.

Finally, you managed to peel your eyes open to see a concerned Peter B. Parker looking at you, with Miguel O’Hara stood beside the shattered window, staring out menacingly, as if daring whoever it was to attack again. Peter said something else, squeezing your shoulder, and all you could do in response was hold up one thumb.

Miguel seemingly barked out an order over his shoulder, and a moment later, you were squinting against the bright orange light of a portal.

Peter was hauling you to your feet, leaning to hold one of your arms over his shoulder, practically carrying your weight towards the portal looming ahead. “No, no, wait,” You said, and you felt the way your words slurred as you became slightly delirious with a mixture of pain, adrenaline, and desperation. “Stop, I gotta—”

He only shook his head, before tipping the two of you forward until you both fell into the portal.

The dizzying feeling of inter-dimensional travel definitely didn’t help the pounding in your temples, nor the nausea you had previously been feeling, and you had no choice but to try and focus on Peter’s grip on you as you squeezed your eyes shut. When the world finally stopped spinning, or feeling like it was falling away around you, you opened your eyes just enough to take note of where you were — which was back in the Infirmary of the Spider Society HQ.

You shook Peter off, standing on your own weight and waving him away when he tried to assist you as you swayed once more. You glared, eyes narrowed, and turned to head straight back through the portal you had come from, only to see it close before your very eyes.

The same Spider-Doctor from the last time you were here snapped a band around your wrist, and you squinted down at the red and blue band. It made you feel lighter, even slightly, which felt good on your aching bones and muscles. You opened your mouth to speak as the Spider-Doctor led you to sit down on an empty bed with white sheets, but you vaguely saw the way his mask shifted as he presumably spoke. You couldn’t tell what he was saying with his mask on, but a minute later, you felt a sharp prick against the inside of your elbow.

You just about had the lucidity to murmur “You fucker—” before you succumbed to the weight of your eyelids.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

When you woke up, it was to a throbbing pain in your forehead, that only got worse when you tried to open your eyes. At the very least, you were glad to have your hearing returned to you, albeit slightly muffled, which you were only aware of because the sound of voices across the room was the reason for you waking.

“I’m just saying, maybe knocking the kid out wasn’t the greatest idea!” Peter B. Parker’s annoyingly loud voice says, slightly high pitched in the end. Who he was saying it to, however, you couldn’t say, not without opening your eyes. And that didn’t feel like a good idea, the lights even with your eyes closed feeling like too much.

Instead, you just groan, bringing your hand up to rest over both of your eyes. “It wasn’t a great idea.” You say through gritted teeth, more than annoyed over the situation you found yourself in. Honestly, what did these people have against leaving you be? Why did they think they had any right to tell you what to do, or how to handle things, or to overrule you when it came to your own treatment?

“Hey, kid!” Peter responds, drawing the letters out in that typical oh shit voice. From the snippet of the conversation you had caught, at least he was seemingly trying to advocate for your consciousness. However, that didn’t change the fact that he was there when that Spider-Doctor knocked you out. No, you were still pissed. And when you got your hands on that doctor? He was in for it.

Any other thoughts or feelings on the matter were overturned when you realised that your hand was resting over your eyes, not the lenses of your mask.

Who do these people think they are?

You open your mouth to jump into a rant on that exact subject, on the audacity that they all have, but find yourself silenced by somebody grabbing onto your free wrist, and seemingly dropping your mask into your hand. You feel it until you’ve got it the right way around, and then pull it over your face.

The lights are much more bearable with your lenses back over your eyes, but it’s still painful, and still worsens that pounding in your head. But it does mean that you can see who’s around you; Peter, Miguel and the Spider-Doctor. You have half the mind to leap at that doctor, but Miguel is raising placating hands in your direction before you can make the move to do so.

“Let’s all calm down.” Miguel says, placing his hands on his hips when your eyes only narrow at him.

“What is wrong with you? Who gave you people the right to—to take off my mask? To knock me out? Hell, to come to my universe and get in my business!” You practically yell out, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the way your back hurts with the movement and glaring when the three of them step forward to help you.

“If Peter hadn’t gotten there when he did, you would’ve died.” Miguel responds plainly, seemingly aggravated by your irritation. One of his arms is raised in a gesture towards the man, who smiles almost guiltily, as if helping you was a crime. Which, in your mindset, it might as well have been. “There was an anomaly, a villain from another dimension targeting you.”

“I can handle myself.” You spit out, though the way the room spins when you stand is almost a direct contrast to your words. Your blood is rushing through your veins, and you realise that there’s a machine beeping next to you, increasing in frequency. As you look, you realise it’s measuring your heart rate, and you yank wires off of you that you hadn’t even noticed before, as if they were exposing you somehow. “And that doesn’t give you the right to take off my mask. Who does that?”

Spider-Doctor raises his hands, as if surrendering, though seems unintimidated by the way your glare switches to him. “It was necessary. Your hearing was severely damaged by the explosion, you needed treatment. You have dampening-buds in your ears now, while your healing catches up.” While that sounds reasonable, it only makes you angrier. Why did these people even care if some anomaly killed you? If your hearing was damaged? Why did they insist on bothering you?

Miguel sighs, pinching his nose, before he lifts his head up to speak to you again. You just about stop yourself from making a snotty comment about his attitude. You didn't even want to be here, and here he was, acting like dealing with you was such an inconvenience to him. It was frustrating. “Your universe seems to be at some sort of epicentre of anomalies, and we don’t know why. Yet.”

“We’re just trying to keep you safe. You can’t deal with all of those anomalies alone, nobody can. Sometimes, you need a team.” Peter says softly, like he could convince you of the matter. “Believe me, you don’t want to learn that the hard way.” He adds on, smiling almost hesitantly, as if there’s a memory he’s thinking of connected to his own words.

You’re sighing through your nose, your teeth gritting together as you regard them. “Okay, fine, you want to come take out your anomalies, or whatever? You do that. But anything more than that isn’t welcome.” You say, at last, your eyes narrowed towards them as you wait for their responses.

You still don’t really understand it, any of it, but it’s becoming clear that you have no choice but to deal with these people. Apparently, they were not budging on all of this stuff, which — fine, so long as they stay out of your way. The last thing you need is a bunch of Spider-people stepping on your toes, or making you seem incapable in front of the citizens of your own dimension when in the end, they’ll all up and leave.

After all, you can remember your mother telling you how important it is to do things yourself. The moment you start accepting help, you relax, and when they decide they don’t want to help you anymore? You’re screwed, your sense of independence reduced to ashes. And as Arachnid, there’s far too much at stake to risk that happening.

“Here,” Miguel says, only nodding his agreement — or at least, that’s what you assume the nod was for. He throws a watch towards you, and you catch it with some confusion. “In case you see any anomalies before we do.” He explains as he watches you fiddle witht he watch in both hands, glaring down at it as if it was offensive. He’s relatively satisfied when you relax at that explanation. While Miguel doesn’t voice what else it’s for, knowing you’d only get irritated and refuse the watch, he’s silently hoping that you’ll understand. It’s so you can come to them, if you need them. They can only hope that they’ll be able to tell you that, one day, before it’s too late, without the offer scaring you off.

“So, I’m good to go?” You ask, looking between the three Spider-Men still staring at you and the watch you hesitantly clasp around your wrist. They nod, or, Peter and Miguel do, while the Spider-Doctor throws his hands in the air, exasperated.

“That dimension is yours,” Peter says, leaning over to see the screen of your watch. “The button at the bottom will input this dimension as the destination. Just press that,” He points to another button, “To open the portal to whichever dimension has been typed in.”

You nod, still pissed that he’d let the Spider-Doctor knock you out, but at least you didn’t give him a snarky comment. Instead, you just pressed the button to go back to your own dimension, and stepped through the portal the moment it was big enough for you to go through.

You didn’t expect for him to follow you through.

“Hey, listen,” Peter says, almost reluctantly, as if he doesn’t want to upset you. When you turn to him, he raises his hands, as if to further prove that sentiment. “I am sorry that he knocked you out, I didn’t know he was going to do that.”

“Okay, fine, apology accepted.” You say, flatly, turning to survey where exactly you are. It doesn’t take you long to notice the remains of the building you had been camping out in, the building charred and the air still thick with all the smoke that had been produced.

“I wasn’t done,” Peter sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose momentarily. “I also wanted to say that I’m sorry about your building. And I wanted to ask, well, mention about how when Doctor-Peter took off your mask, he noticed you don’t have anything protecting your ears, like other Spiders with your level of enhanced hearing do.”

You turn to stare blankly at him, while mulling through where exactly you’re going to stay in your head. If you’re being honest, you’re not paying his words much mind. So what, you don’t have anything protecting your hearing? Sure, sometimes you had stuffed earbuds into your ears when you knew you were going into a rough fight, but you didn’t know when some psycho exploded your building right in front of you. Plus, it’s not like you have unlimited resources to figure out some way of protected your ears under your mask while also letting you effectively use your hearing.

“Okay? And?” You ask, voice edging on the side of boredom. In all honesty, you just want to be left alone. You want to put on your comfy clothes, curl up into a ball and go to sleep so you can dream of a world where everything is okay. The likelihood of that happening is small, but not impossible, right?

“Well,” Peter hesitates then, which piques your interest the slightest bit. “Here, I had these made back when my hearing was crazy sensitive, but it’s not anymore, so I got no use for them!” He says, holding out two blue and red earbuds in a clear case. “You gotta wait until your ears are healed up to use ‘em, but I figured they’d do you more good than me.”

For a moment, you’re ready to deny him. To glare and insist that you don’t need his help. But then, he had said that they were originally for him, and he didn’t need them any longer, so really, would it be so bad to take them? To accept this one thing? To allow yourself to be saved of this tiniest bit of pain?

“You’re sure?” You ask, likely the least aggressive you’d spoken to him, though that’s not to say that it was asked softly. You were still firm on not accepting their help, on doing your own thing, but you could accept this much, surely? It couldn’t hurt.

Peter smiles, a short laugh leaving him, and he waves the box towards you. “I’m sure!”

“…Thanks.” You say, shortly, as you accept the earbuds offered to you. He also hands you the backpack that you had lost track of after the attack, and you accept that far more quickly. You’re glad that it feels the exact same weight as it did the last time you held it, before you shove the earbuds into the opening and zip it back up.

There’s a portal still open on the rooftop the two of you stand on, and Peter backs up to go towards it almost reluctantly. “Also, if you need somewhere to stay—”

“Don’t push it,” You respond, quickly, cutting him off before he could finish what he was saying. He doesn’t take offence to your abruptness, and smiles with a nod, before he disappears into the portal. You stare out at the city around you, looking in the direction of another building you had been very reluctant to return to. “What is my life?” You ask yourself, rhetorically, because you don’t know how you’d even answer that.

You glance behind you to ensure the portal is closed, before jumping off the rooftop, freefalling, relishing in the way the cold wind soothes the pain in your back. Before long, though, you have to shoot a web to catch yourself. You head towards the only place you know will be suitable for you, but can’t shake the way the thought of it chills you.

All you can do is hope that this multiverse stuff will be over with, and soon.

[sparrowritings]

how you two got together

pairing: gojo x zenin!male!reader

summary: non-curse zenin reader and their dynamic with gojo after defecting from the zenin clan to attend tokyo jujutsu high

tags: non-descriptive injury and violence, gay panic

word count: 2.5k

a/n: this started off as hcs, but then got really long as i worked on it lol. i might make a pt.2 where its bf hcs, let me know what u think!

Born into the Zenin clan with little to no cursed energy, a heavenly restriction was placed on you as a child

Similar to Maki, you were viewed as the family's disappointment

This was further accentuated since you were born around the same time as Naoya, who was gifted with one of the family’s prized cursed techniques

You were close to and looked up to Toji due to you both not possessing cursed techniques and became training partners 

When Toji defected from the Zenin clan, you defected too to pursue becoming a sorcerer, eventually ending up at Tokyo Jujutsu High

This is also how you got to know the other three first-years when you joined 

“Everyone, (Y/N) will be joining us for the rest of the school year. Please behave, especially you, Satoru.” Yaga states as you walk up to the front of the classroom.

You were nervous, there was no hiding that. This was the first time you interacted with sorcerers outside of the Zenin clan. 

“Please take care of me!” You say, bowing.

When you stood upright again, you took in your classmates for the next four years. The guy with bone-white hair and round shades caught your eye immediately. His hair looked fluffy, and you wanted to run your fingers through it. He was slumped sideways in his chair, arms draped to his side and his feet crossed on the table in front of him. He was attractive, you had to admit.

“This has to be a joke, Sensei. How is a person with no cursed energy ever going to become a sorcerer?” The light-haired man spoke, with a teasing lilt.

Well, he was attractive to you until he opened his mouth. 

The first sentence that came out of Gojo Satoru’s mouth immediately left a bad taste in your mouth

It was that day where you decided that he had a shitty personality and that you did not like him

Once your life at Jujutsu High settled into a routine, you began to adjust and get more comfortable with who you were

You would hang out in the morgue with Shoko when you were bored but didn’t want to train

You would train hand-to-hand with Suguru because he was the only one who could keep up with you in that regard

You didn’t hang out with Gojo too often; after that first interaction, you believed that he was like the people in your family back home

Gojo initially thought that you were a helpless non-sorcerer who had overly ambitious dreams until he saw you spar for the first time

Crickets chirped in the background as the sun beat down on you and Suguru overhead. The dull “clack” of wood on wood echoed through the training grounds. You and Suguru had become regular sparring partners since you revealed yourself as an excellent physical fighter and cursed tools user. 

You attacked from the sides quickly, before aiming one decisive, forward thrust towards Suguru’s chest. Caught off guard, he raised his waster to block the attack sloppily. Taking advantage of the surprise, you quickly dropped down and swept at his legs, catching him off balance. Before he had a chance to react, the tip of your waster was resting lightly on his chest. You were both breathing heavily from the exertion and heat. A beat later, you lower your weapon and help the other up, smiles on both your faces as Suguru punches your shoulder in a friendly gesture.

Taking a break from the session, the both of you sit on the side of the field, taking a water break.

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo and Shoko were just walking past the fields and had witnessed the entire exchange.

Gojo found himself unable to tear his eyes off you. He had seen other people fight with swords, but none were ever as graceful as you. You moved like water, each motion flowing into each other seamlessly. It seemed so effortless, but Gojo knew that what you were capable of was only possible with years of dedicated training. 

“Satoru, you’re staring,” Shoko spoke. 

“No! I-I wasn’t.” Gojo bit back, his cheeks and ears flushing pink.

“Sure, I believe you.” She chuckled.

So okay, maybe Gojo thought that you were attractive when you were fighting

It was something that was absolutely objective, really

At least, that was what he tried to convince himself

Okay, so maybe he had a tiny, tiny crush on you, but he didn’t really know how to go about it since you guys never talked

So he resorted to getting your attention in a mature way

By annoying the fuck out of you

“Oh look, it’s my favorite non-curse user!” He would squeal whenever he would see you and drape himself over your shoulder.

“Fuck off, Gojo.” You would huff before peeling him off you.

Initially, he had succeeded, and you had found it annoying

But as he did it more often, it became the dynamic between you two

You were cooking in the communal kitchen when the tall man had made himself known in all his lanky glory.

“How’s my favorite armrest doing this fine evening?” He spoke, opening the fridge.

“I’m doing better than your string bean-looking ass.” You shot back as you stirred the ramen cooking in the saucepan in front of you.

“You hurt me, truly.” Gojo responds, dramatically leaning against the fridge.

You began to understand why Gojo was the way he was, and slowly, a friendship formed despite the rocky start

You were on good terms, until the first time you were assigned a harder mission with Gojo

It was a semi-grade one, and the higher-ups were originally going to send Geto, but he had been whisked away on another mission

So Yaga assigned the mission to you instead of Geto

For this mission, you brought one of your favourite weapons, Shisui

Shisui was a katana that could absorb and accumulate cursed energy and release it  

The fight against the curse started well, but quickly went downhill when Gojo destroyed one of the walls in the building, and it started collapsing

You had to dodge the debris and the curse’s attacks at the same time, which was honestly a hassle

The curse was smart; it had caught on to how much the collapsing building was giving you trouble, and strategically positioned itself in front of the other wall, hoping to trick Gojo into destroying the other wall

However, you had picked up on it

Gojo had already pointed his fingers towards the curse, who was floating right in front of the wall. If he fired Blue now, the building would definitely collapse.

Pushing off quickly, you dash towards the curse, intercepting Blue with Shisui. You gripped the hilt of the blade; it was built to absorb cursed energy, but withstanding the force of Blue was still no easy feat. 

You landed stably, before shooting off again, rushing the curse perpendicular to the wall. You gripped Shisui, charged with the cursed energy of Blue, and with a pinpoint-precise thrust, the semi-grade one was no more. However, what you failed to realize was that as the curse was exorcised, it had sent out its tendrils in an attempt to take down the two sorcerers. 

Focused on taking it down without destroying the building, you had left your side open. Three tendrils pierced your side, searing pain shooting up your torso. You fell onto one knee, using Shisui for support.

Your erratic pulse drummed in your ears, and black spots clouded your vision. Your limbs tingle as you reach a hand to your side, your uniform now wet with your blood.

“(Y/N)...(Y/N)!” You hear Gojo’s voice become softer and softer as you slump over.

Gojo is the one to take you back to school with his teleportation

He appears in the morgue, frantic and panicked with your injured body in his arms

Shoko takes over immediately, using her RCT on your injuries

She tells Gojo that you will be fine and that you just need rest, but he refuses to leave your side

When you eventually wake up, you immediately get a lecture from Gojo 

“(Y/N), I had it handled. You didn’t have to jump in.” He stated.

“You would’ve collapsed the building, Satoru. That would’ve caused trouble for both of us.” You reasoned.

“You were being reckless; you should’ve left everything to me.” 

“Reckless? Me?” You started incredulously, “Well yeah, not everyone has Infinity as a get-out-of-jail-free card, so sorry, Gojo-sama, for worrying about getting crushed by a building.”

“Well this get-out-of-jail-free card could’ve exorcised the curse without getting stabbed in the side! Thrice!” Gojo exclaimed, frustrated that you weren’t understanding his logic.

“You should just go alone next time, seeing as you obviously don’t need my help. You could just say it to my face if you think I’m not good enough, no need to play pretend.” You spat.

“(Y/N), that’s not-” 

“I think you’ve said enough. I don’t want to talk to you right now.” You cut him off once again. He seems to hesitate before turning and leaving the morgue.

You hadn’t noticed earlier, but your eyes were watery

Whether from frustration or from betrayal that Gojo looked down on you this entire time, you didn’t know

Shoko gave you a reassuring look before rushing off after Gojo

She finds Gojo sitting under a tree right outside the school building, holding his head in his hands

Shoko lights a cigarette, plopping down next to him

“I don’t understand why he’s so stubborn. If he let me handle the curse he wouldn’t have needed to get hurt.” Gojo speaks, head still in his hands.

“You? Worried about someone getting hurt instead of whether they are slowing you down? Who are you and what have you done to the real Gojo Satoru?” Shoko replies.

Gojo feels his cheeks and ears heat up.

“I know you like him. You’re not exactly subtle with it. You should probably make it clear that you’re worried about him and not looking down on him, before he has time to convince himself otherwise.” Shoko speaks before taking a hit of her cigarette.

Many things are running through Gojo’s head, but the main thing his mind was screaming at him was how maybe his crush was something more

Initially he was drawn to you because of how good you were with cursed tools

But after spending more time with you, he realized that he cared about you 

In a way where he wanted to protect you, to hear your laugh and to see you happy

He’s never felt this deeply about anyone, or anything for that matter

He stands abruptly, rushing back towards the morgue

While this conversation was happening, you received a call from your clan 

They have not contacted you since you left so you were curious

You picked up, putting them on speaker

“(Y/N). We heard that you got injured badly.” Your mother’s voice, “We’ve deliberated with the elders. We are allowing you to return to the estate, (Y/N). We’ve been trying to tell you that you aren’t suited for the sorcerer life and today was just proof of that. The Jujutsu World doesn’t need any more weak sorcerers; you’ll just get in the way.” She spoke softly.

You could feel the tears well up once again, and you sobbed when you couldn’t keep them back. You knew that you had the odds stacked against you when you decided to pursue becoming a Jujutsu sorcerer. You had thought that you found people who viewed you as equal, people who respected your own skills, until Gojo had made you realise that he had looked down on you this entire time. 

You had thought that maybe, just maybe that you guys were friends, or even more, when he would entertain your banter and be physically affectionate with you. It hurt that this entire time, you were a joke to him. He didn’t even think you could handle that curse working in a team with him, let alone by yourself.

It hurt.

You were letting the tears flow freely down your face, now that the dam had broken. 

“(Y/N)-” Your father had started speaking but you stopped listening when you saw who was at the door. Unbeknownst to you, Gojo had overheard the entire conversation.

“Gojo, I told you I didn’t want to talk to you right now.” You spoke shakily, averting his gaze.

“(Y/N),  I-I came to apologize, actually.” Your eyes widen in surprise.

“You? Apologising?” You couldn’t stop yourself before those words tumbled out of your mouth.

Gojo looked down at the floor, face flushing. 

“Look, I didn’t mean to say what I said before- I thought that- What I meant to- How I meant-” He struggled with his words, but you waited for him to finish patiently, “I’m sorry I made you think that I didn’t want your help, or that you’re not good enough. That’s not what I meant.” He made his way towards you, kneeling at your bedside, resting his arms and head on the edge of the bed. He grabs your hand.

“I just got really scared that I had lost you, and I-I really care about you, (Y/N).”

You look down at Gojo, still processing his words. Your father’s voice cuts through the silence.

“-the weak don’t have to pretend to be strong. Give up this act and return at once, (Y/N).” It reminded you of your current circumstance and fresh tears rolled down your cheeks. 

Observing your distress, he picks up the phone before you could react. 

“Oi Zenin, (Y/N) here is one of the best cursed tool users this school has seen, so shut the fuck up before you start talking about someone you know nothing about. He’s one of the kindest, most considerate and strong sorcerers around, and he could wipe the floor with you guys in his sleep, so fuck off with your bullshit. Byeeeee~” Gojo singsongs before hanging up.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

Gojo’s expression returns to the more serious one from early. He gets up, cupping your face in both his hands.

“I’m being serious, (Y/N). You’re an amazing person, and I’m mad that I made you feel otherwise.” He pauses before continuing, “And. I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but I have feelings for you, and I think I’ve been feeling this way for a while. Uh, it’s okay if you don’t return my feelings, and I understand if-”

You don’t let him continue, pulling him in by his arms and kissing him. He freezes for a moment before he reciprocates. When the two of you part for air, he rests his forehead on yours.

“I have feelings for you too, Satoru.” You speak softly.

He chuckles, capturing your lips with his.

[flowerandblood]

The sweetest fruit

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Valyrian! • female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, smut, angst, sexual tension ]

[description: (Anon Request) Aemond is to meet his future wife from Essos, in whose veins runs the blood of Old Valyria. They've been engaged since they were kids, but he's in no hurry to get married and he's not happy about her arrival. His future wife, however, turns out to be someone completely different than he expected. Smut, angst and a lot of sexual tension.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Aemond knew this day would come someday. He had known since he was a child. He knew his wife would be a woman from across the Narrow Sea, the blood heiress of Old Valyria of House Vhassar, residing in the Volantis with her family. The thought of her was as distant to him as the continent she was on.

When his mother told him that his fiancée would eventually come to Westeros to marry him, he thought he was going to faint. For some reason he thought that he had more time, at least a couple of years.

He had Alys, who he visited whenever he wanted, satisfying all his needs. He made sure she didn't get pregnant, not wanting to have bastards. The freedom she gave him suited him. He felt like a dragon about to be locked in a dragon pit.

Nevertheless, Volantis was King's Landing's greatest bank and sponsor of some war expeditions. He knew their alliance was of state importance, and he couldn't refuse.

He took his mother's words in silence, clenching his jaw and looking away. He tried not to show how much he disliked this idea and made the decision, that he would fulfill his duties properly.

On the day her family arrived at the royal harbor, a great feast was held in the main hall. He waited until the very end, not wanting to look at her or talk to her. He knew what he looked like. He didn't want to see the bride's look of horror or disappointment that she would have to spread her legs for him in the nearest future.

Finally, however, his mother came for him, saying that everyone was expecting him. He nodded, tense from head to toe, and strode forward down the corridor, his queen mother a few paces behind him. They entered the hall through the side entrance, on the side of the main table.

At first no one noticed them, there was a buzz of conversations, laughter and music to which couples were already dancing. His mother walked over to him and pointed to a girl who had just been talking to Helaena. He felt his throat tighten into a thin knot.

It terrified him how beautiful she was. He thought it would make her even more disappointed with him. His body froze, unable to move, his face completely petrified.

He watched her slender hand go to one of the bowls for a fruit that he had never seen before. A small, dull orange-red ball, the size of an apple, but softer and hairy. She bit into the fruit easily, pursed and licked her lips as she listened intently to his sister. Suddenly her eyes flicked to him.

They stared at each other for a moment, and he felt his heart pounding like a hammer. He felt shivers run through his body as she smiled at him in a way he had never seen a woman smile at a men before.

The corner of her mouth twitched rakishly upwards, her lips tightened and moistened slightly, opening again, now sticky and luminous. He felt his manhood pulse in his pants in shock at the sight and looked away, embarrassed.

Lady Vhassar was clearly not intimidated. On the contrary, she waited for her father who had already noticed the prince. They approached him and the queen together, both bowing low. Aemond dared to look at her again. Her gaze was lowered meekly, there was no trace of her expression from a few seconds before.

She was wearing a thin, translucent dress made of a very delicate material in a shade of lilac. Her light skin went perfectly with this shade, her black hair was partly pulled back in a bun, her bright eyes seemed to glow. His gaze involuntarily moved to the line of her breasts, he could easily see the outline of her nipples.

He looked up and met her gaze, he knew she had caught him in the act. Her lips parted, her gaze expressing satisfaction with his condition. He had no idea what was going on with him or what kind of woman she was, but she certainly wasn't acting like the ladies of Westeros. Her father spoke.

"My queen, my prince. I am glad that our bloodlines remain in a strong bond, which we intend to maintain through marriage. Me, my daughter and the whole family are honored." He said softly, bowing again. He owned the largest bank in Volantis, constantly conversing with outsiders. He had a talent for diplomacy and spoke with ease. The queen nodded.

"We are grateful too, Lord Vhassar, for the tremendous support you give us. Your deeds will never be forgotten." She said warmly.

Finally the king entered the hall and everyone sat down at the tables to start the feast. His fiancée was sitting across the table, with her family. They stole a glance at each other, her gaze showing neither embarrassment nor fear. He was curious what she was thinking.

He had heard that the women of Essos were more liberated and less restrictive about how they shared their beds with men. He thought that he was pretty sure she wasn't a virgin. He felt he had no right to judge her, since he himself had slept with another woman.

Aegon bent over him, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"I envy you, brother. Will you fuck them two in turn, or will you introduce them and fuck them two at once? Either way, it sounds wonderful." He said, taking a piece of roast into his mouth. Aemond said nothing, taking a sip of wine, his face expressionless.

***

Lady Vhassar glanced furtively at her fiancé once in a while with a faint smile on her lips. She thought she was lucky. He was handsome but withdrawn, terrified and terrifying at the same time. It was a challenge for her, and she loved it.

She wasn't surprised to find out he had a mistress. She had heard a lot about marriages in Westeross, but certainly not that they were successful and passionate.

The other woman didn't bother her, of course as long as he kept her at a distance. She had already spotted several handsome guardsmen who she knew would provide her with wonderful entertainment if her husband turned out to despise her. For now, she has set herself the task of having fun only with her future husband.

She wondered what he had learned from this woman and whether he was a good lover. She felt wetness between her thighs at the thought. She thought she'd go fuck him in the hallway if he wanted to. She saw how he looked at her. How greedily he stared at her breasts and mouth.

She swallowed the last bite of her roast, dipping her hands in the rosewater that was standing nearby. Her brother, Vhogar, commented quietly on what he saw with displeasure.

"They pretend to be saints and bred but I heard Prince Aegon is one big pig. It's a good thing you're not marrying him, but his brother." He said, taking a sip of wine from his goblet, grimacing. "Gods, they have some diluted shit here, not wine. Don't we have our bottles somewhere?"

His sister laughed lightly at his words and placed her hand on his shoulder. They leaned towards each other.

"Hold on a little longer. You'll be home soon." She said gently. He frowned.

"Without you." He said dryly. She sighed softly at his words. They were inseparable from childhood. They were each other's confidantes, telling each other about their adventures, lovers and broken hearts.

"I know." She said softly.

After the feast, it was time for dancing. Her future husband didn't even flinch, but she thought that if he could barely talk, he couldn't dance for sure.

She didn't care, dancing with every lord who wanted it in turn. She saw their greedy glances, escaping to her mouth, breasts and hips. She knew that if they could, they would take her to their chamber for the night.

She stared at the dissatisfied, frustrated expressions of their wives in between. She thought she felt sorry for them and was not going to take their husbands away from them. She suspected that wouldn't stop them from continuing to seek relief in the arms of servants or kitchen wenches.

After another tiring dance, feeling beads of sweat running down her bare arms, she glanced toward the table. She saw her future husband sitting alone, pensive, toying with his goblet. She wondered what was going on inside his head.

She smiled to herself and moved towards the table, walking lightly up the steps, standing in front of him, taking him completely by surprise.

He swallowed loudly and tried to get up, but she shook her head, as she crossed over to sit down next to him. She sat down so that her back rested against the armrest and she was sitting half-side to him. She crossed her legs, her body glistening with sweat, her strands slightly sticking to her face.

She grabbed his goblet and took a sip of wine from it, without taking her eyes off him. He was staring at her intensely, his one hand clenched on the table. She put his cup back in its place, licking her lips.

"Forgive me, my prince. I was thirsty." She whispered and saw him inhale faster, his nostrils flaring.

He didn't say a word, his gaze expressed surprise, horror and curiosity all at once. She smiled warmly at him, got up, and walked back to the dancing couples, leaving him alone.

She knew he watched her dance. She knew he didn't know how he felt about her, wanting to be indifferent, while being jealous and frustrated at the same time.

She laughed inwardly at the thought that perhaps it would be better if that woman were his wife and she his lover. She thought it was a brilliant idea to steal a men form his mistress.

When the feast was over she went to her rooms without giving him a single glance. She asked her servant to follow him and remember where his chamber is. She wanted to be able to recreate this path later.

She changed into her thin, beautifully embroidered nightgown. It was so hot in Volantis that she slept naked. Often she even walked around the chamber like this, knowing that there were only her servants outside the door, letting her know when someone was approaching.

She felt then like a goddess among her nymphs, free and beautiful. Here everything seemed gray and gloomy, devoid of emotion. She wondered if this was what her future husband was like.

After a few hours she went on a journey through the darkness of the palace corridors. She knew his quarters were nearby. She waited patiently for the guards to pass through the corridor and walked barefooted, holding only a peach in her hand. It was her gift for him.

She quickly opened the door to his quarters and closed it behind her. She heard him jump up in his seat by the fireplace, staring at her in disbelief, his mouth parted.

"What are you doing here?" He asked softly and low, the first words he ever said to her.

She smiled at him, walking lightly towards him, unfazed by the fact that her nightgown covered practically nothing. She knew she shouldn't be there, and that if anyone heard them they'd both be in trouble. She stopped in front of him and held out her arm with peach in her hand.

"I have a gift for you. I brought them with me from my homeland." She said gently. She saw him purse his lips, all tense. He didn't know where to look, sucked in a breath.

"You should go back to your quarters." He said coldly. Silence fell between them.

She raised an eyebrow at him, slightly amused. She thought she'd play with him. She had no desire to win his heart by begging him to look at her kindly, giving him a sweet look full of hope and pain. She figured they'd have fun together or apart, but she certainly wasn't going to cry over him.

She lifted the peach to her mouth and bit into it. Its soft flesh yielding easily, the juice running down her lips she licked off with her tongue. She loved this taste.

She watched with satisfaction as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his gaze fixed on her lips.

"You're embarrassing me." He said finally. She wanted to burst out laughing at that remark.

"Your lover doesn't embarrass you?" She asked lightly, taking another bite, her face calm and gentle.

He looked at her shocked. He was horrified that she knew about his little secret. He pursed his lips and swallowed hard, apparently completely wiped off the board.

"What do you want?" He finally asked quietly. She looked at him deliberately, wondering why he was so tense. She twisted a bitten peach in her hand.

"I want you to taste my present." She said, looking at him from under her long lashes. He looked at her shocked.

"If I try it, will you leave?" He asked softly, giving in.

She smiled warmly at him and nodded. He reached out to grab the fruit, but she wouldn't let him. He frowned, frustrated.

"I said I want you to taste it, not bite it." She said, biting into the fruit herself again, licking the sweet juice from her lips. When he realized what she meant he shivered, his lips parted slightly.

She approached him slowly, unhurriedly. His whole body was tense like a string, and she knew something violent was going on inside his head. She thought that he was going to hit her right away or fuck her.

She bit into the fruit again, this time deliberately sucking on the flesh for a moment, spreading its juices over her tongue and lips. She slid her hand under his hair, grabbing him gently by the nape of the neck, pulling his face to hers. He leaned back a bit, terrified, his lips slightly parted. He didn't protest.

She stood on her toes, pressing her soft lips to his. She felt him inhale hard and shiver all over. She brushed his lips, waiting patiently for what followed a few seconds later.

Helplessly, he opened his mouth and she slipped her tongue in, letting him taste the sweet fruit. The tip of his tongue licked hers, and they both moaned into each other's mouths, surprised at the intensity of the sensation.

Their tongues licked for a moment, both of them not even noticing when their hands closed around their bodies. Their caresses were drawn out, their tongues rough, sticky and wet, exchanging saliva and the delicious taste of peach each time.

She felt her nipples harden in surprise, wetness trickling down her thighs. She took his hand, clenched tightly around the material of her nightgown in hers, leading her down.

"There are plenty of similar sweet, sticky, juicy fruits in Essos, my prince." She whispered into his mouth, continuing to caress him, their tongues dancing together in a slow, lazy dance. She felt a shiver run through him at her words, and at what she was doing with his hand.

She lifted her nightgown and slipped his hand between her thighs, letting him feel how wet she was. He drew in a sharp breath as he felt it, his lip quivering helplessly. His fingers ran timidly over her sticky, hot entrance, making her moan sweetly into his mouth.

"All the fruits in Essos have this much juice?" He asked low, his voice quivering, his tongue sliding deep into her throat. She moaned loudly, surprised by his words, a shiver ran through her body. She thought with delight that her future husband could give her what she wanted.

"Yes." She whispered helplessly, her hand pressing his fingers to her womanhood, craving more intense caresses, her hips beginning to rub against him, seeking fulfillment. They both began to breathe louder, their kisses one sticky, wet mess.

"If you want, you can try another fruit I brought with me, my prince" She whispered sweetly into his mouth, and he groaned loudly. She knew it was over, that they were about to fuck on his bed.

He lifted her suddenly by her hips. She wrapped her thighs quickly around him, making him moan in her mouth again. He threw himself on his bed with her, laying on top of her.

They didn't stop kissing, licking the tips of their tongues and sucking each other's lips, his hands quickly lifting her nightgown, spreading her thighs shamelessly in front of him.

He pulled away from her, her face hot and smudged, no trace of shame or fear. She saw that he was looking at her with a dark, unpredictable look, that made her feel throbbing inside.

"Let's have a taste." He purred low, suddenly going through a change, as if he wasn't the same person. She thought that she hadn't been aroused so much in a long time.

He cupped her thighs low with his big hands, massaging them leisurely. He leaned in, the tip of his tongue running over her entrance all the way to her pearl, causing her to lean back with a loud moan. Her hand tightened automatically in his hair. She felt him smile, his tongue teasing her clit, swirling around her, then moving down again, licking her juices.

"Delicious." He whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened her mouth, gasping sweetly with delight. She felt that if he kept going like this, she would soon come.

Her thighs began to move towards his face, demanding more intense caresses. She moaned loudly as she felt him slide his tongue inside, moving it rhythmically with a wet click. She leaned on one hand, lifting slightly, making his tongue touch her where she felt the greatest pleasure. She moaned softly, looking at him tenderly, her nipples hard with desire.

"Oh gods, yes, lick me!" She sobbed, throwing her head back, her hand tightening on his sheets as she moaned loudly. A wonderful, strong, hot orgasm ran through her body. She came on his face and he, unmoved, licked everything that flowed out of her, making her tremble all over.

"Gods…" She whispered helplessly, laying on her back, panting heavily. She watched, as her future husband ran his tongue over her throbbing, hot womanhood and then up her thigh. She pursed her lips, exasperated.

"Can I taste you too, my prince?" She asked quietly, and he gave her a shocked look, his mouth parted slightly. After a moment he smirked in a way that sent shivers down her spine. He stood in front of her, undoing his pants.

"Come here." He instructed gently. She obediently got up and settled herself on her lap, kneeling at his hips, looking at him expectantly.

"Have you tasted many men?" He asked teasingly, amused, letting her pull his pants down.

She thought that when he was like that, ironic, direct, dark, she could fuck him all night. She thought that she had great lover material. She wondered what his woman would think if she saw them now.

She looked down at his manhood and licked her lips in satisfaction, seeing how big he was. She thought she would make sure he gave her a lot of pleasure in the future.

"I've never tasted a dragon before." She purred, his attention making him smile from the corner of his mouth.

His lips parted in delight as she leaned over him. She licked his entire length with her tongue, glancing at him without a trace of embarrassment. His cock throbbed impatiently, swollen and hard. His hand gently tangled in her hair.

"This is not how I imagined you." He whispered and moaned low as her hand gripped the base of his member, her tongue teasing his tip, licking his own juices. She smiled at his words, popped him into her mouth, wetting him with her saliva, and pulled him out with a loud, wet click.

"Aren't you ashamed of me anymore?" She asked sweetly, shoving his length deep into her throat. She heard him chuckle lightly at her words, his hips moving against her mouth. She sucked him unhurriedly, caressing him with her tongue, taking care of every second of his pleasure.

"No. I changed my mind." He purred low, panting loudly, his hand forcing her to speed up. His member slammed against the wall of her throat, her lips pressed tight against him, driving him crazy. His buttocks pumped his manhood hard between her lips with a wet, sticky sound.

"You have to swallow it all. You know that, right?" He hissed, his hands clasping her hair, he was answered by her purr of satisfaction. He parted his lips, panting heavily, as he felt his fullfilment approaching.

"Oh Gods, swallow it, swallow it like a good girl" He panted, cuming hard deep in her throat, his length throbbing in her mouth. She moaned loudly at his words, swallowing all of his semen patiently, waiting for the last drop to spill out of him.

"Just like that." He whispered, looking down at her, stroking her hair. "Such a good girl."

To his astonishment, he noticed that not a drop had escaped her mouth. She released him from between her mouth with a loud, wet plop, licking her lips.

"Delicious." She whispered.

They stared at each other with hazy eyes, as Aemond pulled up his trousers, tying them back. She wanted to get up and just leave for her chamber, but he closed his hand on her shoulder and stopped her.

"What are you doing?" He asked surprised.

"I keep my promise." She said softly, taking her arm away, avoiding him with a light, unhurried step.

"Stay." He said suddenly. She stopped, looking at him in surprise.

"Are you sure?" She asked, trying to hide a smile of hot satisfaction, her eyes shining. He pressed his lips together, sliding under his sheets.

"Come here and go to sleep. I have to get up at dawn tomorrow."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @avgdusterfan @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @random-ocity @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @snh96 @malfoytargaryen

[thewalkingwillowtree]

Courting Ayelýn

Series Listing Found Here

Aonung x Original Na'vi Female Character

Summery: Pressured by his parents to enter a formal courtship, Aonung rebels in his own way and what starts as a ruse, turns into something real. 

Note before reading: This is a spin off of my Safe Haven Series.

Reading Safe Haven is not necessary to follow this story.

Some characters have been aged up. Aonung in particular is 25.

Ayelýn is my own creation. *Pronounced Aye-Lin

~

Part 1 - When They Met

“You want us to… what?” 

“Court. You and me.” 

“Clearly you’ve gone and lost your head.” 

~

Months Before…

Aonung stormed out of his family’s marui after yet another argument with his parents. Their demands were already ridiculous, but their constant reminders at every family meal were becoming annoyingly overwhelming. 

The anger and irritation inside of him was building, festering and threatening to make him do something he knew he’d regret. 

He was also about ready to punch something… Anything!

Clicking his tongue, he called for his skimwing and the second he reached the edge of the pier, he was leaping off and diving into deep crystal waters. Tsaheylu made, and at his command, the water beast shot off, taking him further and further away from his home… away from Awa’atlu. 

Mind distracted in a jumbled mess of fury and frustration over the situation at hand, Aonung let himself be blindly carried through the ocean. 

His parents had given him a deadline to find a woman to court. A woman he was then expected to eventually take as his mate. 

And honestly, it bothered him just how much of a shock the news had caused for him when he was told. Aonung had known all his life it would eventually come- it was expected of him- his birthright. 

But was it worth the pain it came with? 

“You should know better,” his father would say. “Be better.” Aonung was constantly criticized for his training techniques… his life choices, his decisions… his ways. It was, “do as I say,” and “when will you learn?” and… “you disappoint me.”

Nothing was ever good enough!

Words of honor and commitment and duty were forever shoved down his throat at every given opportunity. And although Aonung still considered himself a rebel and a rule breaker in his circle of friends, he was very much stifled and controlled. 

It was why most of his daydreams involved him running away. Daydreams of him leaving behind the duty, and the expectations… the fucking title. 

But he couldn’t leave. 

Tsireya. 

And Khalhan- his little brother. 

Aonung could never desert them. 

Damn his parents. Damn the entire situation. 

Fuck it all. 

~

For the remainder of the day, Aonung spent it by himself. Hidden away, he brooded, wallowing in self pity. It wasn’t until the sky began to change, suns slowly sinking into the sea that he considered leaving his shaded haven. 

A sudden muffled swear however, followed by a thunk, pulled Aonung from his thoughts. He couldn’t fathom who would have possibly ventured this far out to the abandoned, tiny island he considered his own. 

Curious, he climbed over a short wall of moss covered jagged rocks, only to find… a female.

He was unable to see her face from his position, but she was clearly upset, angry even, judging by the way she kicked the canoe that was half docked, half bobbing from the sway of rolling waves. 

“Oh you stupid thing! Couldn’t you have waited until I reached the reef line?” 

He snorted when a curse escaped her again, along with another thump, from the serve of a fierce kick. 

“Having fun there?” he called out. 

She startled at the sound of his voice, flinging her body around, knife drawn from her hip in preparation for danger. 

“Don’t do that!” she hissed when she found that it was just a loitering Na’vi. “I could’ve hurt you, you fool. You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.” 

Aonung approached, hands lifted in surrender. The tip of her knife brushed his stomach as his eyes darted between her and the weapon.

Head titled, he noted that she barely reached his chest and her puny blade looked so dull, he was certain she wouldn’t be able to make much- if any damage with it. 

“I highly doubt that, but if it makes you feel any better,” he shrugged, ignoring her pretty scowl as he moved to inspect her canoe. It was laden with laundered items, so with ease, he pulled it all the way onto the shore. “What seems to be the problem with this?”

“It’s got a leak,” she huffed, sheathing her blade. “I tried patching it before I set out this morning, but-” Head snapping toward the sea, she glanced around in immediate panic. “Wait, where are we-” Her stomach dropped at the sight of a significant flag blowing in the far distance. “Are we near Awa’atlu?”

It was only at this question did he take note of the purple and brown string of beads dangling from a lock of her tangled, messy hair. “You’re from the Keftxo village,” he said stupidly. It now made sense to him why she didn’t immediately recognize him. 

She sized him up when her eyes found his own string of blue and brown beads- Awa’atlu beads to be precise- attached to the sheath on his hip- her expression almost daring him to say something. 

And he would have… but for some reason he held his tongue. 

“I… got turned around,” she mumbled, thumbing at a small scar on her shoulder. The almost healed cut had ripped open in her haste to keep both her and her canoe safe. Thankfully it was no longer bleeding. “Riptide, along the eastern sharp rocks.” 

“Riptide?” he repeated in alarm. “Why in Eywa’s name are you even traveling near there?! It’s high tide. Were you trying to get yourself killed?” 

“W- Did you not just hear me say I got turned around and caught in a riptide?!” Tail flickering in annoyance behind her, she gestured to the vast ocean before them. “It’s not as if I had any control! I left Keftxo before dawn and now look where I am! Oh, and I’m fine, by the way. Thank you, for your concern,” she snarked. 

His gaze traveled the length of her body, spotting no other injuries. “Are you really?” he asked sincerely. 

That gave her pause. “Yes.”

He didn’t believe her but accepted her answer anyway. “Alright then.” Kneeling beside her canoe, his brows creased incredulously. “Just how old is this damn thing?”

“It’s fine!” she exclaimed in offense, crouching beside him to inspect the damage. “Only needs a bit of mending.”

“A bit?” He flicked at a thick, crusty patch of reinforcement. “You’re better off without it. I’d scrap it if I were you. One wrong turn along a pier and it be nothing but a pile of fucking splinters.” He snickered. “Who even made this thing? The work is shoddy, a mess of piss poor craftsmanship, sloppy carving. Look- even the design is off. How did you get it to float?” 

Nostrils flaring, her chin jutted out at his words. Aonung was pretty sure he’d be dead if her glare was a dagger. 

She muttered a slew of very creative swear words under her breath that had him raising his brows and while he should’ve been insulted, he was rather impressed. 

“Scrap it… scrap it?! I’ll have you know, I fixed it up myself! This canoe was specially gifted to my father by council elder Fjid!”

Aonung snorted. “Fjid?! The old man hasn’t been on the council in over a decade. And what does he know about canoes? Last time I saw him, he could barely tie a knot.”

“I know we just met, but does anything good ever come out of your mouth?” 

“Actually. I’ve heard my tongue does wonders,” he boasted cockily, tracing the tip of said tongue along his bottom lip sensually.

Instead of swooning or blushing like he thought she would, revolution clouded her features. It threw him off honestly. 

“Who is the nearest mender in your village?” 

Aonung blinked. “W- I can mend it for you,” he offered, getting to his feet quickly when she looked about ready to dive out. 

“No, thank you… Mender?” 

“Wait…” He pointed to himself, baffled by her reaction to him. “Are you upset with me?” 

“Hm, let me think,” she hummed sarcastically, pretending to ponder. “I almost died from a riptide, got washed up near Awa’atlu of all villages. My canoe has a gaping hole in it and the first person I’ve come across who I thought could maybe, possibly help me, insults its craftsmanship and tried to crudely insinuate that I let him please me with his so-called wonderous tongue… So, yes. I’d dare say I am upset with you.”

She blew out a gush of air. “Now… would you please tell me where I can find your nearest mender.” 

~

Aonung led her to a marui on the outskirts of his village where many canoes were lined docked along the pier it was connected to. 

All the while throughout their journey there, he couldn’t help tossing glances at his new found companion. A companion he found to be scruffy and slightly volatile… but also… pretty. Very pretty.  

Her reactions towards him were slightly refreshing- she clearly didn’t know who he was- status included - something he was keen to keep hidden from her for a bit longer for some reason. 

He found great amusement every time she caught him staring- her face morphing into an unimpressed scowl that most definitely read, fuck off… He was right, because a second later she was signing those two words right at him and speeding past, purposely sending a wave of water his way.

Oh he liked her alright.  

Was it terrible that he loved pissing her off? That scowl did it for him, honestly, especially the one she gave him after he’d caught up and yanked on her tail, signaling that they had to travel in the opposite direction. 

When they’d reached the shoreline, her annoyance towards his theatrics had subsided. Distracted, it was evident that she was trying not to gape at her surroundings, and failing to. 

Unbeknownst to him, Awa’atlu was in every way different from the little village she’d grown up in. While of course there were some similarities, Awa’atlu screamed life- brightness, adventure… promise. 

His companion was so rapt up with her awed surveying that Aonung was secretly glad she missed the few passerby’s reactions to him. 

Two women he'd slept with on two separate occasions, flirtatiously waved at him. And then there were also the overly respectful nods and gestures from others that were becoming obvious.

Desperate to avoid running into anyone who’d try to stop and chat, Aonung gently tugged on her elbow to change their direction. “This way.” 

~

The mender available to help seemed rather enthralled by the pair that had come to visit him that day. 

Hythspon, while no longer in his youth, but nowhere near considered old, stood for a full solid ten minutes watching the bickering two hurl snides and sly comments to each other, all while trying to come to a decision. 

His future chief wanted the Keftxo female to leave with one of the newly crafted canoes Hythspon had available, while the unnamed metkayina wanted to simply have her own canoe mended and be on her way. 

“I told you already, the thing is a deathtrap! Are you trying to get yourself killed? Because at this rate, I’m starting to think you are!”

“It’s not a deathtrap!”

“It is!”

“Not! It’s perfectly fine!”

“So perfectly fine that it almost killed you?! Sorry, gorgeous but you need to let it go. It’s time.”

“No. No, no. The riptide almost killed me, skxawng, the riptide! And for future encounters, the decent thing to do would be to ask about someone’s well being after facing a catastrophe like that! Not, lecture them as if they're stupid!” 

“Well you wouldn’t have ever been in that situation if you had ditched the fucking thing and worried about your own life! You seemed to think so too since I found you kicking and swearing at it!” 

“I already apologized for the kicking!”

“Yo- you,” he spluttered incredulously. “Did you actually apologize to a pile of splinters?”

“Canoe!”

“Deathtrap!” 

“It just needs a little love and care, I told you!”

“Aha! Love and care? I’m sorry, gorgeous but that thing is way past love and care.”

“That’s the second time you’ve done that now. Stop calling me that!”

Anoung paused… then, head tilted, he grinned wickedly. “Gorgeous.”

“UGH! Why do you insist on behaving like such an annoying little kit?! Even my brother is more mature than you and he’s eight!” 

“Oh-ho! So me trying to stop you from harm's way is-”

The clearing of a deep throat halted their argument and also made them simultaneously straighten up and put a little distance between them. At some point during their feud, they’d ended up merely inches apart. 

“Well, as much as I’ve enjoyed this rather entertaining ordeal,” Hythspon chucked, “I would like to get on with the rest of my day.” 

“Right, sorry,” she mumbled in embarrassment, tail curled as though she wanted to hide herself behind it. 

Hythspon’s solution in the end was to loan her a canoe. He’d have someone find her own and promised to mend it to his best and then have it returned to her- which she was ever grateful for.

That left Aonung with nothing else to argue about and the minute Hythspon gave her an oar, she was dashing off. Before he could think of running after her, she stopped abruptly at the marui’s threshold and pivoted. 

“Um, thank you. For your help… skxawng.”

“You’re welcome… gorgeous.”

She scowled, but he didn’t miss the tiny twitch of her mouth. He probably imagined it but he thought for the briefest moment that she’d almost smiled.  

Walking along the pier, Aonung watched her row until her silhouette faded into nothing more than a blob in the distance. Confused by the unknown churning he felt in his chest, he shook his head and finally turned away. 

It wasn’t until later that night as he waited for sleep to claim him, that he realized something…

He hadn’t gotten her name. 

~ 

In the blink of an eye life went on. 

The Sullys were gone and a few months later, Awa’atlu received word that Xilä- Neteyam’s mate had given birth to a healthy baby boy. 

Left behind was Lo’ak of course, who’d decided to stay at Awa’atlu for good. Much to no one’s surprise, the forest boy was officially courting Aonung’s sister, Tsireya. 

Whilst Aonung and Lo’ak had started off on rocky footing initially, they both had quickly overcome it in their youth, and dare say even become close friends since then.

And even though Aonung’s immediate confidant was Rotxo, Aonung found himself confiding in the Sully brothers more often than not. 

Neteyam had given him some good advice when Aonung had first opened up about his worries to find a mate. Advice that he was actively trying to practice. Neteyam had told him not to look- not to stress and worry. That Eywa would show him the way eventually… But his patience was wearing thin and time was also running out. 

Arguments with his parents had intensified and the gossip and whispers about his “playmate” days being over, had spread. Though it was the truth. 

Gone were the days and nights of fucking and fooling around with playmate after playmate. He hadn’t been with a woman since after Neteyam’s chat with him that night. 

It was harder than he thought- not getting his dick wet on the regular. Not only was it painful at times and he had to get rather acquainted with right hand, but it also put him in a foul mood most days. 

Aonung was secretly proud of himself however. Every time temptation tried to lure him, he didn’t give in. He was serious. He was trying… Even though he had his doubts. 

And then, just like that, his year was up. 

And still no woman from Eywa. 

~

“Bro… Are you shitting with me right now?”

A disgusted expression formed on Aonung’s face. “I do not shit with you, brother.” He shook his head. “Your human sayings are quite vulgar, do you know that?”

Lo’ak ignored him, focusing instead on the bombshell of a confession Aonung had just shared. “Can we go back to the part where you said you lied to your parents about having a courting partner?” 

Aonung grimaced. Not only because the words sounded just as bad coming from Lo’ak’s mouth, but also from the sour flavor of the pungent booze he and his friend were passing back and forth. 

“I didn’t know what else to do.” His jaw clenched at the thought of the tongue lashing he was in for when the time came for him to confess. 

Ronal had the spirit of the Great Mother running through her veins. Aonung knew his mother didn’t believe him when he’d told her his news earlier that day. 

Fuck. 

“Okay. Let’s start over, man. Why would you even do that?”

Right. Lo’ak didn’t know everything. Neteyam did.

Slightly tipsy as he and Lo’ak sat along the shoreline, waves kissing their feet, Aonung divulged, telling his friend every detail all over again, because, what else was there for him to do?

“Damn, that’s just… damn.” Lo’ak sighed, slightly stunned by the angry rant Aonung had just given. “You’re lucky it’s not as bad as Neteyam- he had a fucking blood oath.” He winced at his choice of words. “Sorry, cuz.” 

Aonung paid him no mind however, his gaze instead distracted and locked on the horizon before them as Lo’ak went on a long winded rant of his own.

“- all one fucking mess, this whole elders’ tradition thing. If you ask me, brother, I’d just get some poor girl to pretend to be in love with me- ya know, appease the parents, then just have her break your heart… and then-” Lo’ak drank another healthy mouthful of their booze, “and then everyone would feel so sorry for your moping ass, they’d give you a break over this whole courting thing… I’m sure of it.” 

Aonung’s head snapped to his friend, slightly stunned. 

“What?” Lo’ak glanced behind him for good measure, but nope, Fishlips was staring at him. “What?” he asked again.

“That’s… that’s actually a good idea.” 

“The shit I just spewed?”

Aonung cursed at the burn from anther sip of the liquid he swallowed. Why was it worse each time? “Yeah. I think I’ll just do that.”

Lo’ak plucked his bottom lip in thought. His mind was hazy but not that hazy. He probably hadn’t heard right. “Pfft. You’re yanking my tail.”

“No, I’m serious,” Aonung said, sitting up as his mind started whirling. He twisted to face the Sully man, taking another shot of the disgusting, throat burning spirits. “It’s the perfect plan. Just before the formal ceremony, I’ll have her break it off, but by then I’d have “fallen in love”… My parents wouldn’t push anyone on me after something like that.”

“Dude… I was fucking joking,” Lo’ak emphasized. Then, paying attention to the determined look on the man’s face, Lo’ak shoved his shoulder. “Skxawng, you’re not seriously thinking of going through with this?”

“Why not? It’s good advice- Hey! I was going to drink that!”

Lo’ak had snatched the waterskin they hid their liquid stash in. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“Fuck you.”

Facing the metkayina man fully, the omaticaya shook his head. “Listen… back at Home Camp, there’s a saying, don’t ever take advice from Lo’ak. Now usually I’d be offended, but right now, I think you should listen to the masses… Also, I’m pretty sure you’re drunk. Better yet, we're both drunk.”

Aonung waved him off. “Lo’ak. This plan could actually work.” 

“It could also blow up in your face.”

“Then that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“You’re that desperate?! Reya’s got so many female friends, why don’t you-”

“No. I wouldn’t ask that of my sister. I know myself and it’s this unspoken rule between us anyway. I don’t play around with her friends, and she stays clear of mine- even if she’s never been like that- like me.”

“Nice. Guess I’m the exception then?” Lo’ak grinned. 

“You’re not my friend,” Aonung deadpanned. 

“Ouch!” Lo’ak pretended to be hurt. 

“Are you going to help me with this or not?” 

“Dude, I really love your sister. And I’d really like to stay on good terms with your parents, you know, so they’d let me continue to court her?! If they knew I helped you with this they’d toss me back to the forest before I could even plead my case!” 

Aonung squinted at him. “Tsireya’s made you soft,” he taunted. 

“Nice try, but I have two new badass tats that say otherwise,” he replied, gesturing to the intricate ink that adorned his left arm, and right shoulder.

The corner of Aonung’s lips twitched. He was secretly proud of the forest boy. Lo’ak impressed them all with his determination to learn their metkayina customs.

He’d been through grueling challenges that endangered his life and partook in lengthy, traditional ceremonies all for the chance of love. All for Tsireya. No wonder it was so easy for Aonung to approve of their match. 

Lo’ak blew out a breath and handed the booze back to his friend who took a swig. “Alright then, let’s do this fucking thing.” 

“That was fast. What changed your mind?”

“I know too much. Your parents will kill me either way, especially if they knew I didn’t do anything to stop you. So, let’s get to planning properly so they don’t find out.”

“Let’s hear it then. What’s first?”

Lo’ak thrummed his bottom lip again. “First things first, we need to find you a woman. Should be easy to help you get a willing partner, you’ve already got so many swatting at your tail.” 

“No,” Aonung shook his head, eyes glassy in the moonlight. “It can’t be one of them. They’d think they could handle it but they’d also think they could change me. Make me fall for them. I’m not stupid.”

“Nope,” Lo’ak agreed. “You’re just a cocky bastard… a fucking fishlip skxawng if you ask me,” he mumbled.

“Skxawng…” Revelation formed on Aonung’s face. “I think I know the perfect woman.” 

~

Ayelýn was furiously scrubbing at a filthy mat someone had brought in. Frustrated, she cursed at whatever substance had left such a stain, praying it wasn’t blood… or worse. 

Thankfully it didn’t smell like either. 

She wiped at her brow, and blew out a breath toward a stubborn loc of hair that refused to be confined in her tie. This would be her last article to clean for the day. 

If she could just get the stain out. 

Scrubbing until her already bruised knuckles blistered, Ayelýn tuned out the sounds of the village around her. 

Keftxo, was the smallest and last in the chain of fifty islands occupied by the metkayina people. Hearing countless whispers and rumored talk when she was growing up, Ayelýn found out that Keftxo, was sadly known as “the lesser” island. That included the reef people inhabiting it, also.

Despite learning this, her parents taught her to never be ashamed of being from here. It was full of the hardest working Na’vi, Na’vi who undertook jobs that may not have been the most grand but were no less important than any other. 

Life in her little village was all hard work most days. Her duty, along with a handful of others was the grueling job known as a scrubber. 

Everyday, canoes from their neighboring villages were filled to the brim with tarps, sleeping mats, hammocks, heavy fishing nets, tapestries and harnesses. And everyday she would spend hours scrubbing them clean. 

She’d just added another sweet smelling soap spud directly to the already almost potent concoction she’d formed for this one mat, hoping the concentrated effects would aid in her task, when a familiar fine voice called her name. 

“Lýn! Lýn!” Kaiiff, her little brother excitedly bounced into the marui she was in, boxy grin wide. “You won’t believe this! We have a visitor from Awa’atlu and I think he’s asking for you!”

Wiping sweat from her brow again, and mostly likely smearing herself with soap studs, Ayelýn began to rinse out the stubborn article. “No one from Awa’atlu knows who I am, Kaii,” she said with a forced smile, trying to mask her tiredness from the ball of life in front of her. 

“Lýnnn, I’m serious. He described you perfectly. Asked for a puny, scowling female and even said you have a tiny scar on your left shoulder. At least that’s what Talu said he was asking for. And who else in the village could that be?” 

Ayelýn paid full attention to her brother now, brows scrunched in confusion. Before she could ask, two individuals were entering the marui behind her brother, flanked by a very obvious crowd of onlookers behind them. 

Her father seemed uneasy as he approached her, suspicious eyes flickering from her to the man following close behind him.

“You!” her lips spat in fury before her brain could comprehend who exactly she was seeing. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” the familiar stranger greeted- rather loudly too, once again with that stupid smirk of his. 

“Ayelýn?” her father called. “You know the Olo'eyktan’s son?”

Ayelýn audibly inhaled- shock clouding her features at the revelation that the wall of a man before her- the man she’d practically insulted quite a few many times now, was none other than their Olo'eyktan’s son. 

Aonung…

Ripples of not so hushed whispers from Lýn’s workmates echoed behind her as her face paled in mortification. Despite the reveal, she had never wanted nothing more than to punch the stupid smug smirk off his face, mirth dancing in his eyes because he knew… that she knew now. 

“Ayelýn,” he voiced as though testing it out- her name sounding sinful coming from his lips. 

Time seemed to have sped up, because in a matter of seconds, quite a few things happened.

The first being, Aonung’s surprisingly pleasant introduction with her younger brother and her mother, who’d quietly snuck into the mix as well- her cheeks tinting as she bashfully patted Aonung on the arm for thinking that she was Lýn’s older sister and not her mother. 

Having enough, Ayelýn snapped rather rudely, interrupting their small talk. “What are you doing here?” 

“Ayelýn,” her mother hissed in disbelief. “Have some respect.”

“Sa'nok, you don’t under-”

“No, it’s okay. I know my presence is a bit of a surprise… I was actually hoping to have a word with your daughter, if you’d allow me,” Aonung directed to her parents, tone dripping in charm Ayelýn knew was probably- most likely all an act. “Somewhere private if possible?”

“Oh! O-of course, of course,” Bwena replied, grin stretching so wide that Ayelýn thought her mother’s face must hurt. She was ever eager to encourage whatever was happening here. “You may use our marui. Ayelýn will show you! Go on, Lýn,” her mother quipped, bodily shuffling her forward and even taking a fast second to try to hastily wipe away a streak of soap residue from her brow. 

“No- wait-”

Protesting was futile because before she knew it, Ayelýn found herself in her family’s shabby but quaint, tiny marui- quite alone with a towering Na’vi and his stupid smirking mouth. 

It annoyed her how much he was enjoying this- whatever this was.

Her eyes tracked his every move as he observed her home. It wasn’t as nice or grand or even tidy like the ones she’d snuck glances into during her brief visit to Awa’atlu, and she suddenly found herself feeling self conscious- lesser than… and she hated herself for it. 

When he finally returned his attention to her, his lips did a funny little quirk as though he were trying not to laugh.

“What?” she snapped.

Instead of responding, he snagged a cloth from a line of clean drying articles and approached cautiously, surprising her when he began to gently wipe at her brow and down her cheek. His other hand held her chin in place, thumb and forefinger keeping her still as he worked in silence. 

Ayelýn didn’t know why she allowed him, but something gave her pause… maybe it was the way his smell attacked her senses- salt and spice and comfort. 

“There you go,” he hushed, voice rumbling deep and wrong. “All pretty again.”

Senses betraying her, she forced herself to take a step back. “What are you doing here, Aonung?”

“Looking for you.”

“Mm, I gathered… You’ve created quite the spectacle and now it will be all my village talks about until I’m frail and old.”

“That’s dramatic… and presumptuous of you.”

“Presumptuous? Me? Oh-” she scoffed. Oh the nerve of him. “I have lived here all my life and I have never seen you step foot in Keftxo. You’re the one that walked into my village- like you own it mind you-” She gave him a flashing warning glare when he tried to rebut, because technically he did own her village. “-looking for me! Can we get this over with so you can be on your way? What do you want?” 

Mouth set, he shrugged casually. “I want us to form a courtship. A formal one.”

When Ayelýn didn’t answer, his head tilted, trying to catch her attention as he poked her shoulder. “Did you hear me, gorgeous?”

“Hm? Oh yes, I did. Nice joke. I'm just too tired to laugh though. Now what do you really want?”

“I’m… not joking,” he enunciated slowly, peering at her in concern, as if she were the one saying crazy things. “I want us to court and-”

“You want us to… what?” 

“Court… You and me.” 

Ayelýn snorted. “Clearly you’ve gone and lost your head.” But something about the way he kept staring at her however popped the amusement bubbling at her chest. “You’re being serious right now, aren’t you?” 

He nodded. 

And for the first time, she saw his sincerity shining through.

“So, what do you say, Lýn?” he asked with an expectant smile, using her nickname as though they were old friends.

“Absolutely not!”

~

Hey, you lovey people!

I’m sure you all know the drill by now, please let me know what you think. 💛

Parts 2 & 3 are mostly complete and just need a full edit, so be sure to share anything in particular you’d like to see happen.

~

Tags:@jakesullyfatjuicypeen@granddearduck@riatesullironalite@strawberri-blonde@earthling55 @innercreationflower @duckworthbean @gyuventure @btsiguess-kpop@blkmystery@neteswife@luvteyams@isnt-itstrange@erenjaegerwifee@faatxma@ivysully@bakugouswaif@pinkpantheris @mntx666@ironcaptainnataliabarnes

[parkerslatte]

Strings That Bind Us | Part 1

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: she/her pronouns used. fluff and a smidge of angst.

Summary: Y/N owns a small bookstore in Velaris. When she struggles to take her stock in, a handsome stranger approaches her and offers her help. She accepts the help and Y/N insists on making him dinner for his help. Azriel originally denies this but he finds himself eventually saying yes for reasons he doesn’t understand quite yet.

A/N: I might write a part 2 if anyone wants it :)

ACOTAR Masterlist

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

•••

The boxes of new books were stacked on top of one another and Y/N stared up at it deciding internally how to tackle it. It was the middle of summer and Y/N was already sweating just from arranging her store all day. Now as she stood before the stacks of books she let out a sigh and rolled up her sleeves. The first box wasn’t too big and was easy to carry inside and place by the counter. Y/N had only moved one box and she was already beginning to sweat. 

The next few boxes were bigger and Y/N silently cursed. If the delivery had been on any other day it would have been fine, but the stock had decided to show up on the hottest day of the year. Y/N tried her best to manouver herself in a position where she could grip the box but every position she tried proved useless. It wasn’t as if the box was too heavy, it was only that it was an awkward size to carry. 

Y/N gave a small wave and smile to the crowds who walked past. She wanted to speak up and ask for help but everyone she looked at seemed to be having a nice day and she didn’t want to interrupt them. Y/N suffered in silence. And the heat. 

After awkwardly moving the second box into the store she let out a breath and fanned herself with her hands. It was too warm for the shirt and trousers she had decided to wear. Even if she could easily run up to her apartment situated above her store, she decided not to, not with the stacks of books sitting outside. 

The third box she moved into the store made a dent in the stacks but there was still plenty more to go. Y/N didn’t know why she had decided to double her order of books for the month, it seemed like a good decision at the time knowing that her stock wouldn’t sell out any time soon. But not after only moving a few boxes she regretted it immensely. 

“Do you need any help?” A voice asked from behind her as Y/N pushed the next box through the door. 

Y/N turned and faced the source of the voice and her breath was swept away from her. The stranger in front of her was handsome, handsome in the way she read about in books. Of course she knew who he was, nearly everyone in Velaris did. Standing before her was the High Lord’s very own shadowsinger. 

Y/N sagged against the box. “That would actually be really helpful.”

The shadowsinger, Azriel, stepped up to the box Y/N had started to push through the doorway and picked it up with ease. Y/N gaped. If only she had arms like his then maybe she could have done that. 

“Where do you want it?” he questioned. 

Y/N shook her head, bringing her attention from his arms to his eyes which wasn’t much better as they were a beautiful shade of hazel and seemed to glow in the lighting of her store. “Oh, just by the counter is fine.”

Y/N moved onto the next box and began to push it towards the entrance before Azriel swiftly picked it up and carried it into the store. Y/N followed him in. “You know if I had long arms like you, I would be able to do that too.”

“Sure,” he replied as he placed it down beside the counter with the rest of the boxes. 

He exited the store and didn’t return for a moment and Y/N guessed that he had disappeared. Even the brief thought sent a twinge of disappointment through her. However before she could dwell on it any further, Azriel came into the store once more carrying two boxes. 

Y/N folded her arms across her chest. “Okay, now you’re just showing off.”

Azriel placed them down beside the others and there was a hint of a smile on his face. It was barely visible but it was there. While he brought the last few boxes in, Y/N began to open them and began to make stacks of them alphabetically. From looking at how many books were in one box, she dreaded thinking of where she would put them all. Of course she had gaps in her shelves but there weren’t nearly enough for every book to go. 

“Do you need any more help?” Azriel asked as he lingered near the door, wings blocking out a lot of light. 

Y/N’s attention shifted from the books to Azriel and back to the books. “If you could help unbox everything it would help me a lot.”

Azriel gave her a nod before he stepped over to a box and began to open it and sacked the books as Y/N had been doing, even in alphabetical order. Y/N smiled before moving onto a box of her own. 

“Do you work here alone?” Azriel asked. 

“I do,” Y/N answered. “I’ve had this store for over one hundred years. It’s still going strong.”

“It seems well loved,” Azriel commented as he sorted through the books. 

“I take great pride in it,” Y/N said, taking a moment to glance around. Her store felt like home. “Do you read?”

“Not as much as I would like,” Azriel answered. 

“I suppose with your job, you find it hard to find a quiet time to relax and open a book,” Y/N said as she opened another box. 

Azriel only nodded as he continued to organise the books alphabetically, even going as far to slip the ones he had between the pile she had created. Y/N watched from the corner of her eye. If she had known that morning that the shadowsinger would be helping her organise books she wouldn’t have believed it.

“Do you read a lot?” Azriel asked. 

Y/N nodded enthusiastically. “I love to read! Anything and everything, it's partly the reason why I wanted to open this store. I wanted to share all the books I enjoy with people. Even if I might be a little biassed towards some of my favourites.”

“Is that why I have opened one box only filled with the same book?” Azriel asked, his tone holding a small hint of teasing. 

Y/N smiled. “That book is my favourite, about a million miles above any other I’ve read.”

“It’s special to you.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

“It is,” Y/N said, her gaze softening. “My mother and father always read that book to me while growing up, they always insisted that they read me different books but I always wanted that one. I still have the copy they read to me, the cover is nearly falling off and some of the pages are falling out but I refuse to replace it. The book is really the only thing I have left of my parents.” Y/N paused for a moment and turned to glance at Azriel. “I’m sorry, I have quite a habit of oversharing sometimes. I just start talking and don’t really stop. I apologise if I made you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay,” Azriel said softly. “How did they die?”

Y/N shrugged. “That’s the issue, I don’t really know. Originally I am from the Summer Court and my parents lived in a small cottage basically in isolation. There weren’t many others around. I visited them one day and found the whole cottage ransacked and they were nowhere to be seen, but there was blood everywhere, too much of it to know that they were alive. I came to Velaris not long after, my mother was originally from here.”

“I’m sorry,” Azriel said. 

Y/N shook her head. “You don’t need to apologise. And besides it was nearly two hundred years ago now, I try not to dwell on it too much. It happened and there was nothing I could have done but move on. I know my parents wouldn’t want me to sulk about it for my whole life. It was half the reason I opened this store, in their honour.”

“They would be proud of you,” Azriel said, looking at her. 

Y/N smiled. “I know they would.” She looked at the book scattered at her feet she she let out a sigh. “But they wouldn’t be proud of all of this mess though.”

Even with all of the categorised into alphabetical order, she knew that it was going to take her a long time to place them onto the shelves. It was already getting into the late afternoon and it was due to get dark soon. Y/N debated leaving it all to be a problem for the next day but she knew that she would keep putting it off if she left it any longer. 

“I can help put them on the shelves as well,” Azriel said. 

Y/N looked at him and shook her head. “I wouldn’t wish for you to do that. You’ve done so much for me already.”

“It wouldn’t be an issue,” Azriel said and moved towards a stack of books and picked them up. 

Y/N sighed, knowing that she wasn’t going to get him to leave anytime soon. “You can start in that corner over here, there’s a large gap in titles.” 

Azriel nodded before taking a pile of books in his arms and going to work in the corner Y/N had pointed to. Y/N stood and watched him. She wasn’t sure why the shadowsinger of the night court was helping her in her small bookstore. But as she watched as his brows furrowed in concentration as he read and sorted through the titles, she found herself smiling. 

Shadows swirled around Y/N’s feet as Azriel’s head turned to catch her eye. Once Y/N realised that she had been caught staring she quickly looked away to fuss over a stack of books on the opposite side of the store. However she turned away too fast. If she had waited only a second more she would have witnessed the small smile appear on Azriel’s face. 

***

“Thank you for your help,” Y/N said to Azriel as she placed the final few books on the shelves. It was dark outside now and the once bustling street was vacant and quiet. “I don’t know what I can do to repay you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Azriel said as he stood in the centre of the shop. 

“No,” Y/N said, turning to face him fully. “You’ve been here basically all day. You probably had things you wanted to do. The least I can do is make you dinner or something.”

“You really don’t need-”

“I insist,” Y/N said, folding her arms across her chest and stepped closer to Azriel. His shadows swirled around her feet again and Y/N felt the soft caresses on her ankles. “And don’t even argue with me because you won’t win.”

Y/N now stood directly in front of him and smiled up at him. Azriel looked down at her, fighting the urge to let the smile appear on his face. “Now, what do you want for dinner?”

“I don’t mind,” Azriel said, his voice unusually quiet. 

Y/N didn’t break eye contact as she slowly backed away from him. “Come on then, I only live upstairs.”

The stairs that granted Y/N access to her apartment were narrow and Azriel needed to tuck his wings in tight to even get up the stairs. Y/N quickly apologised to him as she quickened her pace to open the door at the top and let him into the spacious apartment. It wasn’t the largest apartment but it was open plan and granted Azriel the room to stretch his wings any way he wanted. 

“You can sit wherever you wish,” Y/N said. “Dinner hopefully won’t be too long. You’re not too hungry, are you? If you are I can just make something quickly but I did want to make you a nice mean because you have been really nice to me today and-”

“Y/N,” Azriel interrupted, a soft smile gracing his face and Y/N melted at the sight of it. “I’m okay with anything.”

“I do have my mother’s recipe for a soup that she used to make me all the time, it shouldn’t take too long.”

“It sounds perfect,” Azriel said, his smile widening the smallest amount. 

Y/N smiled back at him before swiftly turning to the kitchen area. She could feel Azriel’s gaze on her and her face heated up. Having the shadowsinger in her apartment was something she had never thought would happen, in fact the thought had never crossed her mind. She tried to ignore the feeling of Azriel’s gaze on her but she found it hard. As she prepared the ingredients she cast quick glances in the shadowsinger’s direction. 

He was now carefully inspecting her apartment and looking at the decoration. Upon first glance it looked quite cluttered but Azriel could tell that everything held a great significance. 

 It wasn’t too long later when Y/N served up the soup in two mismatched bowls. Azriel couldn’t fight back the smile at the childish pattern on his bowl. Y/N ‘s eyes glanced down at the bowl and a soft smile graced her features.

“I painted that bowl when I was a child,” she said. “There was originally a whole set of them but they have all broken over the years. That is the only one that is still intact.”

“It’s beautiful,” Azriel said, sparing one final glance at the pattern on the bowl before placing it down on the table to begin eating the soup. 

Y/N snorted. “You don’t need to be kind, I know it’s terrible.”

“But it means a lot to you,” Azriel said, his voice calm. “And that’s what makes it beautiful.”

“I suppose I have never thought of it that way,” Y/N said. “I’ve only ever thought of it as a silly painting I did in my childhood. But I guess it is beautiful in its own weird way.”

Azriel offered her a small smile before they both ate their soup in silence. It was comfortable. 

***

It was several days later when Azriel found himself walking down that familiar street. He wasn’t sure why he was outside when he had plenty of work to be doing but it was as if something called to him. Ever since he had spent the day with Y/N, he hadn’t been able to get her off of his mind. He had only spent a matter of hours with her but every small thing reminded him of her. When he saw Nesta’s stack of books, the titles were familiar as he remembered shelving them days ago. The drawing Nyx gave him when he visited, the childish art reminded him of Y/N’s bowl. Even while he slept he couldn’t seem to escape Y/N. She would appear in his dreams and Azriel found himself disappointed when he awoke to find her not with him. She was plaguing his mind. 

His pace slowed as he approached the familiar store. It was crowded and music seemed to flow from inside. Many left the store with wide smiles on their faces and carrying an assortment of bags. Azriel stood on the other side of the street and watched through the window, he could see Y/N behind the counter and he couldn’t help but smile. Her expression was calm as she greeted each customer that approached her. Despite the long line, no one seemed to be in a rush or angry. 

Azriel wanted to go in the store just to be close to Y/N again but he stopped himself from doing so and instead remained on the other side of the street. When Azriel was questioned where he was going, he didn’t know what to answer. Originally he didn’t think he would end up in front of Y/N’s store but as he walked through the city, his feet seemed to carry him there. 

The crowd in Y/N’s shop seemed to become emptier and emptier the longer Azriel lingered on the street. He had wanted to simply fly away and never think about Y/N again. But his body didn’t allow him to. It was as if he was stuck to the ground. 

Azriel’s gaze shifted to Y/N’s shop once again as he looked through the doorway. There were only a few customers in the store now. Y/N chatted with the customer in front of her, a wide smile on her face. It caused Azriel to smile. Not one of his forced smiles or a smile he did just because he felt like he needed to. It was a real, genuine smile. 

From inside the store, Y/N’s gaze shifted as if she felt someone looking at her. Her eyes met Azriel’s and her eyebrows furrowed before she brought her hand up and waved. Azriel froze as he was caught. He never had the intention of her spotting him across the street. Now as she smiled at him after handing over a bag of books to her final customer, Azriel swiftly turned on his heel and walked away from the store.

***

Y/N’s smile dropped as she watched Azriel walk away. Without thinking, she quickly raced out of the store and saw him already halfway down the street. She didn’t even lock her store before she took off down the street after him. If she was being completely honest with herself, she was hoping that the shadowsinger would show up at her store again. After cooking him dinner days ago, she had wanted to see him again. Each morning she had silently watched the door to her store hoping he would walk through. She felt guilty for her disappointment when it was just a regular customer. 

“Azriel!” Y/N yelled down the street. Many fae turned to look at her but she simply ignored them in her pursuit of the shadowsinger. 

Azriel must have heard her as he did slow his pace but didn’t stop completely. She increased her pace as she chased him down the busy street. As he turned a corner, she followed. There weren’t many others down this street and it was much quieter. 

“Azriel, slow down!” Y/N exclaimed, she was already growing tired. “I need to talk to you.”

Azriel’s pace faltered once again and it gave Y/N the opportunity to catch up. He was a few paces ahead of her and she reached out her hand and gently clasped his in hers. This made Azriel go still. 

“Finally, you stopped,” Y/N said, trying to catch her breath. “You know, you walk really fast?”

Azriel didn’t answer. He only looked at where Y/N clasped his hand in her’s. Y/N, however, didn’t notice how tense Azriel had become. 

“I was wondering if you were going to stop by anytime soon,” Y/N said. “The store has been so busy over the past few days and I’ve been working my ass off but it has been fun. Nearly all the books you shelved are gone now.” Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as Azriel still continued to look at their joined hands. “What’s wrong?”

Azriel finally met Y/N’s eyes. He pulled his hand out of Y/N’s grip and folded his arms behind his back. “Nothing.”

Y/N looked at the way his body was still tense as she took a small step back. “I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner again? Or even just go for a drink?” 

Y/N’s heart was beating fast as she asked the question. She wasn’t sure where this confidence had come from but was grateful for it. 

Azriel looked at her hands where she nervously fiddled with her rings and he slowly nodded. Y/N let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Good, for a moment there I thought you would say no then I would have chased you down the street for nothing. So, which will it be? Dinner or a drink?”

“Why not both?” Azriel asked. 

Y/N smiled and the two began to walk to the main part of the city. It was still busy as they stopped by Y/N’s store for her to lock it up before continuing on their way to find a restaurant. The whole walk there, Azriel kept to himself, his hand locked behind his back. Y/N noticed the way he would flinch away as she accidentally brushed her arm with his. 

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable by touching you,” Y/N said. “I really wasn’t thinking. I just tried to make you stop.”

Azriel looked down at her, she was fiddling with her rings once more. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t?” Y/N said.

Azriel shook his head. “I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Me?” Y/N questioned. “Why would I be uncomfortable?”

Azriel swallowed as he brought his hands from where they were clasped behind his back to his front. He flexed his fingers as Y/N watched. 

“My scars,” Azriel said. “I thought they would make you uncomfortable.”

Y/N stopped in her tracks and furrowed her eyebrows. “Of course they wouldn’t make me uncomfortable.” Azriel slowly turned to her. “And I’m sorry if I did anything to make you feel that way.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Azriel said. “Please don’t apologise.”

Y/N looked at Azriel and noticed the hesitation in his eyes as he stared down at his hands. She followed his gaze before slowly clasping his hands in hers. Azriel tensed for a brief moment before he relaxed. 

“There is nothing about you that would make me uncomfortable,” Y/N said, giving his hands a gentle squeeze.

“You barely know me,” Azriel said, his voice quiet.

“I know,” Y/N said. “That is true. But I do want to get to know you more if you’ll allow me. This sounds stupid but I was hoping that you would come to my store again. I’ve been keeping an eye on the door hoping that you would walk in.”

Azriel smiled. “It doesn’t sound stupid at all. What does sound stupid is everything reminding me of a certain female and me thinking about her so much that it got to the point where I had to linger outside her shop for over an hour.”

Y/N laughed and clutched onto Azriel’s hands tighter. “Stalker,” she teased.

“I wanted to come in,” Azriel said frantically. “You were just busy and I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me.”

“Obviously I would want to see you,” Y/N said as she threaded their fingers together. She felt Azriel relax even more from her touch. “There's…just something about you that I am drawn to. And I’ll be happy to find out what that is.”

Azriel smiled as Y/N began to drag him down the street, their hands linked together. 

[nolita-fairytale]

make my heart surrender | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter three: thursday

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

warnings: lots of swearing, angst, use of she/her pronouns, allusions to sex, eventual smut, no use of y/n, second person pov, mentions of death/mikey's suicide

word count: 3.4k

summary: you and carmy finally find some time to catch up and carmy begins to realize that you're more similar than he thinks.

a/n: thank you to all who are reading, reblogging, and commenting omg. i'm so grateful that someone wanted to read this story. i wrote it in a week because i couldn't get these two out of my head. they were begging to be put on the page. i also have a companion playlist that i'll release when the story is done because i don't want to spoil anything! comment below if you'd like to be added to this story's taglist. i did presumptuously add a few of you i've interacted with, so please let me know if you'd also like to be taken off of it.

read: part two | masterlist

Thursday

You’re grateful that by day three, you’d been able to smooth over some of the tension between you and Carmy. You even looked forward to catching up with him, if the two of you can swing it. Instead of going home early, you had jumped on the line this evening. Ebra was out for the night and Marcus had asked to fly solo on prep so that you could give him some feedback before lunch service tomorrow morning. 

It was an easy decision, to fill in and jump on the line. After all, you had checked your bag on the plane so that you could bring your knife roll with you, just in case. There was something about this kitchen – the energy and the people – that you wanted to stick around for. And it didn’t hurt that you got to spend a little extra time with Carmy. When he was in his element, expediting and leading this kitchen… he was… breathtaking. 

“Damn, nice knife, Jeff” Tina comments, checking out the santoku you’re running through some parsley. She can hear the crisp, clean cuts you're making, which is what caught her attention in the first place.

“Jeff?” you question, shooting her a look. 

“Long story, but trust me. It’s a term of endearment,” Sydney interjects, from her side of the prep station. 

You chuckle, “She’s a beauty alright. My first fully Japanese knife. Though the steel is a bitch to take care of. That’s for sure.”

“What do you mean?” Tina questions further. 

“Well, it’s just a kind of metal alloy that’s super prone to-,” you start, completing your sentence at the same time as Sydney chimes in.

“Rusting,” you both say in unison, sharing a look. 

“Huh,” Tina sounds, suddenly losing interest. “I don’t get it. It’s more work to take care of? Our shit’s part-plastic and does the job just fine.”

“Oh but she’s so smooth,” you playfully swoon, referring to how beautifully the knife performs for you. 

“It’s all about the performance, T,” Sydney adds. 

Tina hums in response, still unconvinced by you and Sydney’s admiration for the fancy tools. 

“So you and Carmy. How’d you meet Jeff?” Tina inquires further geturing her knife towards Carmy’s expediting station, and eliciting another laugh from you and Sydney.

“Uhhhh… we both worked at the same restaurant in New York. I came in to stage and the competitive jerk tried to smoke me. Thought he could show me it was his territory.”

“Like a little bitch,” Tina teases, the shade evident in her voice.

“And you kicked his ass obviously,” Sydney suggests, hopefully. 

“Mhm,” Tina adds in agreement.

“Oh absolutely,” you answer, deviously. “I walked out with a job that night. Carmy and I are the classic kitchen staff case of… enemies turned good friends.” 

You look up from your station, noticing an exchanged look between Sydney and Tina. 

It’s the kind of look that says, Just friends, huh?

“Alright, alright. Enough with the girl talk, gossip girls. News flash: no one gives a shit about fuckin’ Tom Colicchio and Padma Whatserface over here,” Richie interrupts, referring to the you and Carmy, as he passes by with a few empty storage containers on the way to the dishwashing station. 

“Asshole / Fuck off, Richie,” Sydney and Tina shout back at the same time. 

“Hey! Listen up, everyone! Fire two spaghettis, two short ribs, one chicken,” Carmy calls out to the kitchen. You listen attentively, hearing the chorus of the entire kitchen repeat the order back to him, punctuating the order with a ‘heard.’ 

You smile to yourself, as you enjoy the feeling of falling into such a familiar rhythm. 

You’ve missed working in the kitchen, and you’ve missed working in the kitchen with Carmy. This was so different than any of the bullshit you’ve been through together – even when he is arguing or yelling at someone. It’s not some sterile environment that looks more like a science lab or an operation room than it does a kitchen.

No, this place has soul. 

Between the crass kitchen banter, the less than flattering nicknames, and its wild cast of characters, it’s only day three and you feel right at home. Dinner service flies by and you’re eager to check in with Marcus by the end of the shift. Before taking your apron off, you head over to his corner of the kitchen. 

“Hey, how’s everything going, chef?” you ask, curiously. 

“Good, chef,” he answers proudly. “I got the brioche covered and ready to rise overnight and I prepped the cake donuts so we’re ready to roll tomorrow morning. I went with a blueberry cake donut this time around.” 

“Sounds great. I can’t wait to try it, chef,” you reply. “Need anything from me before I head out for the night?”

“Oh no, uh, I’m almost done here,” Marcus answers, inspiring confidence in his ability. “Just workin’ on a curd for the filling, chef. Just like you taught me.”

“Alright,” you chuckle, tickled by how excited he is. “Have a good night, chef.” You pause, wondering if your words will be totally lost on him. “And make sure you get some rest tonight, okay?” 

He responds with a nod, as you leave his station.

You make your way to the locker area, hanging your apron up, and slipping off your kitchen sneakers, before taking a seat on the bench. It looks like most of the kitchen staff got a head start on you and have already left, or are out of their kitchen clothes and ready to head home. There’s a strange feeling in your heart. You haven’t felt this kind of… community… in a professional kitchen in a long time and you try your best to name what it is you’ve felt was missing. 

“Hey,” you hear a voice say, pulling you from your thoughts. 

“Hey,” you say to Carmy. 

He removes his apron, folding it over his forearm. It sits further down his arm, right near his tattooed hand, you notice, as he leans his side against the lockers. 

“Thanks for jumpin’ in… you know… on the line tonight,” he starts his gaze practically piercing through your soul. 

“Yeah, it’s uh, no problem,” you reply, placing your knife roll and kitchen shoes back into your locker. “I had fun.”

“You uh, you still want to go for that drink?” he asks, shyly. 

You smile. 

“Yeah.”

*

“It’s fucked up,” Carmy shakes his head in disbelief. 

“Oh please. What?” you groan, shooting him a look.

“You’ve been in my city for… what three days now and you already have a hookup at one of the hardest to get into bars here,” Carmy replies, eliciting a laugh from you. 

“Oh my god,” you sigh with a playful eye roll. “I’m a New Yorker, asshole. You know that’s how we do it.” 

He shakes his head again, before locking eyes with you, “You were always better at it than me.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you, Carmen Berzatto, finally admitting that I’m better at something than you? Can you say it again, and I’m just going to-.” you tease, playfully, pulling out your phone as if you’re going to film him saying it. 

“Oh shut up…” he shoots back, gently pushing your phone away from his face. 

“I mean, you could always make friends with anyone. The bodega guy downstairs. The fuckin’ bodega cat. Our favorite butcher? ‘S why we always got the good cuts of meat when we cooked together on our days off.” 

“Which is exactly why I do it,” you point out. 

You had always been so magnetic to him. It’s something that he’s always admired about you – something that always reminded him of Mikey. 

“No, I-, I used to be a regular at this bar when I was working at Gramercy Tavern – actually, I think it closed right before you came to New York. Anyways, found out my favorite bartender moved to Chicago and I sent him a message letting him know I’d be in town. Said he’d get us in even if they were booked up, and,” you gesture towards where the two of you are sitting together, “Et voila!” 

Carmy takes a look around. He hasn’t been in a fine dining establishment since he left New York. It’s as if all the fancy awards and all the dues he’s paid cooking in the best restaurants in the entire world don’t matter anymore. He feels so out of place: the people, the over-the-top cocktails, the overpriced bowls of food called something fancy to justify the high price point. 

“From the kitchen” your bartender had said curtly, a mere few minutes ago. He had placed a few plates in front of the two of you to share that you most certainly didn’t order.

You both had thanked the bartender, before digging into the large bowl of soup, stracciatella, and focaccia bread on the plate. You rip off pieces of bread, dipping them into the salty broth, popping them into your mouth. Carmy’s much more of a gentleman about it, using his spoon to try the soup first. You had only planned on drinking here, but your friend at The Aviary had really come through. You’re sure it doesn’t hurt that you’re here with Carmy, and that these guys definitely know who Carmy is. 

“So…” you start, taking a sip of whatever fizzy strawberry gin thing you’d ordered earlier. “I feel like there are a lot of long stories I’d like to hear.” 

Carmy makes a sound in agreement before taking a sip of his drink. It’s just bourbon on the rocks, and you wonder when he started drinking bourbon like this.

“I mean… we could start here. How the hell are ya?” you ask. 

“I…” he starts, before trailing off. He buries his face in his hands, dragging his fingertips across his forehead. “It’s uh, it’s been a long couple of months. Christ. The restaurant was a goddamn mess, everyone hated my fuckin’ guts. And then Syd showed up and, well, she’s been a big help.” 

You wait a beat before saying, “As much as I want to hear about the restaurant, Carm, I mean how are you doing?”

Your words stop him, and he looks up at you with those baby blue eyes. He takes his time thinking about it, shrugging before muttering something along the lines of, “I’m okay, I guess.”

He’s searching for the right words to explain how the hell he’s even supposed to answer that question.

“I don’t know. Guess I thought if I fixed the restaurant, if I could fix it-. Maybe I could fix him,” he drags out. 

He waits a few beats before finally admitting:

“I miss him. Mikey. And I found out all kinds of shit about him that I-, well, shit I didn’t know. I think-, I think it’s why he kept me away. Why he shut me out.”

You listen as he begins to fill you in: about Mikey, the drugs, the debt he inherited that he now owes to Cicero, how hard it was to win over the kitchen staff that, come hell or high water, weren’t interested in changing their ways. And then he tells you about the meetings he's been going to -- the al-anon meetings. And you begin to understand. While he’s the same old Carmy, this isn’t the exact same Carmy that you knew in New York. The Carmy you knew in New York never would’ve gone to those meetings. He would’ve brushed it off and pretended there wasn’t a problem and taken as much punishment as he could in the kitchen instead of dealing with what he was feeling.

Mikey’s death, and coming home, and this restaurant, it’s all changed him. 

And maybe, just maybe, it’s part of the reason why, after months of no contact, he reached out to you now, but he’s not sure if he should tell you that yet.

You’ve got to give it to him. If anything, he’s exceptionally talented at cutting people out of his life. It’s his M.O – the only thing that’s been consistent in his life – even when those people didn’t deserve it. It’s what he knows to do. It’s something he’s learned… from Mikey, from his dad… 

But this… what he’s telling you, these are stories of connection and community. 

“And Syd’s really helped me pull this shit together. She's kinda like... the glue, y'know? I- I don’t know where we’d be without her,” Carmy concludes.

You agree. Syd is brilliant. You can see just from having been in that kitchen that she’s been the biggest catalyst for the changes — even his.

“I know you only asked me to come for pastry but I’m glad you let me jump in on the line tonight,” you say. “It’s cool to see what you’re doing now and… I don’t know. I know it was a rocky start, but you’ve got something here. Something that could be really, really good, Carm. You’re making real fucking food. Like your mom’s chicken. I haven’t forgotten about that.” 

“How can you remember that?” Carmy asks, a little surprised, his eyes lighting up. He’d almost forgotten that he’d once made it for you while you were both still in New York.

You nod, “Best chicken piccata I’ve had in my life.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Hands down.”

“You know,” you start, a mischievous tone in your voice. “If I recall correctly, you made me some pretty bomb meals back in New York. And didn’t I say something along the lines of you really shining when-?”

“Oh no,” he groans. “Not this again.”

“I’m just saying!” you justify, innocently. “When you cook the food you grew up with, Carm, you’re at your very best. And don’t get me wrong. You’re an exceptional chef, regardless of what you do but-.”

“So what? You’re gonna say ‘I told you so?’” he questions, shooting you a look. 

You shrug, playfully, “I can’t help it if I’m right all the time,” earning an eye roll from him. 

“Especially when it comes to you.”

He’s quiet for a moment, because you do know him. You’ve seen sides of him he’s barely let anyone else see. It feels good and terrifying all at once to be seen this clearly.

“Yeah, well, you always were a little more Mozza than French Laundry, huh?” he shoots back, referencing your difference in preference. While Mozza was more family style, The French Laundry, a restaurant Carmy had worked at once upon a time, was anything but. 

“Yeah. Who knew one day we’d switch places?” you reply, a sadness in your voice. Were you… envious of what Carmy had? Was this what you were looking for?

“So uh, you gonna tell me what the hell happened with the restaurant?” Carmy asked, changing the subject – changing the subject to you. 

You sigh, you raise your drink to your lips, finishing the rest of what’s in the glass in one go. 

“That bad, huh?”

“No!” you’re quick to reply. “Well, yes. But no. But yeah….” 

Carmy flags the bartender down, ordering another round for the two of you. 

You’re not even sure where to begin in regards to the existential crisis of sorts that you’ve been having, so you just tell him what happened. 

“I was juicing blood oranges one day. And-, you know we were going to take the juice and do all that fancy gastronomy shit with it… turn it into like, the same consistency of ‘dew in the early morning’…” you began to explain, quoting what your head pastry chef had said that day.  

“And I’m sitting there thinking… what the hell am I doing? I mean, who eats food like this?! Who wants to eat a drop of blood orange juice that’s been turned into the consistency of dew in the early mornings? Like, why the fuck can’t I just make the best blood orange olive oil cake anyone’s ever had, and that be enough, you know?”

“And. I don’t know. It got me thinking a lot about the kind of food I want to make, and what that would mean, and what does any of this shit even mean? Fast forward to a week later, and I don’t feel like I have a fuckin’ clue about what I want to do with my life and I’m quitting the restaurant.”

You pause, noticing that he’s just been listening attentively this whole time.

“I’m tired, Carm,” you admit. “I mean. I’m burnt the hell out. I just. I don’t want to work this hard for something that- something that I’m not even sure I believe in anymore.”

Another beat. 

“I know it sounds totally insane but-.”

“No! No, it doesn’t,” Carmy interrupts, quick to reassure you, as he reaches for your hand. Your eyes flicker from his hand on yours, the small tattoo above his wrist, then back to him, feeling the loss of body heat as he pulls his hand back only a moment later. 

“I feel like I’ve been thinkin’ about a lot of the same shit,” he admits, empathizing with you. 

“I just feel… kind of lost,” you say, and it’s the first time you’ve said it out loud. “I do. I-, I’ve been feeling really lost lately.”

In all the time he’s known you, never could he have expected you to feel lost. He wondered if he’d just put you on a pedestal. You had always been this stunningly charismatic, charming person that could walk into any room and in minutes, have everyone wrapped around your finger. For so long he denied any feelings for you because he knew you were unattainable – that someone like you could ever want someone like him felt impossible. Wouldn’t you be better off with one of those Wall Street assholes that came into the restaurant all the time – wining and dining their clients with their expensive wristwatches and fancy town cars?

But hearing you say it – that you feel lost – it reminds him that you’re only human too. 

He waits another beat, guilt filling up his throat, before he speaks again. 

“I should’ve been there for you. I’m sorry.”

There’s an earnestness in his voice that makes you want to trust him. Sure, it seems like he’s been apologizing to you for three days straight, but you want to listen. 

You take another sip of your drink. 

“I started volunteering at a Brooklyn community garden so I could like, pull my head out of my ass,” you share with him. 

“Did it help?”

You shrug, “Yeah, a little bit.”

It helped, but it hadn’t fixed anything. You feel like you can confide in him, especially since he told you that he was going to meetings.

“My therapist actually encouraged me to come here,” you confess, gauging his reaction as the words flow from your mouth. “Get out of dodge. Get a change of scenery… give myself some time to think.”

“We both know you do a little too much of that,” he teases gently, and you chuckle. 

Between Carmy’s avoidance, and your neuroses, you’re quite the pairing. 

“Yeah.”

Carmy pauses, not sure if he has the words to give you the explanation you deserve, but he’s going to try. 

“I had… a lot goin’ on. When I got back. And I didn’t know….” He pauses before continuing. “I didn’t know how to do it all at once. How to handle, you know… everything at the same time.”

And it’s just easier to avoid everything – to avoid you, to avoid the way I feel about you, he thinks to himself.

And it’s exactly what he did, he pushed you away, and pushed any and all feelings or thoughts about you into a dark hole, never to be acknowledged ever again. 

Until you quit your job. Until his phone call with Tim. Until his phone call with you. 

“I know, Carm. I know you’re sorry and I appreciate the apology,” you start, taking a breath. “It’s just that-.  I need you to know...” 

You pause, suddenly feeling like you’re in the middle of an anxiety dream where you realize you’re not wearing any pants.

“I need you to know that it hurt. It… it really hurt. Not hearing from you. Being cut out like that.”

“I know,” he admits, remorsefully. “I’m gonna be better. At least I’m trying to be.” 

“I really want to believe that,” you say, softly. 

But I don’t want to get hurt again, you think to yourself.

He looks at you, a soft, shy smile on his face, and it makes you want to take a chance on him. 

Who are you kidding? You’d jump off of a bridge with him if he asked, even if it meant getting hurt all over again.

“Okay?” he asks, hopefully. 

You’re not sure if he’s asking if it’s okay, if you’re okay, if everything is okay between the two of you, and you wonder if he means all three.

“Okay,” you answer, quietly. 

“Okay.”

read: part four

taglist: @lazypeachsoul @bookwormvoyageuse @allthefandomstogether

[radiance1]

You know I had this real random au I made on discord on my other account that I logged out of and subsequently lost!

Where Vlad was a priest and Plasmius is his contractually obligated partner.

Except, said contract is actually 50-50 all the way on the scale of a good deal, but meh.

So baaaaaaasically, Plasmius was (I think) a demon that appeared before Vlad while he was in the hospital suffering from Ecto-acne and basically gave him a:

"Bind yourself to me or die."

Offer.

Like, literally. Vlad became Plasmius' vessel in the mortal world and Vlad is free to live his life. Well, whenever Plasmius wasn't living his life that is.

Which is pretty rare but anyways.

Vlad was a goddamn workaholic who spent most of his time working away on whatever little thing he could, before the rest of that time was spent with Plasmius taking over his body and doing whatever he wanted.

Most of which, due to having a mortal vessel and not as durable as his demon body, ended up with Vlad being injured a few times than not before Plasmius got a grasp on what Vlad's body could and couldn't take, well, compared to his other human vessels he's had in the past of course.

Then, a few years later, or whatever, Vlad and Plasmius have been going around killing a multitude of priests. Mostly the ones that have a high position and the like, and having Vlad replace them and work there for a while.

Why?

Because Plasmius wanted to find a suitable vessel for his son.

Which Vlad was totally a-okay, the killing priests part and taking their place he means. Taking over their roles were surprisingly easy, and he's memorized enough verses that he could recite the entire thing back-to-back from book to book with no real difficulty.

Oh, and he also found how to make holy water! And he could even confidently say that it works because, hey! He's literally the guy being possessed right now, and if it works against him then it'll definitely work on your probably possessed child, miss Samantha!

(He doesn't tell about the demon possessing him part of course, because that would be more paint something that most surely works in a negative light.)

It quite literally never even became a thought in his mind to try and use said holy water against, well, you know. The literal demon possessing him.

But hey, Plasmius brought it up once and Vlad just gave him the most, blank-eyed stare he's ever seen, and then just moved on with his life.

And Plasmius?

Well shit, he's realized he's picked a wonderful vessel.

(Usually, they would try to eject or kill him at their first opportunity, which is quite rude since he helped. But y'know, past is past and what not.)

So then comes time, after Vlad's like, 25th switcharoo they managed to find a picture perfect vessel for Plasmius' son, and he's like:

Plasmius: Kill him.

Vlad: What-

Like, kill priests? Sure no problem Vlad legit does not care, but killing a child? Not something he can do, he gets some shade for his decision, of course, but he's adamant about it.

So Plasmius, powerful demon from hell who is used to taking what he wants.

Lets him.

At the cost of the boy becoming his son's newest and first ever vessel of course.

And Vlad was kinda on the fence about this, but due to the contract- in which he stated that he'll do anything so long as he lives- is, well, there, he had to chose between the two.

And that, was how one young Daniel Fenton, was made the vessel of demon going by the name of Phantom.

Of course, he wasn't happy about such a thing, but it was going to happen eventually, so at least compared to the original plan he'll live.

(Can't remember if Danny's fam was alive or not here, so I'll just say they dead as hell in that Nasty Burger explosion. Cept it was more of a celebration thing, and Danny was running a little late on his way there and then BOOM.)

Vlad tries to make Danny as comfortable as possible after the possession, and of course Danny isn't happy about it, give all three of them snark and sass and being a genuine little shit. Except Phantom doesn't like that, and since Danny is the equivalent of a newly gotten toy, it doesn't end well for him.

Mostly, in the form of numerous injuries that leads to Plasmius lecturing his son about how fragile mortals are and some- looking at Vlad- even more fragile than some others

You know, since he was trapped in a bed for years and all that.

So then Plasmius and Danny wander around, dragging their vessels along behind them. Vlad and Danny do get a quiet a bit closer during this time, Vlad explaning that hey, he didn't want to subject a child to his fate, but it was either that or death so.

And that kinda thaws the ice a little between them.

Vlad says that it'll eventually get better, he's been at this for years and Plasmius regards him as either his most loyal henchmen.

Which is an upgrade from being viewed as a pet since he can actually add his opinions now, well, he could before but now Plasmius would actually take them into consideration if Vlad doesn't wanna do this or that.

Danny is very obviously bummed out about that, and also kinda pitying Vlad but is also still dealing with the trauma of his family and friends exploding and then having to share (Not really even THAT) a body with a demon who leaves him injured far more often than not because of his stunts.

Well, you could say he isn't having a good time.

Then, cut to a while later, and Vlad managed to make these things that allow for them to be separated, but not past a certain point.

Why?

Because Vlad was getting tired about Plasmius' wants for his body getting in the way of working through Vladco (a business idea he pitched and Plasmius backed once he found out he needed money) and there's only so much mental calculations he could do before he tries to find a way around this.

Plasmius thought that Vlad was finally about to do the expected 'fight back against the possessor' and was even a little hurt, before realizing that no, said thought still hasn't crossed his host's mind and he's just upset that he couldn't work on Vladco because of Plasmius' need of his body.

Plasmius, once again. Realized he picked a wonderful host, though this time he thinks there may be a little something wrong with him.

But that's okay, he still loves his henchmen regardless.

Meanwhile, Danny and Phantom are ecstatic, more so Phantom than Danny, and instantly use them. Thankfully, unlike the rings Vlad and Plasmius have, they have bracelets, the point extends city wide comfortably, a fair bit while past that if they strain it though.

So, Danny has been having the best time of his life now, able to spend it doing normal teen things instead of stunts that'll injure him or kill him and having fun.

Phantom?

Well.

He joined the Super scene.

If I remember correctly, he was a hero and his father played the villain, mostly because Phantom wanted to play as a hero, but he didn't have a nemesis like everyone else or something so-

Then for Phantom and Dann's birthday (Phantom kinda declared Danny's birthday his because it was the day he came to the mortal plane), Plasmius decided to kidnap various heroes to participate in an escape game that's really just an elaborate ploy for said party.

Some balloons here and there, confetti, a few gifts and a lot of things you wouldn't expect when kidnapped by a villain. Then at the end there was a birthday cake and a Happy birthday sign hung up there.

Then a Tv turned on and it showed Plasmius, sitting there in a classic villain chair with Vlad standing next to him- a surprise to most heroes there since Vladco was relatively clean actually- and then Plasmius going Happy birthday and then waving over at Vlad saying that he planned most of it.

Kidnapping various heroes was his idea, of course.

But everything else, from the design of each room to the traps to gifts and all of that, and Phantom excitedly shouts a thanks Dad and Papa, with Danny giving a quieter thanks Dad, which leaves the two of them shocked. Then Vlad, who was currently standing to Plasmius' side and working through Vladco investments and business opportunities, tries to play it cool but everyone (heroes included) can see the pink dusting his ears.

While Plasmius is just laughing his ass off at Vlad's reaction.

That's all I can remember right now, of course with a few tweaks here and there because, well, you can probably tell why.

Oh right, there was also this funny thing where, because of the matching rings that Vlad made and the two were wearing. The heroes thought they were married lmao.

[argisthebulwark]

I Don't Feel It Til It Hurts

summary: Character A haunts Character B. One refuses to let go and the other cannot move on. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Brynjolf, Vilkas, Cicero, Miraak, Mercer, Farkas warnings: canon typical mentions of death and injury. depictions of grief/loss.

Poor Brynjolf will never rid himself of the memory. Each night he relives it; the numbness in his body, nerves sizzling with Mercer's spell, the strangled scream when his arm swung. His nights are little more than tossing and turning, running from the nightmares until it's time to rise. Most days he finds himself searching for you - expecting you to walk around the corner and laugh at him for believing such a thing. He still feels you. The hole in his heart aches but he's sure you linger somewhere close, your presence barely out of his reach. He feels you when his pillows are warm and the desk is miraculously straightened, sure that somewhere just out of sight your shadows still shield him when a guard stumbles blindly past his hiding spot.

Vilkas will never relent. He is too stubborn to enjoy the afterlife, choosing instead to keep his watchful eye on his Harbinger. Even in death he is incapable of relaxing. He paces Jorrvaskr's halls, eyes vigilant for any potential threats. While you are busy sorting through requests and orders he stands guard at your door. Rumors eventually reach your ears - new recruits whispering about hearing footsteps late at night or doors shutting behind you. Some swear you're using magicka to keep them on their toes. A breeze brushes against your cheek despite the closed window and for a moment you feel him, all of his effort put into making you aware that he stays for you.

Silly Listener, you weren't supposed to leave Cicero. Even when his dagger dripped with your blood he couldn't believe it - you had to be fooling him! The Listener would never abandon their Keeper. You promised him. You swore that he would never be alone again. You scream until your throat is raw but he cannot hear you. You cannot grip his hand nor can you slam the table hard enough to make him listen. You can do nothing but observe. You hear the whispers behind his back and the jokes he repeats as if you still stand beside him, forced to listen to his tirades about how you've abandoned him. Unable to bear the thought of moving on and leaving him once again you remain, a shadow of your former self praying to someday gain enough strength to show him you never truly left.

Miraak clings to you, souls too intertwined to entertain the thought of leaving. Although you cannot see anything you feel him - each time you Shout there is an echo of him, your powers surging with the same sickly green he'd adopted. He knows the rational choice is to move on, you will join him when you are ready, but parting from you feels too final. Often, you swear you feel him looming just over your shoulder. Even if you cannot see him he is there, that silent judgment a factor in many decisions. He remains on Nirn, a mere shade of the god he'd once been. He dreads and awaits the day you finally fall and join him, sure that Sovngarde will be no fun until you arrive hand in hand.

You are everywhere. Mercer feels you everywhere he goes; lurking in each shadow or waiting just around the next corner. Paranoia eats at his mind with each day that passes without your arrival - you'd forced his hand. You'd cornered him. It wasn't his fault that you stuck your nose where it didn't belong, you'd left him with no choice. Guilt and his feelings for you swirl together into a sickening mess in his gut that leaves him weak. You'd always made him weak. Of course you cannot strike - not yet, at least. You are not strong enough to do anything more than watch as the man you'd once shared flirtatious banter with diminishes, terrified of the day you become strong enough to make your presence clear.

Your poor heart aches at the mere thought of leaving Farkas. He still makes space for you; your side of the bed unmade and open, a seat at his side empty as if you will simply fall into it. You trail along after him, unable to reach out and unwilling to move on. His voice is soft when he murmurs your name before descending into a cave of bandits as if he prays to you for safety. Other think that he's gone mad when he mentions feeling you but this does little to deter him. Farkas knows that you linger at his side, that you are always somewhere near. Rationally he should urge you to move on but the thought of parting is too painful. Farkas allows you to stay, to take up the space he leaves just for you, knowing he would do the same if he'd fallen before you.

[pollymorgan]

Negan, Lucille and Amalia

Warning: smut, bisexuality, cheating, unrequited love, threesome

Sometimes fate is a peculiar thing. Or was it just by chance that I happened to run into Lucille while shopping, when I was visiting my parents in my old hometown?

Lucille and I were high school buddies and incredibly close friends. Oh man, the fun we used to have back in the day. It's incredible how long ago that feels and how enamored I was with her at the time. But then she got together with that awful guy, Negan. It really wasn't just jealousy on my part. Okay, maybe a little. But the guy was simply wrong for her. His idiotic remarks drove me crazy, he was arrogant and a real troublemaker. I knew he would eventually break my angel’s heart. So, I was even more surprised when Lucille told me at the grocery store that they were now married. Had that handsome scoundrel really made it?

The blond, petite woman was just as warm-hearted as ever, and her green eyes seemed to shine even brighter than before. Incredibly, after so many years, she managed to make my heart race wildly all over again.

As we said goodbye, she hugged her slim body tightly against mine, and I breathed in the delicate scent of lilac from her hair. Then she looked at me with her most beautiful smile.

"How about we have a girls' night tonight, like the old times? I'll cook something, and we can chat about the good old days. Negan is going on a motorcycle tour, so we'd have the place to ourselves unless, of course, you're already booked?"

The thought of spending the evening alone with her caused a tingling sensation in my stomach, like one I hadn't felt in ages. I swallowed hard and tried to respond as neutrally as possible, "Oh yes, that would be great... Just tell me what I can bring."

After we sorted out a few details - such as when we would meet and how I would get to her house - we exchanged phone numbers, and I left the store feeling like a freshly infatuated teenager.

Back at my parents' house, I pondered endlessly about what to wear. I definitely didn't want to be too dressed up. After all, it was just supposed to be a "girls' night." But I also didn't want to appear too casually dressed. So, in the end, I opted for a simple black dress that accentuated my curves but was not too extravagant.

With a bottle of red wine in my bag, I set off for the Smiths' house at the agreed-upon time. I noticed my excitement skyrocketing as my GPS indicated I was getting closer to the destination. When I parked in front of their property, I gazed at it for a while, then quickly checked my subtle makeup in the rearview mirror and stepped out decisively. Clutching the bottle tightly, I rang their doorbell, and a soft voice called out, "I'll be right there..."

As Lucille opened the door, she appeared somewhat flustered. She brushed a blonde lock from her forehead, took a deep breath in and out. "The food was supposed to be ready before you arrived, but I completely underestimated the time!"

I smiled at her. How sweet was it that she was getting stressed out on my account? I noticed she had accentuated her beautiful eyes with a subtle brown shade on her eyelids. She hadn't worn any makeup at the store today. Had she put on makeup especially for me? My imagination was already running wild.

Spontaneously, I gave her a kiss on the cheek in greeting. "Let's prepare it together, it's more fun that way, and besides, I brought this..." as I held out the bottle of red wine to her.

Lucille smiled at me. "Amalia Johnson! You haven't changed a bit..."

I shrugged playfully. As she walked ahead, my gaze automatically stuck to her figure from behind. She was still as petite as back then. Her blonde curls bobbed with each step, accentuating her slender legs and tiny perky derriere perfectly outlined in her dress. It was only then that I noticed she was also wearing a black dress similar to mine. The realization snapped me out of my thoughts and brought a grin to my face.

"Oh, matching outfits?" I asked amusedly, and Lucille turned to face me. Instantly, her eyes traveled over my body.

"It sure seems that way, but it looks better on you. Your bust looks simply perfect in that dress," her words about my body sent a jolt of electricity through me but also gave me the opportunity to openly gaze at her cleavage. Her breasts were barely covered by the thin fabric of the dress, clearly outlined.

"Do you have to say that? You don't even need a bra and you look fantastic. Do you know how hard it is to find a fitting and chic bra in my size?" I joked.

Lucille fetched two wine glasses from the cabinet and handed me a corkscrew, saying, "You've always been better at this..."

Immediately, the memory resurfaced of when we were camping with a few friends, and although I remembered the wine, I had forgotten the corkscrew, spending half the evening struggling to open the darn bottle and being celebrated as a hero when I finally succeeded. The recollection made us burst into hearty laughter. As we toasted to a lovely evening, we locked eyes, and I immediately wondered again how perfect a person could actually be.

"And Amalia? Have you found the woman of your dreams yet?" she suddenly asked me, as she turned her attention back to the pot on the stove that was already boiling.

Yes, she's right in front of me, I thought silently and then shook my head. "No, I just went through a breakup.. Women are complicated, maybe I'll try with a man, they seem to be simpler." I laughed.

"Oh no, forget about it.." she said, and despite her smile, I heard the seriousness in her voice, which made my heart sink.

"Everything okay between Negan and you, I mean?" I asked.

She took a big sip from her glass and then shrugged slightly before answering, "Oh, honestly, I don't know... He can be really great when he's not spending the whole night playing computer games in the basement or hanging out with his weird friends, if he's even really hanging out with them at all.."

I immediately noticed her voice starting to tremble. I grabbed my glass and stood next to her at the stove. My arm wrapped around her waist and I held her tightly against me, "What do you mean? Do you think he might have someone else?"

The blonde woman rested her head against my shoulder. "Oh, I don't know... he's always not there and always has some strange excuses, I've caught him lying so many times, but whenever I try to confront him, he just disappears again and eventually reappears with a sweet declaration of love... Oh, fuck..." she wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes with her forearms. ".. I wanted to have a nice evening for us and not burden you with my problems."

"Don't think that..." I said, stroking her hair lightly, "...are you alone again today because of that? Did he just run off again?" I asked her.

My words apparently hit the mark, because now she couldn't hold back her tears anymore. They flowed from her beautiful green eyes, and she immediately hid behind her hands. Without thinking, I pulled her tightly into my arms and held her, then whispered in her ear. "Shh... it's okay, I'm here now and we're still going to have a nice evening... But you don't have to hide your emotions from me, understood? You can tell me everything..."

I felt her nod slightly and her tears dampened my shoulder. Then, as we stood together at the stove cooking, she told me some things about her marriage that only confirmed my dislike for Negan, but I didn't comment negatively, I just listened because I felt that's exactly what she needed.

As we changed the topic to match the food, we opened our second bottle of wine. We reminisced and almost forgot to eat, but the alcohol flowed even faster. My stomach was starting to ache from all the laughter, and my cheeks were glowing. As we cleared the table, all the cutlery even fell to the floor because we were giggling so much. It only took one keyword and we were doubled over with laughter again. Oh God, how I had missed this. How I had missed her! It was like a journey back in time. Like we were 17 again.

After we had calmed down a bit, I was just about to load the dirty dishes into the dishwasher when Lucille opened the fridge and held up a bottle of champagne.

"And now this?" she asked, beaming with joy.

"Oh God, champagne on red wine, I don't think that would be a good idea..." I remarked. But Lucille had already opened the bottle and let the cork pop, which made us burst into laughter again.

"Oh, forget it, we're not thinking about tomorrow today..." she said decisively and took a big swig straight from the bottle, a few drops that had overflowed spilling down her chin. Damn, she was incredibly sexy.

"Let's go out to the porch swing and look at the stars, just like back then..." she said determinedly. I nodded in agreement and thought about how I used to never look at the sky back then, but it was always the perfect opportunity for me to secretly stare at Lucille and examine every little detail of her beautiful face.

It was pitch dark outside, only a few small lamps showed us the way to the cozy spot in her garden. The swing wasn't big, but it was comfortable. So we sat close together and gently swayed back and forth. Despite the darkness, I could see Lucille's gaze, the one she had when she was a little drunk. It hadn't changed a bit and made me grin slightly.

"Can I ask you something?" she broke our short silence.

"Of course, anything..." I said decisively, taking another sip from the bottle.

"Have you ever been with a man?" Her gaze went directly to my eyes, and she looked at me expectantly.

"Twice!" I quickly replied, already grinning, " ... and one of them was Philip Blake!" Her eyes widened even more. "No way, you're kidding me... you were with Philip Blake?!?"

I nodded, laughing. "Yes, it was a one-time thing, I think he's the reason I turned lesbian..." I joked, then I tried to compose myself. "No, seriously... I wanted to try it out and..."

"And how was it.." Lucille interjected.

I shrugged. "Well, apparently it didn't convince me... Counter-question, have you ever been with a woman?" I had barely finished the question when my heart started pounding wildly in my chest.

Lucille shook her head slightly and moved a little closer to me. Or was I just imagining it?

"Not even a kiss?" I asked curiously. I noticed her gaze drifting to my lips, and now I was sure I wasn't imagining it. Her head came closer to mine. Just before our lips met, she paused and whispered, "But there's a first time for everything..." I felt her warm breath on my face before her lips gently landed on mine. It took me a few seconds to realize what was happening. But then I responded to her touch.

How many times had I imagined this? But in reality, it felt a thousand times more beautiful. A wave of heat flooded my body as our mouths slowly opened. Her tongue lightly caressed mine and slowly explored. I had never felt something so tender and passionate before. The world stood still, at least for me in that moment. Her hands gripped my face and pulled me even closer, making the kiss more intense. I had never enjoyed anything so much as I did at that moment. The feeling of happiness, mixed with alcohol, made me feel like I was floating. Suddenly, Lucille pulled away from me and stood up. I looked at her in shock and stammered, after regaining my composure, "Sorry... I didn't mean to... I mean that...".

But she winked at me and reached out her hand. "I just thought we go inside and I show you my bedroom."

In a trance, I reached for her hand and followed her inside. Her delicate hand felt so good in mine. But then I stopped, halting her as well. "Lucille, you have no idea how much I want this, but I don't want you to do something you might regret tomorrow."

Determined, she pressed another kiss on my lips and then said, "...today, we're not thinking about tomorrow, okay?" I nodded and followed her excitedly up the stairs.

Then we stood facing each other in front of the bed, and Lucille looked at me somewhat nervously. "And now, I mean, what do we do now?" Her uncertainty was adorable and made me grin.

"Are you sure you want this?" I asked again, hoping with every fiber of my being that she wouldn't back out now. So relieved when she immediately replied, "More than sure!"

I took a step towards her to close the gap between us and wrapped my arms around her waist. "Okay, let me take the lead. Just tell me if you like something, or if you don't, promise?"

"Okay," she confirmed softly before our mouths met again. Then my kisses slowly traveled down her chin, to her neck, and I breathed in her distinctive scent. My fingers slid down the thin straps of her dress and let it fall slowly to the ground. Now Lucille stood before me in just black panties. My hands slowly moved down her back, landing on her petite bottom.

"You're so beautiful," I murmured, placing small kisses on her décolleté. I noticed how her heart was pounding as strongly as mine, and how her nipples were hardening, even though I hadn't touched them yet. Slowly, my tongue glided to the right one, lightly teasing it, eliciting a soft moan from Lucille and causing my lower abdomen to tighten.

"Please... lie down on the bed," I urged her. But her hands moved to the zipper of my dress. "In a moment, but undress yourself first, I want to feel your skin against mine."

With those words, I felt her undo my closure and strip off my dress. Then she immediately began to unfasten my bra. As we both stood almost completely naked before each other, her eyes wandered to my breasts. "Wow, you're perfect. I never thought it would turn me on so much... Can I touch them?"

I grinned at her caution. "Of course, you can touch me anywhere..." I clasped her wrists and placed her hands on my chest. Her initially hesitant touches quickly became more demanding. Pressing her, we kissed as I slowly pushed her onto the bed.

Now she lay before me at last. The woman I had dreamed of so often. With determination, I grabbed her panties and slid them off, as she lifted her hips to make it easier for me. After I had removed them and carelessly tossed them aside, I grasped her knees and firmly parted her legs, which she willingly allowed.

Her perfect pussy glistened with excitement. Lucille was so beautiful and incredibly hot at the same time.

I grinned at her, "So you like it, I see..." Then I took her hand and guided it to her center. "Do you feel how wet you are?" Her fingers slowly traced through her folds.

"Are you too?" she asked. Determinedly, I also removed my panties and then placed the hand that had just touched her most intimate parts on my groin.

"Tell me!" Her slender fingers ran through my center, lightly touching my clit and making me shudder.

"Yes! You feel so good..." she said, now a bit more confident.

I took her hand and kissed her fingers, soaked with our arousal.

"Lie back down, let me taste you..." I commanded, and the beautiful woman immediately lay back on the bed, never taking her eyes off me.

I climbed onto the bed and knelt between her legs. My kisses roamed around her belly button, and I saw the hairs on her body standing up. Then I continued with my lips further down. I took my time caressing the delicate skin and noticed how Lucille spread her legs wider and pushed her pelvis towards me. As my mouth explored her mound, I heard her soft moans growing louder. Then I licked flatly over her labia, enjoying the taste of her wetness, before I started to caress her swollen clit with my tongue. I felt her shudder under my touch, and as she moaned my name, my pussy clenched in excitement.

Suddenly, we heard a soft clearing of the throat, which immediately startled us. I quickly turned towards the door, where the sound had come from, and saw Negan leaning in the doorway. Fuck! We hadn't heard him coming. Horrified, I grabbed a pillow to cover my naked body and looked desperately at Lucille. She stared at Negan as if frozen. "Listen, let me explain," she stammered.

"Amalia fucking Johnson! The girl every guy wanted to hook up with in high school, but who never let any guy get close, is fucking behind my back my wife!" he said amused, running a hand over his forehead. Negan had aged, which didn't make him any less attractive, no, quite the opposite. His hair was gelled back, now noticeably gray. He had a neat short beard. His dark green eyes quickly moved between the two of us.

"Negan, it's not what you might think..." I tried to save the situation somehow, even though it was beyond saving.

He pushed off the door frame and came a few steps towards us. In the process, he casually took off his black leather jacket and threw it onto a chair. Now he was only wearing a white shirt and dark jeans.

"So I think you were just in the middle of licking my wife's pussy, and Lucille sounded like she was about to come. And believe me, sweetheart, I know what she sounds like when she's about to. So either you finish what you started, or I have to do it. You decide who the spectator is here..." After finishing the sentence, he casually sat down on the bed. I looked at Lucille in disbelief. She thought for a moment and then said, "Please, Amalia, continue..."

I heard Negan laugh, then he gave Lucille a quick but passionate kiss on her lips. Again, he looked at me, "Come on, you heard her..."

"Is... is this really okay with you?" I asked Lucille hesitantly. She nodded vigorously, "More than that... is it okay with you too?.." I also nodded and meant it with full conviction. Strangely, this situation aroused me incredibly. And quickly, I disappeared between her legs again.

"Ladies, I think this is fucking paradise..." I heard Negan comment as I touched Lucille's most sensitive spots, which I had just explored.

Amidst Lucille's moans, I heard Negan undo his belt. After a short time, I looked up and saw him holding his penis in his hand. It was rock hard and covered with many prominent veins. Admittedly, I haven't seen many aroused cocks live. But Negan's was really quite large. And I don't know if it was him or the whole situation, but it aroused me incredibly.

"Touch him!" I urged Lucille, and I immediately saw Negan smirk.

"Really?" she asked somewhat uncertainly.

I grinned, "He's your damn husband, of course.."

Would you like a second part?

[scretladyspider]

Happy ace week! Let’s talk about demisexuality —

demisexuality is a sexual orientation in which a person does not experience sexual attraction until a close bond is formed. It exists along the asexuality spectrum.

Demisexuality is not the same as waiting until you trust someone to have sex; that’s a choice anyone, demisexual or otherwise, can make. Being demisexual may influence someone’s behavior and decisions about having sex, as any sexual orientation can.

There’s nothing wrong with waiting to have sex, and demisexuality is not a judgement on people who have casual sex. That said, there is a difference between demisexuality and waiting that can be difficult to grasp from the outside.

From the outside, it looks like demisexuals just wait to be in a serious relationship before having sex with their partner. But the difference is not having sexual attraction at all, to anyone, until that bond is formed, and maybe not even then.

It’s sort of like not being able to see a color. Let’s say red. The thing is, you can’t see what other people see, and they can’t see what you see. So when they describe red as this warm, bright, vibrant thing, and you’re looking at gray, it’s confusing.

Then when one day you’ve formed a bond with someone you haven’t had before and you suddenly do see red, or maybe even just pink, you of course tell everyone you see red — but everyone around you is confused because you’re just describing what they already were seeing.

That’s what being demisexual is like. Not seeing red, no matter what you do, then one day you see it. And maybe over time it fades. Or maybe it changes shade from day to day. Or maybe it becomes gray again, but you still enjoy painting.

But when you explain “I don’t even have red paint, but I found red paint for the first time after I formed a bond with my partner,” people hear, “I don’t make art with my partner with red paint until I form a close bond.”

The thing is they waited to paint with red, and that’s what they expect you to do too. They don’t understand that you literally didn’t have see or even have red in your pallet. Ironically enough they judge those who use red more casually far more than you do.

Therein lies the difference. Allosexuals had red paint the whole time. They’ve seen red for years. Eventually you start to feel like something is wrong with you for not having red paint and you tear your studio apart looking for it.

Then one day someone gives you a new tube of paint. it’s red! and it’s new and to you, very distinct. Sometimes you lose the paint or it runs dry. It doesn’t even always look like red to you. It can turn pink, or gray. And you realize you actually don’t always see red.

You don’t always have red in your pallet. You only even have red paint when you’re in a specific circumstance. But people around you just have it and take it for granted, and so they think you’re just more careful with red paint and trying to feel superior for it.

That’s what being demisexual is like. Adopting the label demisexual is like finding your art movement. Some people judge you for joining the movement. But you’re not doing anything new; you’re just naming what you were already experiencing.

Demisexuality is a part of the asexuality spectrum. It was invented as a term between 2003 and 2006 in discussions about the asexuality spectrum on AVEN forums.

Demisexuality is not just “not having casual sex”. We’re all different. Just like every other sexual orientation.

Everyone is different. Not everyone who waits to have sex is demisexual. Not everyone who has casual sex isn’t. There’s nothing wrong with using the label demisexual if it helps you better understand yourself. There’s nothing wrong with not using it if it doesn’t help you.

Labels are magnets, not stickers. You can put them up and take them down as needed. And if you’re using demisexual on your fridge, I hope you have a great ace week. I’m glad you’re here.

Happy ace week.

[r0mantic-f00l]

hi, i was wondering if we could get a part 2 to your paradise fic where Sirius and Reader complete all the things on their agenda for the day😭 I love sappy Sirius🙏 Sorry if this wasnt clear btw and paradise was amazingggggg

thank you for this request! I love sappy sirius too, he has my entire heart 🥺 i think I might write muggle!sirius and reader more, what do u guys think?

anyway, here's a continuation of Paradise (you don't have to read the first one to understand this)

Heaven

The room has turned slightly less golden now, morphing into a blue that mimicks the colour of lakes that adjusts to the change in the sky, no longer a heavenly white and gold, but rather a prussian blue, a shade that signalled it was Spring.

Birds has silenced their chirping, choosing to rest on rooftops and wires with friends as they watched people walk the streets, some silent, some laughing boisterously with others.

You are watching a film, something that you don't know the name of, nor have you ever seen it before, but Sirius left the bedroom to go take the takeaway order from the delivery guy, and he instructed you to pick a film. You picked the first film you saw on Netflix without even looking at it, and pressed play, just wanting the silence to be filled whilst waiting for your boyfriend.

The day had started with him making you breakfast, pancakes with syrup and blueberries just how you like it, and he watched with a bright smile as you ate his food, elated that you enjoy his cooking. Then just after you finished the last bite, he began kissing your neck, biting and sucking the flesh with a grin as you breathlessly giggled, finding humour in your boyfriend's enthusiasm as he couldn't wait to finish the second part of his "agenda".

After you had both finished, you dragged Sirius in with you to the bathroom to take a shower (not without some inappropriate jokes, of course). Despite his teasing, you both showered peacefully, Sirius washing your hair and scrubbing your body whilst you did the same to him, both of you having lovesick smiles plastered on your faces.

After the shower, you both threw on your pyjamas once again and laid on the bed, Sirius turning the television on to watch the news, but with a short attention span, he quickly became bored and stuck his head underneath your pyjama shirt, stretching the fabric as he kissed your breasts lovingly, delighted in your decision to not wear a bra today. Of course, you laughed once more, but basked in his affection, popping open your shirt so you could run your fingers through his hair, resulting in a quick change to the fourth part of the agenda.

You both took a long nap afterwards, Sirius falling asleep with his head in the crook of your neck as your fingers continued to brush through his hair delicately. You snickered when Sirius began snoring softly, but eventually you fell asleep too, resting your head on top of his as his arms were wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him as if you would go.

The clock soon turned 5pm, and you woke up to Sirius ordering pizza, one for you and one for him.

Now, you lie in bed, watching as the guy on the screen is staring at the girl walking past him, a cheesy love song playing as the girl strolled in slow-motion.

"Jesus, that guy would not shut up." Sirius grumbles, walking into the room with two pizza boxes, your mouth salivating as the smell wafted into your nose.

"I just kept on nodding as he talked about the traffic and football or whatever." He gives you your pizza before placing his on the bedside table and throwing himself onto the bed, resulting in you sending him an annoyed glare as you open the box and take a bite out of a pizza slice.

He grins, finding your fake annoyance adorable.

"Thanks, babe." You murmur, your mouth full of pizza, but Sirius hears anyway and nods in acknowledgement.

He opens his pizza box, and takes a bite out of his pepperoni pizza.

"Damn, this is good." He drags out the last word, moaning as he takes another bite out of the pizza.

You laugh. "You sound like you're fucking it."

Sirius smirks. "What, do my sounds turn you on?"

You turn to him to see his grease-covered mouth and chin, snickering as he stupidly smiles at you.

"Yeah, I want you so bad right now."

"Yeah?" He has a hopeful glimmer in his eyes, placing his pizza slice down in the box as he advances towards you. But you laugh, placing a hand on his chest.

"Stop, I wanna eat my pizza!"

He rolls his eyes but still smiles, lifting his pizza slice and takes a bite once again, turning to watch the film.

It's silent for a moment, until Sirius speaks once again.

"What the fuck is this shit?" His eyebrows are furrowed as he watches the guy on the screen follow after the girl.

You shrug. "I dunno, I just put on the first movie I could find."

The boy scoffs, and takes the remote from your side of the bed.

"I said put on a film, not put on a shit film that couldn't have possibly made more than £100,000." He pauses the film and goes back onto the Netflix homepage, scouring through the numerous movies.

You laugh and pick your phone. "Hold on, lemme see how much it actually made."

You go onto Google and type in the movie's name, with the question 'how much did this film make?'

Sirius puts on Spinal Tap, smiling as the film begins to play.

"It made $1,082,145."

"What did?"

"The movie, from before?"

Sirius drops his pizza slice in shock.

"What?!"

You nod, agreeing with his confusion.

"What?! How did it make over an million?!"

You shrug, putting your phone back down and picking up a pizza slice.

"I dunno, I guess people like how shit it is."

You look up at the screen and groan.

"No, not this again."

Sirius scoffs, shaking his head as he eats.

"I don't get why you don't like this movie."

"Well, I don't get it!"

"How do you not get it?!"

"It's all guitar jokes, I don't play guitar like you do!"

"There's like one guitar joke in it!"

"Yeah, well, it's just not funny."

The boy rolls his eyes, sinking further into his pillow.

"You're not funny." He mutters under his breath, grinning when you turn towards him with fake offence.

"Excuse me?"

"I didn't say anything." He shrugs, acting innocent as he continues to watch the film.

A pillow hits his head, making him drop his pizza on the wooden floor beside the bed.

He turns to you with his mouth agape, a proud smirk on your face as he stutters over his words, exasperated with your actions.

"You made me drop my pizza!"

"You said I'm not funny!"

"As a joke, babe!"

You shrug. "Joke or not, you should never say I'm not funny. I'm the funniest person in this room."

You turn back to eating your pizza, unaware of Sirius lifting up his pillow and hitting you on the head too.

Gasping, you drop your pizza and place your box to your bedside table.

"You twat!"

Sirius laughs, hunching over as his eyes turn glassy, the image of your frown and the sound of your curse making him shake as he laughs louder.

You hit him again with your pillow, this time repeatedly on his back as he keeps laughing, trying to move away from your pillow.

"Okay, okay, stop!" He manages to speak despite his laughing fit, and turns to hold his hands up in defeat.

"I'm sorry." He says with a smile, and you're inclined to forgive him, though you don't say that you do, rather you sit back and begin eating your pizza once again, watching the movie whilst ignoring the gaze of your boyfriend beside you.

His stare is soft, his smile lingers, but it's no longer one of humour, but rather of love, of adoration, a smile that shows he has found his heaven.

"I'm gonna marry you."

Your heart skips a beat.

You turn to him, tomato sauce on the corners of your mouth, grease covering your lips and chin as you hold a pizza slice in your hand, a gentle yet shocked look in your eyes; you clearly weren't expecting the conversation to shift to that.

"What?"

"I'm gonna marry you." Sirius repeats again, smiling wider as he does so.

You repricate his smile.

"I'll hold you to that, buddy boy."

He chuckles.

"Don't worry, I'd rather die than let go of you."

Sirius grins, and the heavens closes itself up; how could it be the most beautiful thing in the universe when Sirius Black exists?

"I'm not letting you go, even when you get sick of me. You're stuck with me, I'm afraid."

You nod. "Good. 'Cause you're stuck with me."

You both smile at each other, lips covered in sauce and grease, but Sirius still believes you must be the most stunning creation God has ever made. He wonders, if there is a God up there, if he is proud of his most glorious creation just like how Sirius is of you.

"..Do you wanna move on to the final part of the agenda?" You ask with a grin on your face.

Sirius in that moment believes that there must be a God, as there's no chance that someone as perfect as you could exist without the power of a divine being. He quickly thanks whatever omnipotent being is out there and dives onto you, taking off your shirt then his as you laugh.

[cynosdaydream]

Could you do a fic with Kazuhiro and his s/o that he had to to leave behind when he fled from the vision hunt decree?

I don’t have anything specific in mind I just feel like this idea has a lots interesting paths to take. Love letters? Reunion? A tearful good bye?

Chasing Freedom

Kazuha's flowery language won't do anything to help him when he has to explain to you why he's departing.

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : 悪魔の子 / Child Of Evil - Ai Higuchi

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

Word Count: 2.8k Author's notes: SORRY this took so long to get out September to October was my exam period and I needed a break after. Proof read by my skrunklje @noxellaa CWs: Fluff, Eventual Angst , (maybe comfort in part 2 if I can) GN!Reader

Under the reign of the almighty Raiden Shogun, Inazuma had turned into a terrifying nation, not just to outsiders, but to the citizens residing within as well. Visions were being confiscated left and right, leaving countless people ambitionless and in despair.

A vision was known to be a blessing bestowed by Celestia itself, only being given to specific people. Those people who got a vision felt elated, felt like the vision gave them worth, a reason to keep pushing forward for the greater good of Teyvat.

But what would happen if that very item that gave these people motivation to push on and help others was taken away from them, against their own will? 

The citizens in Inazuma didn’t have to leave that question to their imagination, as they were now experiencing it first hand. You could see those people who were stripped of their visions slowly lose that special spark that they always had, gradually turning into shells of their former selves.

You had witnessed one of your friends, a former vision wielder, have their vision forcefully taken from them in front of a sea of people, at the hands of the Raiden Shogun. The pure terror and hopelessness in their eyes and the way they pleaded for it back was enough to make your blood run cold. 

However, in the midst of all this horror and uncertainty, you found solace in a quiet, silver-haired poet called Kazuha.

You had met him on the shores of the city, sitting atop a tree near the waters. You had gone there for a bit of peace and quiet, further away from the city, leaving any worries you had far behind. Luckily for you, the soldiers usually patrolling the nation were not present, probably somewhere else harassing an innocent civilian for their vision. However, you had felt an unfamiliar presence near you.

Thinking it could be one of the soldiers, you whipped your head around, scanning over the vicinity. Then, your eyes landed on a figure sitting in a tree, gazing into the distance.

His silver hair and the single red streak that ran through it enraptured you, unconsciously making you drawn to him. 

The man didn’t seem like he could cause you any harm,  so you decided to join him up on the tree, but not before making your decision known to him lest he got startled and started acting in self defence.

“Hey, you mind me coming up there?” You asked, waiting for his response. The stranger gave you a quick nod of approval, accompanied by a charming smile. Even though the corners of his lips merely turned upwards slightly, it was enough to stun you for a moment and make your heart skip a beat. Without hesitating further, you hoisted yourself up onto the branch that the man was sitting on. 

Numerous shades of red and hues of scattered orange painted the once cerulean afternoon sky, the sun disappearing into the horizon through the sea. It was strangely comforting, watching the sunset with some random stranger that you had only met minutes before.

The noise from the city slowly faded, the almost always present laughs and cries of the children growing fainter by the minute, everyone retiring to their homes before the sun set.

This change in atmosphere made you feel more at ease, and your body sank into the peaceful ambience. 

However, before the sun had fully set, the stranger had turned towards you and said, “The soldiers will be here to patrol soon, when the sun sets. Would you mind if I walked you home?” He jumped off the tree, then extended his hand out to you as an offer. It was safe to say you were thoroughly surprised by this, but nevertheless, you took his hand in yours and hopped off the tree as well.

You felt the bandages that wrapped around his hands graze yours, which had sparked your curiosity about him even further. Was he a swordsman? You wondered. Without another word being said, you started to walk back to your house. A nagging part at the back of your mind had told you it was dangerous to share your address with some stranger, buy you had felt comfortable around him, like his presence eased your nervousness about everything that was going on. 

The breeze that you had felt on the sea shores significantly lessened when you had reached your home.

“This is my house.” You told him, turning to go inside. That was when you had realised that your hand was still in his, and the texture of his bandages was still present on your hands.

“Ah! I’m so sorry, I didn’t notice…” You hastily apologised, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. He was just as quick to reassure you, “Don’t worry about it.” As you turned around to head inside again, you could have sworn that he wanted to say something else.

Your suspicions proved to be correct when he tapped you on the shoulder and whispered, “My name…is Kaedehara Kazuha. I enjoyed your company today, if you would like to accompany me on occasions like this again, you can find me at the same spot.”

And he was gone from your sight, as swift as the wind. 

What a strange man. You thought, but decided to consider his offer anyway. The evening with him had calmed your frayed nerves about the dire situation in Inazuma, anyways. Kaedehara Kazuha. “What a pretty name.”  You muttered, tucking yourself into bed.

That night, your dreams had contained a strange amount of vermillion red. 

As the sun rose the next day, you found yourself walking towards the very same place that you had been yesterday. And on that very same tree, sat the very same silver-haired young man, now with a pen and paper in his hands, gazing whimsically into the distance.

This time, you did not hesitate in climbing up the tree, sitting next to him, closer than the day before. Kazuha did not seem startled, even offering you a kind smile.

“I’ve been stuck on this poem for a while, do you mind helping me?” He asked, holding the piece of paper towards you.

It was slightly yellowed, with small tears forming at the corners of it. Your eyes then travelled to the words written on the paper, each one acting as a singular thread, weaving and intertwining with each other, creating a beautiful masterpiece. His choice of words was perfect, there was no way you could criticise  his existing work. The poem painted a picture, and you had to continue it like a movie scene. 

From then on, your meet-ups had gotten more frequent, and you started meeting up in other places than the tree. Sometimes, the both of you would stroll through the city in the evening, savouring the momentary bliss before the soldiers increased their alertness during nightfall. Other times, when the wind called out to Kazuha stronger than usual, you would pack a light lunch to carry along with you to eat. It consisted of a few slices of toasted bread, a stick of butter to compliment it, and lastly, one grilled fish.

The meal was simple, but filled both yours and Kazuha’s stomachs for the rest of the afternoon. After that, you would chat with him as the gentle breeze caressed your face, allowing you to shut your eyes and simply enjoy the peaceful atmosphere.

Through these chats, you learned that he had another friend once, named Tomo. 

Kazuha then told you the entire story, staring wistfully at the ground after he finished. The area around you seemed to quieten, the silence weighing heavy on your chest, and you then noticed the electro vision hanging next to his anemo one.

His experience was similar to your own, making you recall the look in your friend’s eyes after their vision was confiscated from them. You laid a hand on the man’s shoulder, the simple action speaking a thousand words all at once.

“I’m…sure he was an amazing person.” You said, still slightly unsure if that was the correct thing to tell Kazuha. After all, what was the best thing to say to a person in a situation like this? You’ve always felt like ‘I’m sorry’ wasn’t quite right, as it wouldn’t do anything to comfort the person. He nodded his head. “Indeed.”

That day, you felt like you grew significantly closer to him, and got to know him on a more personal level than most people, perhaps. It made you feel special, like he truly trusted you. Over time, you developed more…intense feelings towards him. It went beyond just friendship; you wanted to hold him in your arms, wanted his flowery poems to be written with you in mind, wanted him to stay with you, and not become a fleeting memory. 

And on one windy day, you had tried your hand at poetry earlier in the morning. It wasn’t anything as fancy or intricate as Kazuha’s. just a simple piece professing your love to him. 

From the brightest winter star, to the shimmer of an amethyst,

nothing could even hold a candle to you, Kaedehara Kazuha.

Similarly, no amount of existing words can proficiently explain

this feeling I feel towards you.

Far beyond mere friendship, perhaps dwindling on the line

of unrelenting adoration.

So, would you grant me this honour to be yours,

until the end of time?

And on that day, you climbed up the tree as usual, taking your regular spot next to Kazuha. “Here. I dabbled in poetry today, and I thought you would like to read it.” You spoke, placing the poem in his hands. Kazuha smiled, admitting, “I’ve always wondered what kind of poetry you would write should you have written some. I look forward to reading this.”

You planned to give him the piece of parchment and run all the way home, but now your panicked nerves wouldn’t allow your fight or flight reactions to activate, instead opting to freeze instead. Your eyes carefully scanned Kazuha, looking for any signs of disdain or a downturn of his lips that showcased his discomfort towards your confession.

However, his eyes widened as his eyes travelled down the parchment, his head resting on his fist. Kazuha’s cheeks turned red, and he stuttered out, “I am not usually at a loss for words…but…yes, I would be honoured for you to be mine, and I yours, until destiny do us apart.” 

And from that day on, the both of you would savour each peaceful moment with each other. Sometimes taking a stroll around Inazuma and picking up Sea Ganodermas in the shallow waters, sometimes just quietly sitting side by side.

On one of your dates walking through the city, a keychain in the shape of an orange maple leaf caught your eye, which reminded you of your lover. It was the last one hanging on the hook, and being worried that someone would snag it before you, you let go of Kazuha’s hand and hurriedly dashed towards the store. He was taken by surprise, and was not hesitant to chase after you. 

“Love, what did you run all the way here for-,” His sentence was cut short by you taking one of his hands in yours and dropping the keychain in it.

Smiling, you told him, “This keychain reminded me of you, and it was the last one available, so of course I had to buy it for you!” Kazuha gazed at you fondly while thanking you. His expression, full of sheer adoration, was burned in your memory up until one fateful day. 

The weather was considerably good, with the clouds partially obscuring the sun, allowing a few rays of sunlight to shine through onto the land of eternity. A brisk wind blew through the country, rustling the autumn leaves which fell onto the stony pathways like flakes of snow.

The day before, Kazuha had asked you to meet him at the docks in the early afternoon, just before the sun’s heat became more intense. You went about your day, and when the clock struck around midday, you wandered to the docks of Inazuma.

And sure enough, there was your silver-haired lover, his hand clutched tightly around something. But instead of the usual soft smile he had on his face, his expression was scarily monotone, borderline downcast. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something about him was off.

Choosing to talk to him to find out what the cause of this was, you gingerly asked him, “Hey, Kazu. What did you ask me to come here for today? We don’t usually come here for dates.” This seemed to perplex Kazuha even further, his lips pressed into a thin line. 

“There is no easy way to say this, my dove, but…I have been hiding for far too long,” Kazuha breathed out, voice shaky. You were confused, his wording now doing the opposite of making you feel at peace.

“Kazuha, what do you mean? Now isn’t the time to use flowery language with me, love. Please tell me what’s happening.” You said, clutching at his arm.

Why did he ask you to come to the docks specifically? What was he hiding? Or hiding from? What was even happening?

Your head spun with the amount of questions you wanted to ask, but you waited for your lover to give you an answer. 

Kazuha couldn’t look you in the eye as he explained, “After Tomo…passed during battle, I stole his vision to have something to remember him by. But that made me a wanted man here, and I am afraid I cannot hide in this nation for any longer. And…” He paused, not sure how to continue.

“I feel…suffocated here. The rules and restrictions imposed here are taking a toll on me, for my heart yearns to travel the world. I long to see the sights and views of other nations, the great mountains of Liyue and the vast deserts of Sumeru. So, forgive me, my dove, but I cannot stay here any longer.” 

The silence after he finished his explanation weighed heavy on your shoulders, making your grip on his arm tighten while you took it all in. During this, Kazuha gently pried open your other clenched fist, and dropped something very familiar into your hands. It was the keychain that you had bought for him a few months back.

“It’s.. something to remember me by as well. I know that you gave it to me as a gift, but if it reminds you of me, then…I want you to keep it close.” Your fingers tightened around the keychain, the spiky edges of it digging into your skin as the full realisation of what was happening hit you like a ton of bricks. 

“So…you’re really leaving, huh? After everything, all the memories…you’re going to leave that all behind, Kazuha?” You whispered, as if afraid saying it too loud would make the impact of the entire thing hit even harder than it already did. Your eyes turned watery, and the tears that had been held back by a desire to not seem weak in front of your lover finally fell, one after the other until it turned into a steady stream of tears.

The clouds seemed to obstruct the sun even more than just now, the rays of light now mostly blocked, save for a faint glow of light shining through. 

Meanwhile, Kazuha was slightly taken aback by the use of his entire name. Usually, you would call him endearments like ‘love’ or a shortened form of his name, ‘Kazu’ being the one he was most fond of. However, there was none of that now.

“I’m sorry, dove. I know this isn’t easy for you, but this will not be our final goodbye, for I will return.” 

You finally mustered up the strength to look up, and you saw that Kazuha’s eyes were now glazing over as well. A feeling of despair washed over you, but what could you do? If he was a wanted man and had the desire to travel the world, then who were you to stop him? As his lover, you could only want the best for him. “I wish the best for you, Kazu. I’ll be just fine here.”

“Don’t wait for me, okay? Live your life, and run. Don’t throw away your freedom for me,” 

Even though you tried your best to sound happy, tears dripped down your face more intensely than before as you smiled sorrowfully at Kazuha, smile not quite reaching your eyes. His resolve seemed to tremble now, gritting his teeth together as he silently shook with sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I promise I’ll come back, one day. Please don’t forget me, my beloved.”

And with that, he tenderly gave you one last kiss before saying goodbye and heading onto the towering ship behind him.

[keep-the-wolves-close]

Steady Heart

Chapter 6: The Devil Takes Care of His Own

Pairing: Slow-burn Kayce Dutton x OFC Stella Daniels

Rating: M? (Still figuring out the rating system) (might eventually be M anyhow)

Warnings: language, I think this chapter is pretty tame?

Word count: 2,255ish

I would love to give credits to @dameronscopilot and @deanscroissant for being a sounding board for me during this whole process, giving outsider insight, being a cheerleader, and allowing me to screech at her about things that have happened during the writing process. Seriously couldn't have gotten this far without y’all! 💛

Author's note: I hope everyone is enjoying so far! I hope you love this chapter as well! 💛🤓

Stella pulled up to the ranch. When she had gotten a text from Rip last night to come in today by noon, she had wanted to die. Breathing out loudly, she shut the car off and prepared herself for the potential heartbreak that was about to happen. She looked to her left and realized she had parked next to Kayce’s truck. ‘Shit. What’s he doing here?’

She immediately felt her chest tighten. What if John had lied to get him here to back him into a corner and to help make sure she would stay in line when he fired her and kicked her out?

“Fuuuuck,” she drug the syllable out quietly. She shook her head. ‘No. There’s no way Kayce would let that happen.’ Sliding her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, she hopped out of the SUV.

Glancing around, Stella could see a lot of activity for the day in full swing. It looked like they were separating steer prospects they didn’t want to keep. She didn’t see Kayce, but she did spot her brother. She smiled affectionately seeing him doing the work he loved to do. When her eyes landed farther to the right, she saw Tate leaning on the fence watching with childlike wonder.

She wandered over to the little boy. “Hey bud!”

“Oh hey Aunt Stell! Isn’t this cool?”

“Yeah it sure is. I love watching them.” She smiled. She whispered conspiratorially to him. “It’s even more fun to do it though.”

Tate looked at her with wide eyes. “You’ve done this before??”

She smiled. “Yessir I have. Plenty of times. With my brother and your dad, and your grandpa.”

“Woaahhh! That’s awesome! I wanna do it too!” Her best friend’s son practically started to levitate with excitement.

“Well you’ve gotta be just a little bit bigger for that, bud.” She chuckled. “Speaking of your dad, do you know where he went?”

“I think he went to talk to grandpa.”

Stella sighed. “Okay I’m gonna go find them. Stay on this fence and not the inside one, alright?” She ruffled his hair gingerly and he giggled. Stella knew Tate knew better, but she couldn’t help herself to give the warning anyhow.

Stella circled around and gave everything a passing glance. It was almost like an out of body stream of consciousness. Her eyes stopped as they landed on the two men in question looking in her direction. She was sure she turned seven different shades of pale. Stretching her neck from side to side, she walked toward them. Little did Stella know, they watched her from the moment she pulled in.

“Is this my judge and jury pair?” It was spiteful of her to say that. She cringed and started again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be like that.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Kayce asked, surprised at her rough greeting. Stella’s eyes darted to John, whose face was stoic, but his eyebrows raised slightly. He hadn’t told Kayce.

She tried to smooth past her slip. “Nothin’. Y’all just seemed like you were ready to make big decisions for everyone’s day. So the judge,” she motioned at John, “and the jury.” She finished pointing to Kayce. “I’m also just in rare form today apparently.”

Kayce decided to ignore that and looked at his dad. “How’s that stallion treatin’ ya?”

“It’s the gift that keeps on giving.” John snorted and looked around.

Stella laughed quietly. “He’s definitely giving everyone a run for their money. And I’m almost outta money.”

“Kayce, let me borrow Stella for a second.”

The younger Dutton stopped shifting on his feet. He passed a look between his dad and his best friend, confused. “Sure. Don’t need my permission.”

John waved his hand for Stella to follow him. Kayce caught the sight of her wiping her hands on her legs. Why was she nervous to talk to his dad, of all people? This is the girl that told his dad to ‘go fuck himself and get off his high horse, it’s not just about you’ when she defended him back when she was 18. He reached out to grab her arm, but his fingertips barely brushed it. She fixed him with a look that made him stop any form of question.

When the eldest Dutton and Stella walked around the corner, she let out a heavy sigh. She leaned her shoulder on the wall while she placed her hands in her back pockets.

“Well, let’s have it, sir.” She tried to brace herself for the hit.

John pinned her to her spot with a look of warning. “I heard your conversation with Rip last night.”

“And I meant every word.” She answered confidently. “If you think I’d have loose lips, you really don’t know me like I thought you might have.”

Kayce had snuck up behind them. “What the hell are you accusing her of?”

Stella threw her hands up and let them slap back on her thighs. She hadn’t planned on telling Kayce, but he inserted himself into the problem.“Well, now is as good a time as any. I overheard a conversation, and decided to sneak out instead of making my presence known. Your dad saw me leave, and then I lied to him about it because I didn’t know he saw me.”

“So you’re questioning her integrity?”

“No, son, that already happened. I’m telling her she’s allowed to stay. My men trust her. My son,” he paused to look directly at Kayce, “trusts her. I’ve never had any issues. So I’m letting it slide. Once. I think she’s learned her lesson. But Stella?”

She looked at him wide eyed. “Yessir?”

“Lie to my face again?” She understood the hidden meaning of the slippery slope. “Now, I’m going to go see my grandson.”

“Stella, c’mon.” Kayce left her no room for argument. The way he turned and walked off told her he was definitely pissed. She rolled her eyes and fixed her glasses. “Come on.” She heard Kayce press.

Stella picked up her pace to catch him. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’. Jeez.”

Kayce whipped around at her when they got to the tack room. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?!”

She placed a hand on the middle of his chest to keep him out of her face, “woah woah woah there, cowboy. I didn’t keep anything from you,” then removed it just as fast. “You were dealing with a lot. It’s not your responsibility to mend my busted fences.”

“But he’s my dad, and he should fuckin’ know better. Especially when it comes to you.”

“Those kinds of things get forgotten. Especially when it wasn’t happening to his family, Kayce. Of course he remembers yours.” Both sets of eyes glazed over for a minute, recollecting the memory.

“I could have reminded him. I could’ve made your life so much easier.”

“Yeah, but how will I learn anything if you’re fixing things for me all the time?” She raised her eyebrows at him. “You won’t always be there to save me. Also, just because I’m your best friend, doesn’t mean I should get preferential treatment either. I’m still an employee here, ya know.”

Stella went to lean against the work table against the back wall. She leaned back on her hands and gazed at Kayce. “You know, this is the same exact conversation you helped me have with my brother when I turned 18. I’m not doing it twice.” She scoffed out a humorless chuckle. “Everything is fine, Kace. Next time I’ll announce myself to the conversation with bells and confetti.”

“That’s not funny, and you know it. This could have been bad.” He scoffed back at her, but still came to lean next to her. Touching shoulders like always.

“Rip wouldn’t have let it get there.” Stella defended.

Kayce had a sudden realization. “Wait, is that why you thought I was here? To help kick you out? Do you really think I would have let that happen?!”

She sighed harshly. “No Kayce. I don’t. I do, however, think your dad would have lied to get you here and back you into a corner. I’ve seen him do it before.”

“Also wait a minute, Rip?! I could stop the problem at the starting gate.” Kayce ignored the accusation about his father. He knew she was right.

She joked. “So now we’re derby runners? I thought we were cowboys.”

“Stella…” He let her name fall off in a warning.

She put her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. It’s not funny. If I saw things start to really go sideways, I would have come to you. I promise.” Stella fixed her glasses while she played with the bottom of her T-shirt. It was time to change the subject. “So how are you? How’s Monica?”

“I’m alright. Day by day, you know. Monica…? She’s holding on, but I can’t talk to her.”

Her face scrunched up. “Since when can’t you talk to her? I would expect that to happen between us before it happened with you two.”

“There’s something I did that can’t be forgiven.”

“Kayce… I highly doubt there is anything you could do, that she wouldn’t forgive you for.”

“Not this.”

“So what is it?”

“I can’t tell you either.” He looked down. Defeated. Stella observed him for a minute. He looked lost. Scared almost. The look reminded her of that day they snuck out and got trapped by a brown bear and she threw herself in front of Kayce right as Rip came galloping up to save them.

“Well, I know when you’re ready, you’ll tell me. But you’ve gotta talk to your wife, Kayce. You can’t leave her in the dark. It probably hurts her that you’re avoiding her.”

“You think I don’t know that? I just, can’t break her heart like this.” Stella reached over and patted his back between his shoulders.

“Whatever it is, cowboy, we’ll get through it. I’ll be here to help as long as you want me to be.”

Kayce pulled out his phone to check the time. His dad and son had been gone for quite some time.

“I gotta go get a horse. I need to find Tate.”

Stella practically jogged to keep up with Kayce. He was headed Rip’s way. Ryan and Colby walked in the opposite direction towards the friend pair. They were headed to dinner. Ryan could be heard calling Fred a dipshit. She let out a hearty laugh because it was the god's honest truth. As they got closer, they could hear Rip talking to Lloyd. He told him to give Fred his wages and send him on his way. ‘Oo shit.’ Her eyebrows raised. Jimmy limped by them.

She shouted at Jimmy. “What the hell happened to you?!” She stopped following Kayce to talk to Jimmy. In her peripheral vision, she saw Kayce stop and glance back at her and Jimmy to watch the interaction. Stella reached out to examine the bloody lip Jimmy acquired and the nice goose egg on his forehead. Kayce exhaled loudly, and Stella was all but sure there was an eyeroll and clenched jaw attached to it, but he continued moving.

Jimmy side eyed the youngest Dutton. “Uh, it’s nothing. You go catch up with Kayce.”

Rip yelled at Stella as he and Kayce went into the barn. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ clean ‘im up! Let everybody see!”

“I’m at least gonna give you some Tylenol. Rip can suck my ass if he gets pissy about me going to the bunkhouse for that. C’mon.” She pulled Jimmy along to the bunkhouse.

As Stella searched for the Tylenol, the air was tense between them. She could feel he wanted to ask her something.

“Go ahead and ask Jimmy. I’m mostly an open book.” She nosed around in the top cabinet.

“Oh it’s nothing.”

She looked at him disapprovingly above her lenses. “Yeah and I’m Miss America.”

“Okay so I’m probably wrong, but is there something going on between you and Kayce?”

If she would have had water in her mouth, it would have been spat across the room. “What?!”

Jimmy fidgeted around. “Well you guys are really close and I’ve seen how you look at him.”

Stella found the bottle in the back of the cabinet. She turned to face Jimmy with as much seriousness as she could muster and a deadpan face. “For the love of god, don’t repeat that thought to anyone else. I’ll be dead in 24 hours. Whether from embarrassment, or Monica murdering me herself, I don’t know.” She snapped the cabinet shut. “No, there's nothing going on between me and a married man. He’s just my best friend. Always has been, always will be.”

“Oh yeah definitely. I just maybe thought —,”

“— Well you thought wrong.” Stella interrupted, and roughly shoved the bottle at Jimmy. “Here’s your Tylenol. Keep those thoughts to yourself. Clear?”

“Crystal.” Jimmy watched as Stella stomped off. He heard the telltale jingle of her keys and the front door slam.

Stella stormed past the picnic tables where everyone had gathered. Ryan and Colby called out to her as she stalked by, only to be ignored and left perplexed. Even Rip and Lloyd shared a look.

By the time she made it to her SUV, she reached a boiling point. She huffed and puffed while blindly searching for the unlock button. Hopping in, she jammed the key into the ignition. Stella was ready to go home and get away from this cursed place for the night.

She felt like a child with how she reacted. If anything, her reaction made her seem guiltier than she was.

[lewmagoo]

before the devil comes for you | robert "bob" floyd

chapter one

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summary: the year is 1975. robert floyd is a young reverend haunted by demons from his past. fresh out of seminary, he is led to take up a backwoods church in a small mining town. there, he meets a woman who is in the midst of questioning the very foundation of her faith. as their worlds collide, robert soon finds himself tangled in a web of temptation and lies. with the past he’s spent so long trying to outrun quickly closing in, he is faced with a decision, in which he must either condemn the woman he loves, or turn his back on his faith.

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pairing: robert "bob" floyd x oc (fairlight mackall)

warnings: 18+ ONLY, this story will contain heavy religious themes, poverty, eventual smut, violence, mentions of death, religious trauma, mentions and/or depictions of abuse. specific warnings will be added to each part accordingly

note: i am no longer able to add anymore blogs to my taglist, as i've hit a tagging limit. please follow my tag #before the devil comes for you if you would like to keep up with this story

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It was an unseasonably warm day in late May when Reverend Robert Floyd arrived in the backwoods village of Backforty Gap, smack dab in the middle of Preston County, West Virginia.

The heat of the day had already gotten to him, leaving his fair brow wet with sweat, and his cotton shirt, the one his mother had made him, soaked through. 

He was seated in the passenger’s seat of a rusty old Ford pickup, likely from the 1940s. The seats were worn and cracked. A pair of dirty, old fuzzy dice hung from the rearview mirror. The cab smelled like cigarettes and motor oil. The engine was loud. 

Bob tugged at the collar of his shirt, trying futilely to ease the heat around his neck.

The man driving, who’d introduced himself as Cricket, said nothing for most of the ride, except to make comments about certain landmarks they’d pass by. Bob wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he pictured Backforty Gap, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

There were seemingly unending stretches of highway, flanked by dense woods. Occasionally, they would pass by a dilapidated home that he was certain was abandoned, but Cricket would inform him that someone actually lived there.

“That’s the Renner place,” he gruffly informed Bob as they passed by what looked to be nothing more than a little shack.

Bob’s eyes widened. “Someone actually lives there?”

He hadn’t meant it to come across like he was casting judgment, but Cricket took it that way. “Don’t go dogging the way people live here, Reverend. It’ll do you well to keep them thoughts to yourself.”

“Oh, I-I wasn’t-” He tried, but suddenly, the truck took a sharp turn, and the words died on his lips as he lurched to the side, arms shooting out to steady himself. Suddenly, they were on a winding gravel road, and the truck rocked and rattled as they went. Bob was sure the ride knocked a rib or two loose.

Along that winding road, he caught sight of the church that would soon be his responsibility. A run-down country church, white paint peeling around the edges, arched windows furnished with stained glass. 

He almost opened his mouth to ask Cricket to stop for a moment to allow himself to get acquainted with the sanctuary, but thought better of it. The man seemed like he wanted to get this over with, so Bob remained quiet and instead let his eyes flicker away from the small church and onto the road ahead.

They passed by a few houses on the way up the mountain. A few that were just as dilapidated as the one he’d seen along the main road. Others were in better condition. Some were mere cabins. Others were actual houses. 

Many of the houses were littered with wandering chickens in the front yards. Hunting dogs howled as the truck passed. Cats dozed in the shade of old oak trees. Children played barefoot in their yards. 

Bob was a little stunned. This place seemed stuck in time, as if it was a time capsule from seventy years prior. The area was clearly very poor. If the poorly kept houses weren’t a dead giveaway, then the children’s tattered clothes and gaunt faces were. He was quickly beginning to realize why the Almighty had led him here.

He was hopeful about his mission here, but he wasn’t quite sure how the community would react to him. He’d been told numerous times that small-town, backwoods folks like this did not take well to drastic changes like this. He would surely have his work cut out for him.

“Mackall place is up here a ways,” Cricket’s gruff voice startled Bob from his reverie. “I’m gon’ drop you off at the end of their drive, because it’s a real bitch to turn this truck around up there.” Then, he cast a sheepish glance at the young reverend. “Excusin’ the language, Reverend.”

Bob waved a dismissive hand. “It’s quite alright.” He’d certainly been known to utter worse things during his own time away from the Lord.

As promised, Cricket pulled the truck to a stop at the end of a long, dirt driveway. Bob thanked the man and made a move to place money in his hand. But he refused to take it. “S’ the least I could do for the man of God.”

With a shrug, Bob climbed out of the truck and onto the dirt and gravel below. He thanked Cricket once more before he retrieved his tattered old suitcase from the truck bed, and turned to face the seemingly unending driveway.

Here goes nothing, he thought to himself. And away he went.

As he walked beneath the beating sun, guaranteed to turn his fair skin pink, he marveled at the circumstances that had brought him here. He had only just finished seminary, when an offer to take up a church in Backforty Gap had dropped into his lap.

He’d barely given it a second thought before accepting the offer. Admittedly, he probably should have whispered a prayer to ask for wisdom, but he was just so eager to get to work that he assumed this was a sign from God.

A week later, he was boarding a greyhound bus headed for Morgantown, West Virginia. From there, a man from Backforty Gap would be waiting at the station to drive him up to the village. Or, holler, as the locals called it.

That’s where he’d been greeted by Cricket, a man of few words. When Bob had asked if that was his given name, or a nickname, the only answer he’d received was a grunt. 

Cricket had driven thirty-five minutes to get to Backforty Gap. And that’s where Robert Floyd found himself now. 

He was brimming with anticipation over being in a new place. It was a chance for him to have a fresh start and make something out of himself. A chance to make his momma proud, for once. A chance to finally shed all those demons from his past and walk into the light. 

But before he could get on with his mission, he had to settle into the place he’d be living for the time being.

The church property did not have a pastor’s quarters. Instead, Bob would be staying up the road a ways, on the property of the church’s head deacon, Montgomery Mackall. 

He had no idea what to expect as he trod the dirt path. Would he come upon a home as poor and dilapidated as all the others? 

His questions were soon answered when he caught sight of a farmhouse in the distance. It was not grand, but it was no sunken shack, either. It looked big enough to house an entire family comfortably. 

The paint on the outside was sun-bleached and peeling. The screen on the front door was falling off. But that seemed to be the only cosmetic disrepair on the house. Other than that it was much nicer than all the other places he’d seen on the drive up here. 

Inside the house was a young woman of twenty-one, humming a dreamy tune to herself as she set about doing her daily chores. She was in the kitchen, the windows open to let in the warm spring air as she swept the worn, wooden floor. 

When she glanced up from her work, eyes flickering to the open window over the sink, she caught sight of a figure approaching.

She didn’t recognize whoever it was, which led realization to dawn on her. She hastily shoved her broom against the nearest wall, rushing to untie her hand-sewn apron. 

“Daddy! The new preacher’s here!” She called to her father, who was in the back of the house, in the small shoebox of a room he called his study. 

She heard shuffling, and a moment later, Montgomery Mackall stepped into the hall. Standing at over six feet tall, he was a steady mountain of a man. Hard set jaw, striking blue eyes that had seen many things, and a handsome, ruddy face that was slightly weathered from years in the sun.

Montgomery, or, Mont, as his friends called him, walked steadily to the front door, pushing the screen open, but catching it before it could slam against the side of the house. His daughter followed close behind, brimming with curiosity as she tried to peer around his broad shoulders to catch a better glimpse of the reverend.

Down the path, Bob saw two people step out onto the front porch of the old farmhouse, and he lifted his hand in greeting. The cotton of his shirt shifted against his skin as he did so, reminding him of just how hot and sticky he really was, thanks to the warmth of the weather.

He might have preferred to wash up before he met his host family, but there would be time for that later. Instead, he squared his shoulders and walked determinedly. He wanted to make a good impression. Wanted these people to see him in a good light.

He supposed thinking that way was sinful. It wasn’t about him, after all. It was about showing the love of Christ to others. He had to remind himself of that as he finally caught up to the man and woman who’d just stepped off of the porch.

Bob came face to face with a man who stood at eye level with him. The man’s brow was set in a scowl, only because of the sun that shone on his face. Even so, he looked rather intimidating, but Bob tried not to let it bother him.

“Reverend Floyd,” Montgomery spoke, reaching out a firm, work-calloused hand.

Bob shook his hand, a little jarred by the rough grip, but he recovered quickly and returned the handshake with renewed enthusiasm. “You must be Mr. Mackall,” he mused.

Mont nodded. “Sure am. You can call me Mont, though. Don’t need to go by formalities.” Then, he turned, revealing the girl who’d been standing just behind him. “This here’s my daughter, Fairlight.”

As his eyes fell upon the young woman, Robert’s breath caught in his chest. There she stood, flaxen hair glimmering in the sun, the kindest smile he’d ever seen lighting up her face. But it was her eyes that stopped him dead in his tracks. They were unlike anything he’d ever seen before. A stormy, gray-blue that made him feel like he was staring into the sky in anticipation of a summer thunderstorm.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, sir.” She held her hand out, and he took it, gently shaking it.

She didn’t miss the way his hand quite literally swallowed her smaller one. He was not what she’d been expecting in the least. When her father told her of a new reverend by the name of Robert Floyd taking over Backforty Church of God, she’d imagined a much older man. Graying hair. Hunched shoulders. Belly rounded from the evidence of his own gluttony.

Her mind had never imagined him to look like this. Tall and lithe. Chestnut hair, the edges of which were curled around his forehead, glimmering with perspiration. His eyes were the clearest blue, even more so than her own father’s. His features were soft, but striking all at once. Little did she know that this very moment, this first meeting, would change the trajectory of her life forever.

But all too soon, the spell was broken, and Reverend Floyd pulled his hand from hers quickly. She noticed that he flexed his fingers, as if trying to rid himself of the feel of her touch. 

Her father started speaking again. “We got a lot to talk about. You’re gon’ need to be prepared before you walk through them church doors on Sunday morning. But first, I reckon you’re eager to get freshened up.” Mont motioned to his daughter. “Faitlight’ll show you where you’re staying.”

There it was again, that warm smile of hers. If Bob stared too long, his eyes burned. He thanked Mont, and quickly moved to follow the girl. When he looked down, he realized that her feet were bare. She walked surely, so familiar with every inch of land that she was not afraid of where her feet might fall. 

“You’ll be staying in our guest house,” she spoke up, her voice soft, “but don’t expect anything luxurious. It’s just an old shack my daddy fixed up.”

“Oh, I’m not picky. Just thankful the Lord provided a place for me to rest my head while I’m here,” Bob replied with a smile. 

Fairlight glanced over her shoulder at him and mirrored that smile. She moved her focus back to the path ahead, and Bob watched her, pretty floral dress swishing around her bare legs. But he quickly averted his gaze. What on earth was wrong with him? He’d been here all of five minutes and his mind was already wandering.

Father, forgive me.

Instead, he rehearsed Scripture in his mind. Verses he’d had to commit to memory in seminary. He was so wrapped up in repeating those verses that he didn’t even realized they’d reached the guest house. Fairlight stopped, but his head was so far in the clouds that he didn’t see, and he collided with her.

With a gasp of surprise, she stumbled forward from the force, and Bob’s arm shot out, catching her before she could fall. “Sorry! I’m sorry, I-I wasn’t paying attention,” he profusely apologized. 

But when she turned, there was laughter on her lips, flowing like sweet communion wine. “It’s okay,” she assured him. 

His hand was clasped around her forearm, and he quickly released her, posture straightening. He looked beyond her and took in the sight of the house. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she said it was a shack. It was rather small, built from simple wooden planks. But it appeared sturdy enough that the weather would not get to it.

Fairlight stepped forward to open the door, and she motioned for him to step inside. As he did, his eyes explored the space. The floor was also wooden. A twin bed was placed in the corner, furnished with a wooden frame. There was a small nightstand beside it. At its foot, a small chest for storing clothing.

On the other side, there was a small writing desk. In the middle of the room, there was a modest, well-worn couch. 

“Well, this is it. It’s not much, but…”

Bob shook his head. “No, it’s just right. Thank you, really. I appreciate that your father was willing to take me in like this.”

“Oh, he’s happy to do it. He’s just relieved we found a pastor to take on the church. He’s been preaching all the messages lately and it’s really wearing on him.”

Bob paused after he set his bag on the bed. “Can I ask what happened to the last reverend?”

Her face darkened slightly. “We had an outbreak of scarlet fever a while back. He visited all the families that were suffering from it. Then, he came down with it, and it killed him.”

Bob’s eyes widened. “O-oh. I had no idea. No one told me any details. Just that there was a congregation in need of a reverend.” Then, “but, surely he could've gotten help, right? There’s a hospital in Morgantown.”

Fairlight shook her head. “You don’t understand. People in this community don’t trust doctors. We have a local doctor, Doctor McHone. Our people barely even trust him as it is. Hospitals are out of the question.”

He was a little floored at her statement. People were still behaving like this, in 1975? He hadn’t realized just how stuck in time this place actually was. “Wow,” was all he could murmur.

“They don’t take well to new people, either. Some of them might give you a hard time. But with my daddy backing you, you should be fine. They trust his judgment. Besides, I’m glad you’re here. We could use someone to breathe new life into the church.”

Bob dipped his head forward. “I hope I can do that, then.”

Fairlight hummed, folding her arms across her middle. Tendrils of pale hair fell from her plait as she regarded him. “I’ve gotta say, you aren’t what I was expecting.”

He raised his brow. “Is that a good thing?”

“It is. I thought you’d be an old man with gray hair and wrinkles. But you’re not. I like the look of you. You have a kind face.”

Bob couldn’t ignore the odd feeling that spread through his chest. A prickling discomfort. His mind flickered to a moment from his past. A time in which he would never have thought of himself as kind. A time in which he was so entrenched in the pits of sin he thought he’d never escape.

But here he was, a new man, living a new life. A man who’d been given a second chance. He thanked Fairlight for her compliment, though he was certain his neck had turned pink from her words. 

“Well, I’ll let you get settled in. I’m sure you’re used to having running water in the city, but out here, you’d be hard-pressed to find a house with running water. We use an outhouse to do our business, it’s just behind the main house. There’s a tub we use for baths, but I usually just bathe in the river up the road, so it’s up to you as to what you’d like to do.”

“Thank you,” Bob said.

“I make all the meals ‘round here. Breakfast is at seven. Lunch is usually at noon. Dinner is at five.” She paused, as if going over something in her mind. “I think that’s all. Daddy will fill you in on the rest, I suppose. If you need anything, let me know.” She’d inched toward the door, but her body was still turned toward him, like she didn’t want to go.

“Thank you,” he said again, dumbly. Could he not think of a more creative thing to say? But his irritation at himself was forgotten as she turned to go, and he called out to her, his worry getting the best of him. “What…what should I expect, taking on this church?”

Fairlight hesitated, as if considering just how much she should tell him. But she didn’t think she was the right person to do so. Not when in her heart of hearts, she cared nothing for the church, and wanted to see it rot. But that was a story for another time, one she would not dare breathe to a man of God such as the one before her.

Instead, she put forth the all-too-familiar persona of the obedient little church mouse. She smiled and shook her head at the young reverend. “That’s something you should ask my daddy.”

Bob nodded. “You’re right. Sorry, didn’t mean to interrogate ya.”

But she shook her head. “It’s okay. You’re just curious, is all. I would be too. There’s lots to learn about this place. But you’ll come along just fine, I’m sure.” Finally, moved to step back outside.

He followed her, standing in the doorway while she stood on the earth. The sun hit her just right, and she appeared to be glowing. “It was nice to meet you, Reverend Floyd.”

“You as well, Miss Mackall,” he answered.

She waved him off. “Call me Fairlight, please.”

“Fairlight, then.”

She nodded, eyes soft. Lingering but for a moment, she turned away, making her way back to the main house. Bob watched her go, and he tried to push aside the strange sensation blooming to life within him. He wasn’t quite sure what it was. He blamed it on nerves.

Once the woman was out of sight, he turned around, scanning his surroundings again. It wasn’t much, but it was adequate for what he needed. It was time to get settled in. So, he set about unpacking his minimal belongings. 

Bob had gotten rid of many of his old possessions. At seminary, they had taught him that worldly possessions held little to no value. It was vitally important to lay up heavenly treasures, instead. 

So, he kept only what was necessary, and gave the rest away to charity. It had been freeing to do so, because many of his things reminded him of the man he was before. He didn’t want any reminders of him. 

Now, all he owned were some toiletries, a few changes of clothes, pajamas, the watch his grandfather had given him when he was seventeen, a moleskin journal and few pens, two pairs of shoes, a winter coat, a Sunday suit, underclothes, and, his most prized possession, his leatherbound Bible.

Those items were all he had in the world. But he was not in want of anything. He found that, in his travels, he was always taken care of somehow. A kind stranger offered him a place to lay his head. A church held a love offering for him. A sweet elderly woman made him a home-cooked meal. The Lord always took care of His own.

Bob was grateful for His provision.

As he set about unpacking, he was soon interrupted by a knock at the door. He stepped across the room, opening it to reveal Montgomery.

“All settled?” The man asked.

“Getting there,” Bob responded with a smile.

Mont nodded. “Don’t mean to pull you away, but I imagine you would like to see the church.”

Bob nodded. “I would, actually. Give me a moment to get freshened up, I’ve been sweating like a sinner in church.”

Mont didn’t seem to find that funny. “Don’t bother, you’ll just start sweatin’ again as soon as you come outside.”

Sensing he didn’t want to wait, Bob complied, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. He followed Mont back toward the house, where he was led to an old pickup truck. Those seemed to be all anyone drove around here.

The two men climbed into the cab of the truck, and soon, they were off. Mont drove back the way Bob had come from, taking the winding, rough, gravel road. It took about ten minutes to get to the church, and finally, the truck came to a stop, breaks squeaking as it did so.

Bob followed Mont’s lead, climbing out of the truck and onto the dirt. As the pair approached the small church, Bob marveled at its appearance. It was more run-down than he’d realized. It clearly had not been updated in quite some time. 

“Needs some work, as you can see for yourself,” Mont spoke up as he stepped up to the front doors, fishing a key out of his pocket and unlocking them. “Been meanin’ to work on it, but funds are tight, and these people are hurting. Haven’t had the heart to ask them to contribute more than they already do for Sunday offerings.”

“Just how bad off is this community?” Bob questioned. “So I know what I’m dealing with.”

Mont sighed as he led the young reverend into the building. “I’m afraid you ain’t been prepared properly for this, Reverend. This is one of the poorest communities in the area.” 

“And nobody has started a mission to help them?” 

“Nobody cares about backwoods folks like these. They’d rather let ‘em rot.” Mont stopped at one of the old, worn benches, knocking his fingers against the wood. “People ‘round here are dirt poor. They won’t accept charity. Their livelihood is coal mining. Most of the men here are miners. They take providing for their families very seriously. And since the fighting in Vietnam started, there have been a lot of mining spots needing filled, with some of our boys off fighting. The people are hurting from the loss”

The war was over. At least, that’s what had been announced a month ago. But Bob figured most of the boys weren’t home yet. And, it was likely that many of them had died in action and would not return to their families in Backforty Gap. He didn’t ask more questions about it, however. He would learn what he needed to know once he got familiar with the community. 

“I didn’t realize how…stuck in time this place would be. I wasn’t expecting something like this in America, of all places. When you think of poor areas like this, you picture a village in Africa somewhere.”

Mont raised a brow. “Shows how privileged a life you’ve led, Reverend. No disrespect.”

“None taken,” Bob replied.

“These people, they don’t do well with change. They like things the way they are. It took a mighty bit of convincing for them to agree to bring on a new pastor.” His eyes held a serious stare as he stepped closer to Bob. “You’d best not let them down.”

The weight of this responsibility hit Robert like a ton of bricks. How was he going to shepherd and care for this impoverished community? Was he cut out for such a thing? Could he be the pastor they needed? Worry bubbled to life within his chest, but he forced himself to swallow it down.

This was what God had called him to do. He had to trust His plan. Bob had been led to Backforty Gap for a reason. It would do him well to get to work and quit worrying about all the little details. Everything would fall into place soon enough.

“So what do you say, Reverend? Think you’re cut out for this?” 

Bob pulled his shoulders back confidently and smiled. “These people need me. I can’t turn my back on them.”

Montgomery returned his smile. “That’s what I was hopin’ you’d say.” Then, he turned. “Follow me. There’s lots for you to see.”

And so it began. 

Although the task at hand seemed overwhelming, Bob knew this was where he was meant to be. He was grateful he’d even been considered for this opportunity. 

He had worked hard to clean his life up, and it was finally paying off. But past demons always have a way of rearing their ugly heads when one least expects it, and those demons were about to give Reverend Robert Floyd a run for his money. 

next chapter ⮕

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[whenthesnowfelloverwinterfell]

Vatic - Chapter I "Counting My Footsteps"

Series Description : The youngest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent grows up split between the two sides of her family. With dreams plaguing her sleep of people she does not know, and a war looming ahead of her. She will be forced to choose between the two sides of her family, between the love for her brother, and the loyalty for her sister. 

Chapter Description : As a young girl, Y/n Targaryen goes through her day, consistently taking her mother into account while making every decision.

Warnings : none in this chapter

Pairing : eventual Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader ( cannon typical targcest idk what to tell you )

Word Count : 2.4k

A girl of only eight. Silver hair long enough to reach her bottom from her mother’s refusal to have it cut by any of the septas. pale skin lightly freckled from her time out in the gardens running with her brother while their sister sat and played with bugs in the dirt. 

Her night gown had hightower embroidery on it. the sigil of the southern house on either side of ther sleeves, with two dragons facing the towers on both sides. the thread in the same cream color as the gown, blending in. 

“What dress do you wish to wear today, my dear.” 

Her mother’s voice was lost to her as she sat on the stone floor, tracing the white grout between the stones with her finger, for some reason, she could perfectly picture it stained with blood. 

She was never into the macob. Never into the deep cruelty of man, or interested in even the idea of dark events like Aegon was. And she was never much interested in the same things as her sister, Helaena. No, this was just an image that sparked itself perfectly in her mind. She could almost hear a woman’s voice layered as well. 

“Y/n, my love.” Alicent’s voice finally caught her attention this time, making her look up at her mother, a maid by her side with two different dresses draped over her arm. One a deep red shade with black embroidery, and the other a deep green dress with gold embroidery. “Did you want to pick your dress?”

The red dress had caught her eye, seeing the embroidery of a dragon on the bottom of the skirt, and the silver clasps at the neck of the dress in the shape of dragons. It was pretty, and it was the one she wanted to reach out and touch. “The green one.” Y/n spoke, knowing to expect the small smile that come across her mother’s face. 

A girl of only eight, and she knew what would make he mother the most happy. 

“Come here, darling.” Alicent held her hand out for Y/n to come join her. The young girl pushed herself off of the floor and rushed to her mother’s side as Alicent wrapped a secure arm around Y/n’s shoulders, and Y/n leaned into her touch. It was rare that Alicent was physically affectionate with her children, and it was no secret that when she was, it was frequently affection for her youngest daughter and her second son. 

“The green shall look lovely on you,” Y/n nodded in agreement as the maid set down the red and black dress, now holding the green in her arms, waiting to help the youngest princess dress herself. “Alright, get dressed.”

Alicent pulled away from Y/n, giving her a tightlipped smile before walking to the door and leaving, closing it behind her to allowed the maid to dress Y/n. 

While her mother was right that the green looked nice, Y/n was dissatisfied with it. But she only remained quiet as the maid pinned Y/n’s hair up. It was a rule her mother maid. That because of how rambunctious Y/n was, she needed to have her hair up to prevent it from getting tangles and getting leaves and sticks stuck to the silver strands. 

“Alright, Princess,” the maid started, resting her heavy calloused hands on Y/n’s shoulders, weighing them down. “You’re ready for the day, go on now.” 

A grin came to her face as she bolted to the door, opening and looking both ways down the hall, Ser Willis Fell standing outside her door, having not noticed her peaking out. Down the hall in the opposite direction, she spotted he brother.

“Aemond!” She shouted, bursting out from the doorway, running towards her older brother. hardly even a year older than herself. 

Aemond turned at the sound of his name being called, and at the sight of his sister running towards him, his face lit up. 

Y/n could hear Ser Willis following her with heavy feet on the stone, but she didn’t care that she’d left the door to her chambers open, and she didn’t care that she was grabbing the attention of everyone in the hall. It was Aemond. Other than Rhaenyra, Y/n loved him the most out of her brothers and sisters. 

As Y/n neared Aemond, he opened his arms to greet her with a hug, which she happily ran into, sending him stumbling back a bit at the sheer force. “Good morning.” He laughed. holding onto her as she rested her head on his shoulder, her own arms wrapped around the back of his neck and shoulders. 

“After we break our fast we should go to the gardens!” Y/n suggested excitedly pulling away from the hug but leaving her hands on his arms, practically buzzing like a bumble bee in the air. The youngest daughter of the Targaryen dynasty was nothing if not energetic. 

“I can’t.” Aemond suddenly seemed disappointed. “Father is making me train with Aegon and our nephews.” 

Only eight and she could sense the rivalry between her favored brother and her beloved nephews. There weren’t many children in the keep except for those whelped by Alicent and Rhaenyra. Y/n was a very social girl, she needed to be around people. And she had never once had a rivalry with Lucerys or Jacaerys. But Aemond did. Aegon, however, appeared to be friendly with the Velaryon boys. At least as friendly as a fourteen year old disaster of a teenage boy could be friendly with anyone. 

She knew that Aegon and the Velaryon boys were mean to Aemond. And as defensive of her brother as Y/n was, Aemond didn’t like when she would try. something about how it only ever made things worse for him. A little girl trying to protect him, a boy. 

“What about after?” She asked eagerly, fiddling with the velvet fabric of his tunic. 

“I do not know what Ser Criston wants us to do after training. . . You could practice your archery! Ser Criston has been asking when You’ll return to it.” 

Y/n shrugged a bit.

“Children,” A woman’s voice called from down the hall. 

Aemond’s violet eyes, and Y/n’s green darted down the hall to be met with the septa, who stood there expectantly. “Come, it is time to break your fast, everyone else is waiting”

The two children followed the septa to the dining room. Occasionally, Y/n wished that their sister and her family would join them for meals more often. But Rhaenyra hardly ever did. The three branches of Targaryens had their meals far apart from one another. Rhaenyra and her family would have their meals in their wing of the keep, while Rhaenyra’s younger siblings would have meals with one another with their parents and grandsire. Their uncle Daemon? Y/n hadn’t a clue where the man was. She had never met him. She knew of him, and that his wife, Lady Laena, was Laenor’s sister. 

The thought of her family was on her mind during the entire quiet meal. Their kingly father being content to read and make hushed one sided conversation with his wife and mother of his children, while Helaena quietly ate, making idle and curious conversation with their youngest brother, Daeron. Aegon dramatically groaned every time someone spoke too loud for his liking, holding his head as he struggled to eat the food in front of him. All the while Aemond and Y/n ate peacefully next to each other. 

And now with the young girl’s bow drawn, facing the practice dummy, her feet as far apart as Ser Criston had shown her. A silver strand of hair fallen out from its updo as she let the arrow loose, watching as it impaled the practice dummy with a ‘thunk,’ hitting the wooden pole inside the dummy. 

The voices of the four boys on the other side of the court yard caught her attention. looking at her brothers and the Velaryon boys, she could feel her blood boil with envy. Her mother would never allow her to do what the boys did. Participate in activities such as sword fighting. It was not ladylike. Archery was a solitary activity. The only risk she took whenever she nocked an arrow, was that of a bruised finger or a small cut. 

With a sigh, the young princess approached the dummy, grabbing hold of the shaft and cresting, pulling it out of the dummy, struggling for a moment as it was stuck in the wood. Alicent only allowed Y/n to practice with one arrow. And if it broke, then that meant her practice was over.

“Does your mother not consider it to be ladylike for you to swing a sword?” The familiar voice had Y/n turning around with such force she could feel her hair beginning to loosen from its hold. 

Rhaenyra stood with a small smile on her face, a red coat over her shoulders as she stood on the steps of the entry hall, her hands clasped in front of her. black beading and embroidery along the collar of her coat and gown, a strip of gold threading along her outer skirts, framing the intricate pattern of her foreskirt. 

“Sister,” She greeted with a grin. 

“You lost a tooth since I last saw you, little sister.”

Y/n nodded fervently. “Father said you lost the same one as me at my age,” Y/n opened her mouth and with her dirty index finger pointed to the vacant space in her gums where her canine tooth had fallen out over three days ago.

Rhaenyra stepped closer and leaned down a bit to get a better view. “Well. . . I suppose he may be right.” Y/n closed her mouth with a small smile and looked up at her older sister. 

With a cautious hand, Rhaenyra brushed away the stray strand of silver hair that had hung in front of Y/n’s face. “Do you truly wish to learn only archery?” She questioned. 

Only eight, and Y/n nodded because she knew her mother would not want her to wield a steel sword. 

“I see how you look at the boys, Dae.” Rhaenyra used her nickname for her little sister, cupping the little girl’s chin. Jace and Luke wouldn’t mind having you there. I’m sure Aemond wouldn’t either.” 

Y/n’s eyes looked past Rhaenyra and toward Ser Criston and the princes, practicing with their sparring swords, steel silver breastplates on as they circled and eyed one another. Aegon already had a bruise forming on his left hand. 

“Mother would mind.” Y/n looked back at her sister with a defeated look upon her face.

Sadness flashed across Rhaenyra’s face. Her spare hand that wasn’t holding Y/n’s chin reached down to grab Y/n’s hand that was holding her bow and arrow. Rhaenyra squeezed her younger sister's hand with a type of motherly affection that Y/n only ever truly got from her sister. 

“Well. . . If you must be stuck with archery, then I shall ensure we get you more arrows.” 

At that, Y/n beamed up at her sister, bouncing on her tiptoes. “Really?” She questioned, her hair continuing to loosen with every movement she made. If she had more arrows, it meant the less likelihood that her arrows would constantly break from overuse. It meant more hours of practice, and the chance to truly be proficient in the only weapon her mother would allow.

“Your mother hardly allows you into the dragonpit, has not given you the chance to bond with a dragon. You took up archery as a compromise to not follow the boys to the dragonpit. . . We can get you more arrows so it is a more worthy pursuit fit for a princess. . .” Rhaenyra went quiet, and looked over her shoulder towards Ser Criston and the princes. Y/n watched as the knight and her sister met gazes. After a moment, Rhaenyra looked back down at Y/n with a kind smile, now reaching both of her hands to hold the back of Y/n’s head to hold her gaze. “I shall speak to Ser Criston. I’m certain he knows someone who can train you with a bow like the princes train with swords.” 

That night, as Y/n walked back to her bed chambers, the maids already waiting by her opened door, her guard following five paces behind her, the clanking of his metal armor now just a background ambiance to her. But she had stopped when she had turned the corner, to see the maids waiting there, one maid going into the room with a steaming bucket of water. 

As Y/n took a step down the hall, she thought to herself, one.

She didn’t know she did. But she continued. With the next step she then thought, two. 

four

five

six

She counted until she reached fifty-seven. It took her fifty-seven steps to reach her door, and walk into the chambers where the maids were preparing her a bath. a fresh nightgown laid out over the footboard of her bed,  a wood stool next to her bath, with a metal tray atop it, jars and perfume bottles for her to choose from. 

“Elinor?” Y/n called out to the maid squatted by the fireplace poking at the small fire that had just been sparked. 

“May I use the bergamot and lemon oil tonight?” 

The dark haired maid smiled absentmindedly as she looked over at the princess and gave her a nod. “Of course, Princess.”

The bath was perfectly warm. The type of heat that Y/n welcomed. But as she sat in the tub, the maid behind her scrubbing at Y/n’s scalp with gentle fingers, Y/n couldn’t help but wonder. What was her mother going to think? 

There were many things that Alicent preferred her youngest daughter to do. She preferred when Y/n stayed inside the keep, she disliked when Y/n practiced archery, but had come to accept it. She preferred when Y/n practiced with only one arrow, Alicent preferred for Y/n to wear green, and preferred for her to speak the common tongue and not Valyrian. And Alicent preferred when Y/n smelled like peony oil. 

It was only more arrows, and a different scent. Y/n reminded herself, looking over to the wardrobe where two dresses hung. One of red silk, the other of green. They were for tomorrow. Y/n couldn’t upset her mother any further. The color green would soothe Alicent’s agitation over tomorrow. 

“Green brings out your eyes, my darling.” was what rang through the young girl’s mind as she stared at the two contrasting fabrics. Her heart longing for the red gown, but her wits telling her that the green would be the wise choice for the following day.

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