#going against its own message for the most part

[claquedick]

Hating on The Substance is becoming my new personality trait

[littlelamy]

Rafe taking care of Reader who goes through a depressive episode. She’s feeling like she is a burden and feels like everyone would be happier with her gone. Maybe things are pretty new between them, only gone on a few dates so she obviously (like most) isn’t going to tell him anything and doesn’t think she matters to a guy she has gone on a few dates with anyway, so she just stops responding to his texts

a/n: thank you for requesting!⭐️ i hope i wrote it appropriately to what you requested 🙂💗part 2 is up!

the first time rafe noticed something was off, it was subtle—just a missed text here and there. maybe a delayed reply. nothing unusual at first. he probably told himself you were busy. everyone has those days where life gets hectic.

but when hours stretched into days and your replies went from short to nonexistent, he started to feel that quiet pull of worry.

“hey, you okay?” he texted the day before, after his third unanswered message.

you saw it pop up on your screen. his name glowed against the darkness of your room, and for a moment, your heart ached with the idea of answering. but then the thought crept in.

he’s just being polite.he barely knows you.he’s probably relieved you stopped answering anyway.

so you let the screen go dark.

you told yourself it didn’t matter. it wasn’t like you two were serious. you’d only gone on a handful of dates, and even though every moment with rafe had been sweet and effortless, there was no way someone like him could actually care.

you’d been wrong about people before.

the weight in your chest had only grown heavier over the past few weeks. even getting out of bed felt impossible some days, let alone pretending to be okay for someone like rafe cameron. so, you didn’t bother. you shut your phone off, buried it under a pillow, and let the world fade into static.

the knock at your door startled you.

at first, you thought it might’ve been a neighbor or a delivery driver, someone just passing through. but then it came again, louder this time, more deliberate.

“y/n?”

you froze, your breath catching as his voice carried through the door.

“it’s rafe.”

you stared at the door like it might open on its own. the last thing you wanted was to face him, especially like this. but hearing his voice made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“i, uh…” he hesitated, the sound of him shifting his weight audible through the thin walls. “i just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

you stayed silent, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. but deep down, you knew rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to just walk away.

“you don’t have to let me in,” he added, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “just… let me know you’re alright.”

you clenched your fists, trying to will the lump in your throat away. how were you supposed to explain that you weren’t alright? that you hadn’t been alright in weeks?

the knock came again, gentler this time.

“i’m not leaving until i know you’re okay,” he said firmly, though there was no anger in his voice. only concern.

you sat frozen for what felt like forever, listening to the silence on the other side of the door. maybe he’d given up. maybe he was walking away right now, realizing this wasn’t worth his time.

but then your phone buzzed from where it lay buried under the pillow.

you hesitated before reaching for it, your hands trembling as you unlocked the screen.

rafe <3: hey, i’m outside your place. not trying to bother you, i just wanted to check in. if you need space, i get it. just let me know you’re alright, okay?

your chest ached as you read the words. there was nothing demanding about them, nothing that made you feel guilty or trapped. he wasn’t asking for anything except to know you were safe.

and that made it worse somehow.

because you weren’t.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Android x Reader (I)

It is the future and you have been tasked to solve a mysterious murder that could jeopardize political ties. Your assigned partner is the newest android model meant to assimilate human customs. You must keep his identity a secret and teach him the ways of earthlings, although his curiosity seems to be reaching inappropriate extents.

Yes, this is based on Asimov’s “Caves of Steel” because Daneel Olivaw was my first ever robot crush. I also wanted a protagonist that embraces technology. :)

Content: female reader, AI yandere, 50's futurism

[Part 2] | [More original works]

You follow after the little assistant robot, a rudimentary machine invested with basic dialogue and spatial navigation. It had caused quite the ruckus when first introduced. One intern - well liked despite being somewhat clumsy at his job - was sadly let go as a result. Not even the Police is safe from the threat of AI, is what they chanted outside the premises.

"The Commissioner has summoned you, (Y/N)." 

That's how it greeted you earlier, clacking its appendage against the open door in an attempt to simulate a knock. 

"Do you know why my presence is needed?" You inquire and wait for the miniature AI to scan the audio message. 

"I am not allowed to mention anything right now." It finally responds after agonizing seconds.

 It's an alright performance. You might've been more impressed by it, had you not witnessed first hand the Spacer technology that could put any modern invention here on Earth to shame. Sadly the people down here are very much against artificial intelligence. There have been multiple protests recently, like the one in front of your building, condemning the latest government suggestion regarding automation. People fear for their jobs and safety and you don't necessarily blame them for having self preservation. On the other hand, you've always been a supporter of progress. As a child you devoured any science fiction book you could get your hands on, and now, as a high ranked police detective you still manage to sneak away and scan over articles and news involving the race for a most efficient computer.

You close the door behind you and the Commissioner puts his fat cigarette out, twisting the remains into the ashtray with monotonous movements as if searching for the right words.

 "There's been a murder." Is all he settles on saying, throwing a heavy folder in your direction. A hologram or tablet might've been easier to catch, but the man, like many of his coworkers, shares a deep nostalgia for the old days. 

 You flip through the pages and eventually furrow your eyebrows. 

"This would be a disaster if it made it to the news." You mumble and look up at the older man. "Shouldn't this go to someone more experienced?" 

He twiddles with his grey mustache and glances out the fake window. 

"It's a sensitive case. The Spacers are sending their own agent to collaborate with us. What stands out to you?" 

You narrow your eyes and focus on the personnel sheet. What's there to cause such controversy? Right before giving up, departing from the page, you finally notice it: next to the Spacer officer's name, printed clearly in black ink, is a little "R." which is a commonly used abbreviation to indicate something is a robot. The chief must've noticed your startled reaction and continues, satisfied: 

"You understand, yes? They're sending an android. Supposedly it replicates a human perfectly in terms of appearance, but it does not possess enough observational data. Their request is that whoever partners up with him will also house him and let him follow along for the entirety of the mission. You're the only one here openly supporting those tin boxes. I can't possibly ask one of your higher ups, men with wives and children, to...you know...bring that thing in their house."

You're still not sure whether to be offended by the fact that your comfort seems to be of less priority compared to other officers. Regardless of the semantics, you're presently standing at the border between Earth and the Spacer colony, awaiting your case partner. A man emerges from behind a security gate. He's tall, with handsome features and an elegant walk. He approaches you and you reach for a handshake. 

"Is the android with you?" You ask, a little confused. 

"Is this your first time seeing a Spacer model?" He responds, relaxed. "I am the agent in your care. There is no one else." 

You take a moment to process the information, similar to the primitive machine back at your office. Could it be? You've always known that Spacer technology is years ahead, but this surpasses your wildest dreams. There is not a single detail hinting at his mechanical fundament. The movement is fluid, the speech is natural, the design is impenetrable. He lifts the warm hand he'd used for the handshake and gently presses a finger against your chin in an upwards motion. You find yourself involuntarily blushing. 

"Your mouth was open. I assumed you'd want it discreetly corrected." He states, factually, with a faint smile on his lips. Is he amused? Is such a feeling even possible? You try your best to regain some composure, adjusting the collar of your shirt and clearing your throat. 

"Thank you and please excuse my rudeness. I was not expecting such a flawless replica. Our assistants are...easily recognizable as AI."

"So I've been told." His smile widens and he checks his watch. You follow his gesture, still mesmerized, trying to find a single indicator that the man standing before you is indeed a machine, a synthetic product.

Nothing.

"Shall we?" He eyes the exit path and you quickly lead him outside and towards public transport. 

He patiently waits for your fingerprint scan to be complete. You almost turn around and apologize for the old, lagging device. As a senior detective, you have the privilege of living in the more spacious, secured quarters of the city. And, since you don't have a family, the apartment intended for multiple people looks more like a luxury adobe. Still, compared to the advanced way of the Spacers, this must feel like poverty to the android.

At last, the scanner beeps and the door unlocks. 

"Heh...It's a finicky model." You mumble and invite him in.

"Yes, I'm familiar with these systems." He agrees with you and steps inside, unbuttoning his coat.

"Oh, you've seen this before?"

"In history books."

You scratch your cheek and laugh awkwardly, wondering how much of his knowledge about the current life on Earth is presented as a museum exhibit when compared to Spacer society. 

"I'm going to need a coffee. I guess you don't...?" Your words trail as you await confirmation. 

"I would enjoy one as well, if it is not too much to ask. I've been told it's a social custom to 'get coffee' as a way to have small talk." The synthetic straightens his shirt and looks at you expectantly. 

"Of course. I somehow assumed you can't drink, but if you're meant to blend in with humans...it does make sense you'd have all the obvious requirements built in."

He drags a chair out and sits at the small table, legs crossed.

"Indeed. I have been constructed to have all the functions of a human, down to every detail." 

You chuckle lightly. Well, not like you can verify it firsthand. The engineers back at the Spacer colony most likely didn't prepare him for matters considered unnecessary. 

"I do mean every detail." He adds, as if reading your mind. "You are free to see for yourself."

You nearly drop the cup in your flustered state. You hurry to wipe the coffee that spilled onto the counter and glance back at the android, noticing a smirk on his face. What the hell? Are they playing a prank on you and this is actually a regular guy? Some sort of social experiment? 

"I can see they included a sense of humor." You manage to blurt out, glaring at him suspiciously. 

"I apologize if I offended you in any way. I'm still adjusting to different contexts." The android concludes, a hint of mischief remaining on his face. "Aren't rowdy jokes common in your field of work?"

"Uh huh. Spot on." You hesitantly place the hot drink before him.

Robots on Earth have always been built for the purpose of efficiency. Whether or not a computer passes the Turing Test is irrelevant as long as it performs its task in the most optimal, rational way. There have been attempts, naturally, to create something indistinguishable from a human, but utility has always taken precedence. It seems that Spacers think differently. Or perhaps they have reached their desired level of performance a long time ago, and all that was left was fiddling with aesthetics. Whatever the case is, you're struggling not to gawk in amazement at the man sitting in your kitchen, stirring his coffee with a bored expression.

"I always thought - if you don't mind my honesty - that human emotions would be something to avoid when building AI. Hard to implement, even harder to control and it doesn't bring much use."

"I can understand your concerns. However, let me reassure you, I have a strict code of ethics installed in my neural networks and thus my emotions will never lead to any destructive behavior. All safety concerns have been taken into consideration.

As for why...How familiar are you with our colony?" The android takes a sip of his coffee and nods, expressing his satisfaction. "Perhaps you might be aware, Spacers have a declining population. Automated assistants have been part of our society for a long time now. What's lacking is humans. If the issue isn't fixed, artificial humans will have to do."

You scoff.

"What, us Earth men aren't good enough to fix the birth rates? They need robots?"

You suddenly remember the recipient of your complaint and mutter an apology. 

"Well, I'm sure you'd make a fine contender. Sadly I can't speak for everyone else on Earth." The man smiles in amusement upon seeing the pale red that's now dusting your cheeks, then continues: "But the issue lies somewhere else. Spacers have left Earth a long time ago and lived in isolation until now. Once an organism has lost its immune responses to otherwise common pathogens, it cannot be reintegrated."

True. Very few Earth citizens are allowed to enter the colony, and only do so after thorough disinfection stages, proving they are disease free as to not endanger the fragile health of the Spacers living in a sterile environment. You can only imagine the disastrous outcome if the two species were to abruptly mingle. In that case, equally sterile machinery might be their only hope.

Your mind wanders to the idea. Dating a robot...How's that? You sheepishly gaze at the android and study his features. His neatly combed copper hair, the washed out blue eyes, the pale skin. Probably meant to resemble the Spacers. You shake your head.

"A-anyways, I'll go and gather all the case files I have. Then we can discuss our first steps. Do feel at home."

You rush out and head for your office. Focus, you tell yourself mildly annoyed.

While you search for the required paperwork - what a funny thing to say in this day and age - he will certainly take up on your generous offer to make himself comfortable. The redhaired man enters the living room, scanning everything with curious eyes. He stops in front of a digital frame and slides through the photos. Ah, this must be your Police Academy graduation. The year matches with the data he's received on you. Data files he might've read one too many times in his unexplained enthusiasm. This should be you and the Commissioner; Doesn't match the description of your father, and he seems too old to be a spouse or boyfriend. Additionally, the android distinctly recalls the empty 'Relationship' field.

"Old photos are always a tad embarrassing. I suppose you skipped that stage."

He jolts almost imperceptibly and faces you. You have returned with a thin stack of papers and a hologram projector.

"I've digitalized most files I received, so you don't have to shuffle a bunch of paper around." You explain.

"That is very useful, thank you." He gently retrieves the small device from your hand, but takes a moment before removing his fingers from yours. "I predict this will be a successful partnership."

You flash him a friendly smile and gesture towards the seating area.

"Let's get to work, then. Unless you want to go through more boring albums." You joke as you lower yourself onto the plush sofa. 

The synthetic human joins you at an unexpectedly close proximity. You wonder if proper distance differs among Spacers or if he has received slightly erroneous information about what makes a comfortable rapport. 

"Nothing boring about it. In fact, I'd say you and I are very similar from this point of view." He tells you, placing the projector on the table.

"Oh?"

"Your interest in technology and artificial intelligence is rather easy to infer." The man continues, pointing vaguely towards the opposing library. "Aside from the briefing I've already received about you, that is."

"And that is similar to...the interest in humans you've been programmed to have?" You interject, unsure where this conversation is meant to lead. 

"Almost."

His head turns fully towards you and you stare back into his eyes. From this distance you can finally discern the first hints of his nature: the thin disks shading the iris - possibly CCD sensors - are moving in a jagged, mechanical manner. Actively analyzing and processing the environment. 

"I wouldn't go as far as to generalize it to all humans. 

Just you."

[ilium-ilia]

calyptra thalictri

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | masterlist

root

tw: alcohol/drinking, puke/vomit

Your period is late. 

She is a fickle bitch—always coming and going whenever she pleases, often arriving without warning and then popping back in for one last hurrah just when you thought she’d left. For once, she is quiet. You know she is here somewhere, lurking where you don’t want her to. 

The nail on your thumb taps against your phone screen as you count days and weeks on your calendar. One. Two. Four. Twenty-six. Twenty-eight. Today makes twenty-nine. A synodic month; perhaps your body wishes to align with the phases of the moon rather than your own biological clock. Lunar—your sweet Luna. The push and pull. The wax and wane. An ethereal force is here to guide your body until it is pliant—respectful. 

Though, you are exhausted with the supernatural; the otherworldly. With things infinitely stronger than you. With things that diminish you into some infinitesimal creature. 

Your Ghost. 

Vibration from your phone erases all memory of your Ghost from your psyche as a message pops up on screen, obscuring the calendar you’ve been staring at for the better part of half an hour. 

Jane: Here! Ready to head out? 

Thick cut chips from your friends’ favorite pub coats your fingertips in grease. It shines, gossamer beneath the flickering sconces that hang above your head like bombs waiting to fracture on the floor. You’re perched at a round table, elbows resting as you lick yourself clean. They chirp like birds as they lament about their long weeks at work, a sentiment you nod along with as you choke the neck of your beer. Its head sizzles, foam thick and heavy upon the amber liquid. 

Everyone else is already on their second, but you’re still struggling with your first. It tastes stale. Washes over your tongue like flat soda and sawdust. Every ridge along the roof of your mouth shrivels at the flavor. Noisome. Rancid. 

How’s your dream visitor doing? 

They ask their questions in jest with curling lips and pearly teeth. Their words poke like a needle—14 gauge straight through the skin, ripping through epidermis and cartilage. You’d bleed dry, but you slap a bandaid over the wound with a smile. 

“Dunno. Must be off on vacation.” 

It’s a lie. Ghost doesn’t take vacations. 

Not from you. 

He still visits you regularly when you’re in limbo—that purgatory that weighs on your chest and eyelids as you yearn for the freedom that lies on the other side of your paralysis. The most recent time you ran into him, you were on your stomach. Neck craning to the side, you couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. Warmth on your back, hands on your hips, holding your rump into the air to piston into you. You think if you dusted your skin, you’d find his fingerprints lingering on you like a brand. 

You carry him with you, though you often question both your sanity and the validity of his tangibility. 

Your friends quickly drop the subject—bored with your strange dreams and tired eyes—and you are grateful for it. Drowning your discomfort with the hoppy taste of beer, you force the churning in your stomach into submission as you nod along with their stories. Work. Their husbands. A fling. Good sex. Bad sex. 

Something twists. Gnarly fingernails find purchase in your torso and it writhes. Deep. Kicks its feet in your solar plexus. The oxygen it saps from your lungs leaves you dizzy. World spinning. Body too light, table unsteady. 

You excuse yourself to the washroom where the air is cooler and not as thick, but the shock leaves your muscles twitching. The faucet turns on with a squeak. You look at yourself in the mirror, at the face you hardly seem to recognize anymore. Three stalls stand behind you—looming like gallows. As soon as you dip your hands in the water to wash your face, your stomach lurches. 

All the contents of your evening—beer, salty chips, and grease—spills into the bin. The alcohol tasted bad going down, but it’s ten times worse coming back up. Bile, rot; the apotheosis of shame and madness. As soon as you think you’re finished, the scent of it overwhelms your nose, hitting it with bilous acidity, and your stomach contracts again, leaving you to dry heave. 

A tender hand rests on your back between your shoulder blades, pressing into your spine, and your head snaps to the side as you cough. A stranger. Mussed hair, bright blue eyes—her cheeks are florid, though you can’t tell if it’s from her intoxication or her makeup. 

“You alright, sweets? Let me grab you a water.” 

Your friend takes you home afterwards. She doesn’t bother to wait around to watch you enter your apartment before speeding off to rejoin everyone at the pub. Heat plagues you with severe hot flashes that leave you sweating through your clothes. You strip, baring your feverish skin to your apartment before wandering off to the bathroom where you sleep on the floor. Algid tile embraces you. It’s the warmest hug you think you’ve ever received. 

Chalking it up to your impending menstrual cycle, you start wearing pads when Monday rolls around. You’re conscious of it. Too aware. The bulky item presses against your sex as you uncomfortably sit at your desk. Each time a wave of discharge expels, you rush to the bathroom, eager to find blood and endometrium. 

There is nothing. 

You are pusillanimous in the drug store. Head bowed, shoulders curled—the family planning section feels like a cage. One with cameras that show your face and the lack of a ring on your finger as you grab a pregnancy test kit from the shelf. A laughing stock. Something to pity. Something to smirch. You are plenty old enough—no longer some teen girl about to break terrible news to her parents—but you are not ready. 

Incapable. Too dim witted. You are not ready for a child. 

But you can’t have a child—you can’t be pregnant. You remind yourself as much as you make it back inside your apartment. When was the last time you even had sex? Well over a year ago. No, more than that. Your celibacy has outlasted any gestation period. 

You are not pregnant—you tell yourself this as you flee into the bathroom, locking the door behind you as if there is someone who might interrupt you if you don’t. Still wary of the eyes you swear lingered on you at the pharmacy. Cardboard tears as you break into the package, yanking out the stick as if you hold the elixir to your cure—to whatever sickness ails you. Something to quell this madness. 

You are not pregnant—you repeat this as you yank your pants down and sit on the toilet, legs spread awkwardly far. Anxiety blocks your bladder, makes it difficult for you to do your business, but you remind yourself that there is no reason to fret. This is for peace of mind only.

You cap the stick as soon as you’re finished and place it on the counter for it to sit as you clean yourself up. Button clasped, hands washed; you rub at your face as your heart slithers through your esophagus. Each pulse threatens to crack your ribs, so you breathe deeply, you expand your chest to give it more room so that silly muscle might show you mercy. 

After all, you are not pregnant. 

Though, the two lines staring up at you beg to differ.

[g0dlyunsub]

on your own. | part one

part one | part two

a stalker forces you to abandon the bau and leaves you in the streets strapped to an explosive. when spencer finds you, you’re left with a bitter decision to try and save him.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: general cm themes, mentions/depictions of stalking, kidnapping, needles, blood, explosives, and death, lots of angst

word count :: 3k

author’s note :: this is literally the prelude to pure angst. poor reader has been through too much :(

accompanying song :: exit music (for a film) by radiohead

one year ago

you never said goodbye to spencer reid. 

the first set of warnings came in the form of a letter enveloped in frail parchment paper. you found it on your desk after you returned with the rest of the team from a case. the tiredness washed over you as you slumped in your chair, and you lazily reached for the envelope to detach the sealed flap from the wax.

it’s at that moment, when you read the first sentence, that you wished you never unfolded the letter. 

but your eyes betrayed you, and they shifted left and right as you proceeded to read through the spouts of hatred and animosity. 

you already know the story. you will die. everyone you love will also die. you will lose them forever. you will be sad and angry. you will weep. you will bargain. you will make demands. you will beg. you will pray. it will make no difference. nothing you can do will bring them back. you know this. your knowing changes nothing. 

i will make you understand this unfathomable truth again and again, as if for the very first time.

you missed the person you were five minutes ago. 

after re-reading the letter four times, you realized the uncanny similarity of the message to the iliad, maybe book 21. it was most likely someone trying to spew out a hollow threat against you and the team, using a contemporary translation to sound modish and intimidating. you made a mental note to ask spencer who the translator was once he returned with his coffee.

it wasn’t entirely uncommon for you to receive death threats, especially after working at the bau for five years. while you’ve managed to lock up some of those who had enacted the worst possible actions against humanity, you also became part of the receiving end – a channel for all of the violence to funnel through. 

before you placed the letter back into its envelope, you noticed a small card tucked in the corner of the sleeve. you cautiously took it out, a glossy sticker of a red eye on the face of the card glaring into your own irises.

you turned it over.

this one instantly drowned the color from your face. it knocked out all of your emotion, sealed it in a box, and shipped it away on a freighter that was already set out on a doomed path. 

tell him about me, go on. tell doctor spencer reid about me. i bet he would enjoy choosing who to save: aaron hotchner or david rossi.  

you heard someone clear their throat from behind you, and you swore you heard your own heart beat against the walls of your own skin, thudding like a drum with its sunken chambers. you straightened your posture and shoved the letter to the side. you prayed it wasn’t spencer standing behind you.

you sighed in relief when you turned to face anderson.

“ma’am, a letter for you.” he handed you another letter, this time a charcoal-gray envelope with no mailing address inscribed on it. just your name. after he was a considerable distance away from your desk, you teared the flap with shaky fingers and peered inside.

it was a set of photographs, the film papers bundled together with a single rubber band. you lifted the envelope, letting gravity do the work as the stash of photos fell to your lap. 

your throat ran dry. your worst fear was sitting on your lap, and you could do nothing but stare back at it with panic-stricken eyes.

your cheeks suffused with a color of pale blue and a trigger blew off in your head. 

each photo depicted you with a bau member. and you recognized every moment.

you were grabbing prentiss’ arm as you laughed at the nonsensical joke one of her date partners had tried on her.

you were hugging rossi at his doorstep after being invited to vent personal troubles over some scotch and wine.

you were giving jack a high-five after babysitting him as hotch thanked you for covering him when he went to new york to visit beth.

you were sitting at the dinner table with jj and will, happily eating from a plate of steak and fries as you discussed your future plans to go travel abroad.

you were with garcia, carrying multiple shopping bags as you stopped to point at the beautiful dress showcased in the vintage store across the street.

you were deeply engaged in conversation with morgan, sitting on a park bench and watching the children run around as though not a single worry clouded over their heads.

and you were with spencer, legs crossed as you took a sip out of your hot coffee and exchanged novels to read. a red ‘x’ marked over both of your faces. 

tell doctor spencer reid about me.

the tears fell one by one, staining the tanned paper and leaving the inked words to bleed across the wet spots.

you will die.

if ending credits ever existed in a movie as tragic as yours, they would roll right now – and you would be as good as a deceased character, your name marked in white against a black screen.

i will make you understand this unfathomable truth again and again, as if for the very first time.

you drew in a shaky breath and folded the letter with trembling fingers. the creases retracted the notebook-sized sheet into a flattened square. each turn of the paper felt like you were shattering your own bones, irreversibly folding them into an inhuman form.

two weeks. that was how much time you gave yourself to leave the bau. and to fray the twine between you and your beloved doctor.

you received the second warning a week before your departure. 

this one was a direct threat, a ruthless sign that he wasn’t giving you extra time to think about your options. in fact, he made it clear that you didn’t have an option.

your stalker had taken jack for twelve hours, during which your team – hotch especially – searched relentlessly. no one paused for a coffee break, and every single one of you was going to devote every waking hour to bring jack home safe. the last thing your team needed was a foyet wannabe, and everyone was on edge for reports, sightings, anything.

but the clues trickled to you. he dropped hints for you directly, even one at your cell number. while you relayed everything to your team, no one asked the questions until later. why did he leave you with the hints, trying to lead you to jack’s trail when it should’ve been hotch?

the inquiries dropped like flies when jack was brought to the steps of the fbi office by a “mysterious presence”, according to a messenger who passed hotch a card.

when the card was shown to you, a bone-chilling shiver propagated down your spine and your pupils dilated.

you already know the story, it read.

no one else knew what it meant except for you. typed in courier and printed on the all-too-familiar brown letter paper, the words bore into your soul and etched onto your heart with a searing pain.

you were angry. so, so angry. not at the fact that you couldn’t even get three hours of sleep ever since the week before, not at the fact that you had a stalker vexing you with taunts, but at the fact that he was targeting everyone but you.

to you, he was a coward. if it was rancor he harbored against you, he should’ve confronted you directly. tear a ligament, make you swim in your own blood, leave you for roadkill, you didn’t care. if he was so inclined to get at you, then you’d let him. but never – never – could you forgive anyone who let others in your own mess.

you reached out to hotch first. you told him you had found a new job in upstate new york, where you were going to work as a lecturer at a local university. to make it sound convincing, you told him that a family member of yours had fallen sick and was currently residing there, and you needed to seek solace in their presence.

he understood, just as you expected. he always did, without question. he’d pay visits at your new place and at the university, and catch up with you once in a while. jack would love to see you there, he said.

rossi, too, accepted it without much hesitation. he gave you one of his heartwarming smiles, wrinkled eyes reassuring you for any hesitation you had trying to tell him before. come by any time, we’ll always welcome you with open arms, he spoke with genuine kindness.

prentiss and jj, more reluctantly so. they gave you a tougher time, practically interrogating you – asking you where the address of your new place was, since when you had planned on leaving the bau, and if you needed help clearing out your current place.

you’ve – i mean we all have, a little, but you seem to be… disturbed lately. especially after… jack was abducted, prentiss told you. prentiss and her watchful eye. it’s why you specifically planned to tell her with jj in the room, so she’d reserve the harsher questions for another time when it’d be just the two of you, but by then you’d find a way to avoid the conversation altogether.

morgan didn’t say much. you had expected that though, considering the fact that you would often go to him to consult worries, plans, and theorize about each other’s future. he was silent when you delivered the news, but then he pulled you in as if to shield you from all of your lingering worries.

promise me, l/n. promise me you’ll come visit.

you broke like a brittle twig in his grasp. you wanted to give up so badly.

i promise, you whispered back. the masterful lie rolled off of your tongue before you could withhold yourself, and it lay suspended in the air with heavy guilt and ill-fated dishonesty.

garcia never accepted departure well. you could only watch in pity and remorse as the mascara stained her cheeks and the tears landed at her keyboard. her arms shook as she tried to embrace you, and you didn’t even have it in you to return the hug.

you wanted garcia to be the last to see you. you wanted to save your goodbye with her for the very last, a fluorescent presence in your otherwise gloomy life. her bubbly spirit met your silence with indescribable serenity, and you monumentalized your last moment in the bau with her. she made your life worth living.

you were trying. you were trying to spare the safety of your dearest friends at the expense of your own. you were trying to reclaim the blood that rushed to your face. you were begging for one chance. who could blame you?

spencer did.

you didn’t leave a single note for spencer. you never even told him a thing. to him, your departure was indigestible torment. he usually doesn’t wish the worst upon anyone, but with you, he wondered if he had to make an exception.

you ended up leaving the office a day before your said departure date, because you didn’t want to risk spencer finding out any earlier. you had meticulously planned everything out, asking every team member not to tell another. to your knowledge, no one knew that anyone else knew, save for prentiss and jj.

the day after you left, you received a text from spencer.

can we please talk? 

his message lit up your screen, a lone star in the night sky that was drowned of its usual vibrancy. 

you were too far into this to take a step back. 

after looking up to the sky one last time, taking in the sight of the polluted air clouding the atmosphere with your bloodshot eyes, you dropped your cell into a garbage bin.

you knew he’d be mad. 

you wanted him to stay mad. it would make all of this — the pain of moving on — easier.

some day, he’d understand. you hoped. you hoped and you hoped.

your bitter end was inevitable.

for three weeks, spencer was all alone.

he drew no effort to talk to anyone about it, because you robbed him of his mental clarity.

since the first day you joined the bau, you held him spellbound. you listened to his ramblings, exchanged book recommendations with him, and sat next to him in the darkness as he lay gasping for air after another one of his horrendous nightmares.

you were there for him, until you weren’t.

your absence was his worst torment, a form of loneliness he couldn’t sleep away.

there were times when he’d pour twice the water needed in his kettle, only to realize after that he set down a single coffee cup.

there were times when he’d intentionally wear his tie crooked, only to realize you were never going to be in the office to point it out for him.

there were times when you’d appear in his dreams, when he’d awake and see nothing but a pile of books before him.

you turned into a dull ache in his chest.

you became the sadness so deep in his chest that he couldn’t even cry about it. 

he wondered how it felt now that you left him behind. he put all of his cards on the table, exposing to you his most vulnerable moments and emotions. if only you showed your hand.

he wanted it to haunt you.

he wanted to hate you.

you were impossible longing, impossible infatuation. he thought you were unloveable.

who could blame him?

present day

you never left virginia. 

in fact, you were stuck making ends meet as a writer for a local news journal under the pseudonym lynne davis.

the truth is, it was impractical for you to find a new job and relocate within the mere span of two weeks. quitting your job at the bau was a given, but that also meant that your compensation would drop significantly. considering that you couldn’t work in law enforcement anymore, you had to start over from scratch.

so you tirelessly worked to scour earnings by typing away, writing editorial pieces on sports and personal health.

your night job, you worked as a cashier at a seven-eleven. because you couldn’t work remotely for your shifts, you took up a disguise. you dyed and cut your hair, exclusively wore long-sleeved articles of clothing, and kept a baseball cap on, making sure it snugged tightly against your forehead and hid your eyes.

yet in hindsight, nothing could have prepared you for the worst. the issue with all of this was that you were too consistent. had you changed up your routine from time to time, perhaps you wouldn’t have been caught while commuting to your night shift. but you were too predictable for him.

it happens when you get off of the bus.

when the man bumps into you, he murmurs apologies that you can’t ignore.

“sorry- are you okay?” he asks.

you look up briefly to meet his eye before forcing a small smile with upturned lips.

“yeah, um, don’t worry about it. i’m all good.” you tell him rushingly with the wave of your hand, before turning to walk to the store.

but he doesn’t leave you. his heavy steps mimic yours, treading quickly along the asphalt. after taking a few staggering steps, you stop. you annoyedly turn around, deciding to tell him off. 

“hey, i don’t know what you’re doing-”

you never get to finish your sentence. when you look at him, he’s already face to face with you, one hand grasping the side of your shoulders while the other presses a needle against your arm.

your entire time at the bau, you took pride in your acute awareness of your surroundings, never letting your guard down even around those you trusted. so this was the price you had to pay for your lack of practice – everything folded into a blurry stream as you looked down to see your legs dissipate in the ground, almost like you were falling in quicksand.

when you wake up, you’re on the ground in a narrow alleyway. you don’t know how much time has passed, but it’s hot and the air’s fetid and there’s an itch spreading throughout your entire body-

you look down. your hands are stained with a horrific shade of red, and there’s a crumpled note in your palm. you unfold it.

it will make no difference.

he had you. you scowl at the thought of him subduing you, strangling you with ropes and leashing you to a chair.

you freeze. he’s also made you wear a black leather jacket, bundling you up in the thick layer of suffocating heat. 

you unzip the jacket, and the walls in your head cave in instantly. to your dismay, you’re wearing an explosive vest, armed with a detonator and all. a timer lies near your ribcage, and your heart sinks. it hasn’t started yet.

a shaky exhale leaves your lips as you try to assess your situation.

you wish death would’ve consumed you already, but you have to stand up on your feet and run, away from the buildings and the people, as fast as your weary legs can carry you.

you stand and start to run in the opposite direction from the main road, the sounds of traffic bleeding into your ears as your feet slam against the ridged ground.

parched with unquenched thirst and begrimed with dust from the asphalt, you come to a stop when you reach a fork in the road. 

as you frantically try to think of which route to take, you hear it.

“y/n?”

it’s too familiar. the voice ridden with a slight rasp, carrying an air of inquisitiveness and soothing tenderness.

it sounds like clarity amidst all of the chaos.

you pray it’s not him.

you turn to meet the sight of the wrinkled shirt, waistcoat, and converses smudged with dirt. the brown disheveled hair, doe eyes, and moistened lips pursing with concern.

spencer fucking reid.

[thesunloveschips]

Obsessed - Part 8 (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Y/n discovers a few things and a few more are revealed.

Warnings: sex, minors please stay away.

Click here for Obsessed (Masterlist)

****

Y/n was upset. Her semester was ending. The exchange programme had come to a close. Now, she’d have to leave for her internship and then go back to her university for the remainder of her studies. She’d miss her friends. She’d miss this new country. 

And who knew how long Azriel was posted here in this city? 

It was a coincidence that they met and they had a good few months together but Y/n really did not want to go back to a life where he was not a constant. 

The idea of it didn’t sit well with her. 

After her last exam today, she’d taken some time for her friends here. On her way back to the apartment, she’d started feeling upset but then she wore a smile and rang Azriel’s doorbell.       

He’d opened the door, took one look at her, and fucked her wildly like he wanted to reinforce something. And then, they made love to each other with Y/n slowly riding him. 

Y/n let herself rise and fall, eyes closed. Her hands were on his chest, tattooed and perfect for her. His large hands nearly covered all of her ass. 

Fuck. 

He was such a large man and the most convincing evidence of it was deep inside her, thick and throbbing as she rode him at her own pace. 

She could feel the air on her body. Her nipples were already hard and were even more sensitive after Azriel had sucked on them and smeared his saliva, and then left them exposed. 

Her breasts ached and all she wanted was his large hands to pinch and grab them roughly as if he selfishly owned her. 

His hands. Gods, they were so perfect. 

The tattoos on his fingers was an arousing sight. 

Especially after she’d once seen herself suck them. 

The way those hands groped every part of her and were still on her ass. 

She was in bed, tired after exams and sex. Azriel had woken up after a nice cuddling session for a meeting. It was an urgent one and he’d promised to return soon but Y/n was not going to pester him even if he didn’t. 

The man had a job. That too, at Umbra got fuck’s sake. That was an empire on its own managed by some young fellow Y/n hadn’t bothered about since that was not her field. 

Sex with Azriel always made her sleepy and she always woke up feeling refreshed. 

Her eyes were closed. The furry blanket was so cosy and she was just there. 

Her phone rang and interrupted her peace. 

Y/n groaned in frustration. She grabbed it and softened when she saw Azriel’s name. She swiped on the screen and accepted the call. “Hey.”

“Hello, sweetheart. I hope I wasn’t disturbing you.”

“No, no. Tell me.” She wouldn’t tell him that she wanted to sleep even more. 

“Could you bring me my iPad? It’s on the nightstand.” Y/n rose and looked around for the device. 

“Where. . Got it.” She removed herself from the sheets, ended the call, took the iPad, and was about to walk out of the room when a message popped up. 

Miss Y/n’s mother has sent a parcel to the apartment she shared with Nesta Archeron. We believe her mother has no knowledge of her current whereabouts and her exchange program. 

What? 

Y/n tapped on the notification and the chat opened. It was a group chat with Azriel and a bunch of people. She scrolled and read the messages.

Other members of the group chat were constantly updating on her location and activities while Azriel had sent the occasional ‘okay’.

She also found photographs of her taken from her outings with friends. Taken from a distance and clearly not with her consent. 

The more she saw, the more she wanted to smash her head against something. 

Why? 

Why did Azriel have her followed? 

He’d always known where she was, at what time, who she was with. She hadn’t bothered hiding much from him. 

Then why was this. . ?

Y/n walked over to the room with the iPad, the group chat open on it.

She saw Azriel’s eyes widen as she entered the room. She placed the iPad on his table. “What’s this?”

He looked at the chat quietly and then looked up at her. 

Y/n felt hot with fury coursing through every part of her. And yet, for some strange reason, she felt cold. 

It wasn’t until Azriel walked over and wrapped a jacket around her that she realised that she hadn’t dressed after leaving bed. 

She’d been naked and angry. 

“I’ve had you followed, Y/n.” 

And she couldn’t control it. 

She was barely restraining herself until then but to hear him say that he had her followed broke the dam. 

“Why? Didn’t you trust me enough to go out and not cheat on you?” 

This time, Azriel sounded confused. “It wasn’t because I thought you were cheating on me.” 

The audacity of this man to say such a thing. He had her watched and followed and photographed and so much more. 

“Scroll up, Y/n. This started the night I met you in that club before we ever spoke to each other properly.” He extended the iPad to her. 

She hesitantly took it and scrolled up furiously. When she reached the first message, she saw the date the group had been created. Feyre’s birthday. There was a photo of her dancing in that club with Nesta. 

Somebody had sent a few documents. She opened them—her CV, biodata, details of people close to her. 

“You’ve known all this about me?” He silently nodded. She felt like such a fool. 

Y/n couldn’t even think. She couldn’t process it like this. So she simply kept the iPad on his desk and walked away. 

“Y/n. Y/n, listen to me, sweetheart.” He was following. She increased her pace and entered his room. Her clothes were on the chair and she began dressing. “Y/n, please. I only wanted to know about you.”

She looked at him and it hurt. 

It hurt to know that this man didn’t trust her. 

Didn’t trust time. 

Didn’t trust their connection. 

“I would’ve told you everything with time.”  She wanted to cry. “Whenever I was ready to revisit my past and speak about it, I would’ve told you. About my childhood. My ex. My mother.”

“I only wanted to know about you.” He was pleading but she was so tired. 

“You did not trust that our relationship would reach to the point where I would ever confide in you. You thought yourself entitled to find everything about me. .” She choked back a sob. Azriel moved to hold her but she took a step behind and he halted. 

“You did not trust me.” It was a whisper and it broke everything. “And therefore, you violated my privacy.”

“I did not get that information because I didn’t trust you.” Azriel moved. When he reached her, he kneeled. 

“I was impatient. I wanted to know everything about you immediately. I’m desperate for anything you’ll give me. You heart, your body—I cannot have them unless you give them to me. But information—that I can take from any place. And I’ll take any scrap of it you leave behind.”

What was this feeling? She was being broken but also healed at the same time. And even then, everything hurt. 

“And as for being followed, I had to know that you were safe.” He was still kneeling. The world was blurry.

Y/n was still cold as she hadn't dressed completely. 

She didn’t know anymore. 

She didn’t want him to know that she had a troubled past at least until she could help it. 

She knew it would’ve come out soon but this soon? It wasn’t at her own pace. 

What was she supposed to do? 

Should she explain it to Azriel?

Should she be angry at him? 

Should she end this relationship? 

It was dizzying now. Her breathing was becoming difficult. 

She could hear her sniffles, Azriel calling her name. “. . breathe, sweetheart. Inhale. . . Exhale. . .” 

He kept telling her to inhale and exhale until she could focus on those words and force her breathing into a pattern. 

She was sitting now. Azriel was wiping her nose with something. A blanket was draped over her. He was right there, holding her hand. 

Her eyes fluttered close and Y/n faded into the dark. 

****

Whispers.

Somebody was talking. 

Somebody was responding. 

It ached. 

Something more than her body ached. 

“. . rest and she’ll be. . medicines. . . care.” 

Y/n faded away again. 

****

Y/n was warm. In a room. It was dark. And a hand held her own. 

Azriel was right there, sitting on the floor, one hand holding hers and the other arm folded on the bed to rest his head. 

He must’ve fallen asleep. 

She tried to rise and felt too weak. But the shuffling of the blankets was enough to wake him up. 

“How are you feeling?” His deep voice asked. 

“Fine.” She didn’t want to say anything more. Absolutely nothing. 

She’d sweat a lot. The greasy feeling of it remained on her body. “You have a fever.” 

Oh. 

“Have some medicine.” And he rose to leave her side, to get a strip of tablets and water from the nightstand but she did not let go of his hand in the first instance. 

“Y/n.” And then she immediately let go and looked away. What was she supposed to do? 

Was their bond supposed to be overlooked by this? 

Could it be so easily sidelined? 

She saw his hand with the medicine come in her line of sight. “Medicine.” 

His voice was only deep whispers ever since she woke up. As if he was afraid his normal pitch would shatter something.

Y/n quietly took the medicine and water and consumed them. Azriel was there to take the glass away from her and he kneeled by the bedside. 

“You had a panic attack and then you fainted.” 

“And the fever?”

“You came to me with the iPad unclothed, leaving your body exposed to the cold. And you didn’t fully dress when you came to the bedroom.” And she was now wearing one of his sweatshirts which was too big for her.

Y/n could tell that he was being careful with his choice of words. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” He clutched her hand as though in prayer. “It’s my fault you had a panic attack.” 

Damn straight. 

Was there any point? 

“I need to go.” She knew she sounded weak and pathetic and even if she did go back to her apartment, there was no way she’d be able to take care of herself.

“Please. Rest here until you recover. I’ll sleep on the sofa.” 

“Don’t you understand?” Oh gods, she was going to sob any moment now. Or scream. “If I stay here, even for a single second, I will not get any clarity.” 

“As you wish.” Azriel retreated to a distance. Y/n slowly stood up under his gaze. 

She remembered that she had only worn her panties and jeans when Azriel had followed her to apologise. So she removed his sweatshirt he had dressed her in. 

When the sweatshirt was over her head, leaving her bare, Y/n saw that Azriel had turned away, as if he knew his permit to see her naked had been revoked.

She wore her own clothes and looked around. She grabbed her phone and walked towards the door where he stood with his back towards her.

Upon hearing her footsteps, he moved away, clearing the way for her. Once she began walking, she heard him follow her. She looked behind and saw his imposing figure behind her.

He was in pain. 

So much pain. 

She could see it. 

But so was she. 

And Y/n had had enough of ignoring her own pain for others. 

But Azriel standing there and following her from behind was a realisation. 

That he’d always be there. Behind her if not beside her. 

“Call me.” He suddenly said. “If you need anything—medicines, food, anything—just call.”

She wanted to kiss him. So she turned away and left his apartment.

Y/n climbed into her bed, her fluffy blanket, and fell asleep without changing her clothes. 

****

Azriel had a mission. 

Scratch that, he had two missions. 

One, Y/n’s recovery. 

Two, Y/n’s forgiveness.

He honestly didn’t understand where she’d gotten the idea that he had her followed to monitor her in case she cheated. 

If she did cheat on him, it would be the fault of the fuckwit who thought he could drive a wedge between them. 

Azriel would simply dispose of any such menaces and Y/n wouldn’t even know anything.

He sighed.

Her not knowing had not turned out well for him. 

He’d flown in his personal doctor in the middle of the night. And while she’d been resting in his apartment, he’d gotten a doctor in the city to check on her. 

His doctor was situated in one of the apartments, ready at a moment’s notice. 

Azriel kept stock of medicines and food ingredients, just in case she wanted something. 

And he waited like a dutiful husband. 

And while he waited, he googled up on how he could earn her forgiveness. 

The bugs in her apartment began transmitting her sound. She was crying and talking. He heard the name Nesta. And more crying. 

She was worried about how this would pan out. 

How she’d been an excellent fool by falling for him. 

Wait. 

Y/n had fallen for him? 

Oh. 

He shouldn’t be happy considering what happened but he couldn’t help it. 

And it was then that Azriel decided that he should probably get rid of those bugs before she saw one or saw something else on his iPad. 

He wasn’t going to hide the iPad. 

He didn’t like hiding things from Y/n but there were certain things he simply hoped she’d never find. 

It was poor thinking but what else could he do? 

He was obsessed and his morals clashed and crashed far too often for it to make sense. 

As as for how to earn her forgiveness, Y/n’s favourite books had a lot of fictional men grovelling after fucking up. 

He needed to analyse everything. 

What exactly was she hurt about. 

What could he do to stop her hurt? 

How to make amends. 

How to convince her that he was not a complete piece of shit and was worth some consideration of forgiveness. 

Her safety had been an important concern. 

If Y/n knew the number of people that had started following her while she went out on her own. 

The number of people that had been beaten up so that she could roam around outside without anything to fear.

The number of phone numbers he’d looked into after any call that made her uncomfortable. He had them all deactivated.

No. 

Her safety was an important matter that needed his attention. 

It was not a bargaining chip to win an argument or to prove a point. 

It was simply his duty. 

But how was he going to convince her that he hadn’t worried about her cheating? 

That he was only endlessly and ravenously curious about her ever since he first saw her? 

Azriel sighed. He needed advice. He picked up his phone and called the one person he trusted enough with such a matter. When the call was answered, he began. “Hello, mum.”

****

Taglist:

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[persicipen-archive]

𑑛 “WORK DISTRACTIONS” ﾉ DR. RATIO. HONKAI STAR RAIL

gn reader ﾉ words 1.3k ᯽ a lazy day at home with veritas. very suggestive touches and flirting, but nothing explicit. established relationship. teasing, bantering, and playful dialogue. dr. ratio isn’t really mean in this one hehe :3 ᯽ SUGGESTIVE CONTENT ᯽

Dr. Ratio is deft with his hands, that much is certain. You saw him once navigating three touchscreens at the same time without a single error in the calculations. An invisible link (his nerves, obviously, as he would correct you) trained to follow his orders with unusual accuracy between his eyes flickering like molten gold and nimble nails tapping the acrylic glass.

That, and a maddeningly calm, emotionless face that held its breath along with yours until the screen flashed a message of success.

Now, the situation was not much different until a while ago, with you two sitting by his desk, this time with only one device on top of it.

With the dissipating memory, you wonder if you could be so lucky to be in his hands instead of the frames of his glasses, preferably unclothed. It’s not that you’re a vile creature that cannot live without being touched constantly, no. But with Veritas around, even the slightest possibility of making an excuse for that just gets you in the mood all too quickly.

Alas, he’s far too rational to do something like this in the middle of reading the new project, of course — you learnt this a long time ago when you confessed to him and he denied your affections for the sake of his work and your emotional health, that’s what he called it.

Oh, how wrong you two were back then, because now it feels like he wants to use all of your time together on teasing you to death.

Exactly. And this is what he’s doing now. Illogical.

“Busy?”

“As you can see.”

The text slowly scrolling through the screen is just a pretense; in reality, he’s merely reading it because he has nothing better to do while his other hand is moving nonstop on the top of your thigh. You’re leaning onto his arm, looking at the words passing by as if they could possibly give you an idea of what exactly this project is about. They’re all complicated, with no simple definition to assist you, and not even slightly related to your field of expertise.

It takes some time for you to decide what’s the best way to react.

“Hmm… Right, I see.” You wish you didn’t say anything at all, as your voice quivers, just like your muscles after the sudden vibration of his voice.

He’s quiet again, looking away from the monitor, but you don’t follow, keeping your eyes glued to the document.

Barely noticeable, the movement of his hand becomes firmer, but just as steady, and his fingers keep going up, inching closer to your crotch. You wouldn’t even dare to squirm, yet his touch merely passes by until it reaches the waistband of your pants; they’re loose, a part of your pyjama, which you didn’t feel like changing on a day at home.

Once more, the dexterous, veiny hand retreats and leaves the spot that wants it most alone, instead placing itself onto your knee and pulling it towards his own. This time, you bite your lip and grasp the fabric of your clothes, resisting the urge to close your legs.

“Is something troubling you?” He cocks an eyebrow at you, taking his eyes off the screen just for a second to give you a gesture of recognition before returning to the text.

“Weren’t you the one saying that such questions should not be asked? Not when you already know the answer.” You mumble as you nuzzle into his shoulder, unknowingly responding to the inviting warmth of his body. He’s soft; not as much as you, but even so, it feels nice to know he’s relaxed.

His face changes very little as he frowns and lets out a huff of air. “True.”

It’s either this, or the fact that you can feel yourself getting aroused and impatient, that makes you bold enough to add another comment.

“You seem rather interested in my answer anyway, yes?” You hook your knee against his leg, almost moving it to touch him in return, but change your mind at the last moment. He’s still leaning against the back of his chair, barely shifting at all. “Could it be that you’re ignoring your own principles? Just for fun?”

Now, that sure is a silly question, and both of you know it. But then again, if there’s something Veritas hates, it’s giving in before he proves having a higher ground in a discussion.

His voice remains composed when he starts talking, but the sudden pang of being grabbed by the inner thigh gets you distracted enough to miss his words. You shake your head slightly to concentrate on the tone, slightly deeper than usual.

“It was hard not to notice you were getting bored and restive. You’re trembling.”

“But your hand—”

“You got too carried away and assumed I would give you more, didn’t you?”

“This is hardly the case!” You clench your fist, seeing him smirk ever so slightly. “You do know that, if I really wanted to, I could’ve already undressed you by now, and you wouldn’t have any complaints about it.”

“Not until I finished reading the project.”

“Liar. You were teasing me…” You cross your arms.

“You’re too easy to provoke, but yes, that is correct.” His hand leaves your thigh as he changes the angle of his arm to make it as a headrest behind your nape, at last shifting towards you instead of pretending that the device on the desk is far more interesting than your face.

At first, he doesn’t say anything, but soon after, he takes one of your hands, gently tracing the shape of your palm and fingers with his thumb. You hold your breath again, feeling almost grateful that he stopped his initial activity, because his current focus feels even more intimate, even if not nearly as seductive.

With your cheek pressed to his arm, you almost regret sitting on the other chair and not across his lap; the little distance enough to remind you that you cannot hug him properly.

“Not so focused on your project anymore, aren’t you? You aren’t even looking at the screen.”

“If not for your incessant pleas for attention, I wouldn’t have to take a break.”

“I thought you’re good with multitasking. Perhaps you have become rusty…” You hum back in a teasing tone.

He pauses for a moment, twitching slightly. “Do you really think so? What were you saying a moment ago about undressing me? And how is that grand mission going? Any progress on your side?”

“Oh, so you’re impatient, are you not?” You giggle. “I am not the one who took the first step, mind you.”

“Perhaps.” He takes a deep breath, letting go of your hand as he slowly leans closer. “What do you think, should we test how many of your clothes I can take off with one hand before you get so needy that you start begging me to stop playing?”

“We both know I don’t beg.”

He blinks at you, and this time, there’s an obvious smirk on his lips. “Not yet.”

The promise of what is to come makes your cheeks burn and heart skip a beat. However, instead of feeling too excited, you get flustered and irritated at the same time, too turned on by him to keep it together.

Obviously, this is just a mere tease, a few precise words to make you roll your eyes in annoyance (ignoring the butterflies fluttering in your stomach). It is not his usual manner of speech, but — which you have to admit in defeat — you’re truly one to give in to himself all too easily, even if your mind already wanders elsewhere.

With your faces nearly touching, iridescent shimmers from the window dancing somewhere in between, you two seem too preoccupied to notice the monitor entering a sleep mode. The screen goes dark.

[endless-ineffabilities]

sapphire-hearted (part four)

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Aemond is not one who shares those which he thinks belong to him. Including you, as you'll soon find out after an eventful little feast.

themes/warnings: jealous!Aemond, third and fourth parties (but not really), Aemond is a stubborn and possesive arse, drunk Aegon - huzzah!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

a/n: I can't believe it's been a year since I updated this fiery miniseries! Apologies if I couldn't tag everyone who asked from the previous chapter - taglist is now closed 💙

The necklace is perhaps the most beautiful piece of jewelry you've ever seen.

With an intricate interwoven chain of Valyrian steel, and a sapphire pendant inlaid in a burnt bronze frame that glowed dark green in some lights, the frame displaying carvings that resemble Vhagar's scales.

There is no question to it. Not an inkling of doubt.

This gift is from Aemond.

"You simply found this when you arrived?" you asked your lady-in-waiting, as you pick up the necklace from its velvet casing and study it against the faint firelight in your chambers.

"Yes, my lady," she responds promptly. "Shall I fasten it upon you before you depart for the King's feast?"

Your mind forms almost immediately, resolute in your decision. "No, it will not be of any use to me this night. You may keep it away in my boudoir."

The thought of it around your neck is a pleasant one, to be sure. It is such a thing of beauty, fit to be worn to a royal gathering. But what message might it signal to the others?

What purpose might it serve - especially to Aemond - that you wear something that symbolises him?

All while your companion is Ramsay, with whom you hope to be betrothed.

And while Alys is likely draped upon Aemond's arm. That slimy, bastard witch.

You will not give in, and give him what he wants.

The necklace is far from enough to make up for how he has wronged you, so it stays in your chambers, safely tucked away in its casing, not to be worn until Aemond sets things right.

If he ever will.

Ramsay arrives at your door soon enough, accompanied by two of Aegon's guards. The awe in his gaze as he takes you in is so evident, so pure in its apparent innocence. Unlike Aemond's, who would be undressing you with a single passing look.

Unlike Aemond's, who - despite his trangressions - looks at you like he would burn the entire Seven Kingdoms for your hand.

But he has relinquished your hand when he took that witch to bed.

"You look dashing as ever, my Lord," you curtsy in greeting, as Ramsay kisses your hand. He is clad in a tunic in House Beesbury's yellow and paly black, as you are wearing a gown in your own House's hues.

If not the necklace from Aemond, branding you as his, why not something of Beesbury? It would anger Aemond so, but you are feeling petulant. Why can't you take a jab at him after what he had done?

"And what a lovely sash you wear," you say, observing his attire. "Mayhaps I might display this on my person? Have it as a sort of attachment upon my skirts? I would be proud to have everyone at the feast know that we have come together."

"Of course! I would be honoured, my lady." He immediately relinquishes it, handing it to your lady-in-waiting, who then fastens it around your waist. The colour is striking in contrast. The piece of cloth surely will not go unnoticed.

You make your way through the Red Keep, your arm entwined with Ramsay's. Sounds of the revelry make themselves heard as you near Aegon's private dining hall.

As the guards open the doors, you hear your names announced. Almost all the attendees are already sat around the table. Aegon and his host of sycophants, particularly Lord Reyne and Lord Estermont. Helaena and her lady companions. Tyland Lannister and his betrothed. Even Ser Criston Cole, who has never been one to partake in merrymaking, usually standing guard in the corner. There are some others whose names escape you, as you find your seats - among the last ones which remain empty, right next to Aemond and Alys.

"Welcome, dear lovely guests, welcome!" Aegon walks over to you, already on his fifth or sixth goblet of firewine. "Please find your seats, have a drink - or seven drinks, preferably, and... oh! Isn't that something, my lady? Beesbury yellow?" Not giving mind to any boundaries, he toys with the sash tied around your waist.

Aemond twists around in his seat, catching sight of you for the first time.

His pupil dilates considerably, with a single glance at your face, then down to your décolletage... where the necklace is nought to be seen.

What he sees, raking over your figure, is that sickening shade of bright yellow. That Beesbury sash tainting the beauty of your gown.

Tainting the woman who is rightfully his.

His hand instinctively goes to the scabbard in his belt, though his sword remains in his chambers. It matters not, he can just as easily demand one from the Kingsguard.

Because the rat who calls himself Ramsay has surrendered any desire to stay alive.

"So... you here," Aegon guides you to your seat, with his arm loosely draped around your waist. "And you right there," he adds to Ramsay.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think the seating arrangement is accidental. But you know Aegon - he surely planned it to be Ramsay, you, Aemond and Alys beside each other.

Aemond openly stares at you as you settle down to his left.

"My Prince," Ramsay greets from your other side, "Lady Alys."

"Oh, it's just Alys, m'lord," she clarifies, unabashed. "I am no Lady. I am simply here at the behest of my dear Aemond."

"Prince Aemond is fortunate to have you as his companion, Alys," you smile sweetly, concealing any ire you might have. "As I am fortunate to have Lord Beesbury by my side."

Alys nods, raising her cup to you. To anyone, it's an innocent enough gesture, but you see her up close, and you see into the depths of the witch's gaze. She knows about you and Aemond, of course she does.

The attention of your companions are diverted, and Aemond wastes no time in leaning closer to you. He grips your thigh underneath the table, away from any prying eyes.

"My love," he purrs, "you never fail to take my breath away. Although I never thought you would sully yourself by wearing that. I trust you received my gift?"

You cross your legs so that his hand falls off, but it doesn't faze him. He simply finds purchase yet again, this time digging harder into your flesh. So warm, it almost feels as if your skirts do nothing to prevent his encroaching touch.

"Hmm, don't test me, now," he warns, lips curling back in annoyance. His tone is so deep you feel the heat pooling in your core.

"I could say the same to you," you counter. "Do not lay a hand on me, my prince. Especially not in the presence of my betrothed." You push his hand away, and he relents for the moment, reaching for his goblet and downing its contents in one angry swig.

"And by betrothed, you must mean that you have reconsidered my proposal and agree to be wed to me, your only love," he says, daring you to challenge him.

"You are mistaken, Aemond," you respond coolly. "I do appreciate the necklace. It is a marvel, indeed. But there is a reason why I don something of Lord Ramsay's instead of it. I am not yours. I feared the message it would send were I to wear the necklace to this feast."

"What message, my love? The truth? That you are mine and mine alone?"

"That is finished - "

"If you value Lord Beesbury's life by any small measure, you would not speak to me of such vile ideas. He will not have you, lest he wishes his head to no longer rest upon his shoulders."

"Resorting to threats now, are we?" you spit venomously. "You will not harm him. Or I swear to you on my mother's memory that I will never speak with you again."

That shuts him up. He exhales deeply, weighing your words, studying your expression. He wants to fight back and to call your bluff, but it is no use. His gaze is drawn down to your lips, and he moves closer just an inch, his own lips parted in longing and torment.

"Well, it seems we may have more cause for celebration!" Aegon bellows from the head of the table, with a grinning Ramsay standing by his side. You tear your attention away from Aemond, but he lingers on you, until his brother calls out for him. "Aemond! You must have known about this, dear brother, as I understand you and the lady have always been close."

The guests share glances, already assuming what the news might be, but none of them say a word for fear of their Prince Aemond.

"Iderēbagon aōha udra sȳrī, lēkia." Choose your words wisely, brother, Aemond warns him. The mood of the entire room shifts, as it inevitably does whenever Aemond speaks.

"Oh come now, none of that!" Aegon groans, drunk and unamused. Nothing will bring his spirits down, not even his far more intimidating younger brother. "These are happy news. Something about a successful betrothal, I hear?" he declares, nudging Ramsay to make the announcement.

Ramsay locks eyes with you, and you manage to give a stiff smile, aware of the simmering rage of the one seated beside you.

"Allow me," Aemond stands, raising his cup to the entire table.

"Even better," Aegon shrugs, "you have always been excellent at dinner proclamations, lēkia." Brother, he addresses Aemond, his own Valyrian disjointed and careless.

Aegon sits back down and raises his cup. A confused but still smiling Ramsay returns to sit next to you.

Ramsay hurriedly tells you, "I was hoping to share the news myself, my lady, but - "

"Do I not have your attention, Lord Beesbury?" Aemond interrupts.

"O-of course, you do, my prince," Ramsay stammers, reaching for his cup with shaky fingers. You take notice and place your hand atop his to provide comfort.

Someone else takes notice, unfortunately.

"A toast," Aemond voices clearly, and a hush falls over the room, "to a new betrothal."

"Hear, hear," Aegon responds, taking a sip of firewine and waving for the others to do the same.

But Aemond is not finished just yet. "We are not often afforded the privilege to marry for love, and that is what makes this union so exceptional."

You stiffen in your seat, dreading the next words that you know will come out of his mouth. For you know him so well. You know Aemond's design.

"It is an honour to take my love to be my wife," he raises his cup as he gestures to you, and you swear you could hear a pin drop in the deafening silence that ensued. "She is already the keeper of my heart, so the ceremony will only be a formality. But I shall take her as mine in every way that I can. In front of the old gods and the new."

You are unable to drop Aemond's gaze, unable to see the look of betrayal Ramsay is giving you.

"Hear, hear," Ser Criston offers, in an attempt to cut through the tension.

Aegon releases a fit of laughter, prompting his fawners to follow suit.

"Seven hells!" he exclaims. "More wine, more wine for all!"

Aemond rushes to you, pulling you out of your chair, not paying mind to anything or anyone else.

"Come with me," he commands, his fingers tight around your wrist.

You feel powerless as you let him herd you away from the table and out of the hall.

"Oh, would you look at them!" Aegon practically squeals, and calls after you, "It is customary for the bedding to be after the wedding, you two! But then again, who fucking cares?"

taglist: @immyowndefender @bellameshipper @aemondswifeisme @bash1018 @fuck-the-reaper @shessthunderstoms @aemondsbabygirl @melsunshine @youtoldalie @snh96 @noxytopy @ellooo0ooo @brianochka @not-a-glad-gladiator @mac95650 @whitejuliana1204 @midnightmystic @saminalloxo @oh-no-tia @magnificentsapphiresoul @clara-geekhime @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @ananas26t @iloveallmyboys @carriellie @summerposie @verycollectivecreator @toodlesxcuddles @brie-annwyl @dc-marvel-girl96 @bellstwd @bibli0thecary @happinessinthebeing @magnificentsapphiresoul @rorawinters @targaryen-madness @hanula18 @rhaenattargaryen @an0ther-us3r @sugurubabe @theshatteredideal @let-love-bleeds-red @s-we-e-t-t-ea @mydemimonde @the-intjs-dark-academic @heavenly1927 @anehkael @minttea07 @barnes70stark @cheneyq

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 7

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 7k

Trigger warning; //

notes; Back again haha! In this chapter, you might actually start to understand how much of a workaholic Y/N is. I'm excited for the solstice and the dawn trip (hope you guys are too <3). Well, see you soon! Take care and enjoy <3

previous ✧ next

The cold wind of the Illyrian mountains howled against the stone walls of the healer’s quarters, but you barely noticed as you worked, your focus entirely on the pile of scrolls, notes, and herbs spread across your desk. You had been in Illyria for a couple of days now, assisting the local healers with particularly challenging cases and offering guidance where it was needed most. Despite the simplicity of the space, your room was filled with a quiet energy, a testament to the tireless work done within its walls.

Your quill scratched against parchment as you wrote out instructions for one of the Illyrian healers who had sent a message earlier that morning. They had asked about a new technique for treating frostbite—a common issue during the harsh winters in the mountains. You had spent hours referencing old texts and comparing notes from your own experiences, finally coming up with a method that combined traditional herbal salves with a warming spell you’d learned during your time in the Dawn Court.

Just as you finished sealing the parchment with a simple wax stamp, there was a knock at the door. It opened to reveal a young Illyrian healer, her cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Healer Y/N,” the girl began, her voice tinged with nervousness. “I—I’m sorry to disturb you, but we’ve had another incident at one of the northern camps. A training accident. They’ve requested your advice.”

You stood, your boots clicking softly against the stone floor as you crossed the room. Placing a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder, you said, “No need to apologize. Let’s hear the details.”

The healer explained the situation as you quickly gathered your supplies. A young warrior had fallen during flight training, resulting in a severe dislocation of his wing joint. The healers at the camp had managed to stabilize him, but they were unsure how to proceed with the delicate process of resetting the joint without causing permanent damage.

“Send them this,” you said, handing the girl a scroll you’d prepared weeks ago for just such an occasion. “It details the exact steps for resetting a wing joint. Remind them to use the salve we’ve been distributing to numb the area first. And tell them to send word immediately if there are any complications.”

The girl nodded, clutching the scroll tightly before hurrying off into the cold. You watched her go, a small smile playing on your lips despite the exhaustion tugging at your bones. The Illyrian healers were young and inexperienced, but they were eager to learn, and that gave you hope.

Returning to your desk, your attention shifted to a small, intricately folded note that had arrived earlier in the day. The bird carrying it had been one you recognized immediately—a sleek, golden creature from the Dawn Court. Unfolding the note, you read the familiar handwriting of your old master, Healer Talyen. 

Y/N, 

Preparations for the upcoming meeting are underway. 

I trust you are faring well in your new role. The tensions in the world weigh heavily on us all, and I fear this gathering will bring more questions than answers. Still, it is necessary. I look forward to hearing your insights, as always. Let us hope this meeting will guide us toward solutions, not further discord. 

Yours in healing,

Talyen 

You sighed, folding the note carefully and setting it aside. The meeting of the head healers was only weeks away, and though you had been preparing for it diligently, the weight of its significance was not lost on you. The healers would be discussing not only advancements in their craft but also the rising tensions across Prythian—tensions that threatened to spill into outright conflict if not addressed. The responsibility of representing the Night Court was a heavy one, but you had never shied away from a challenge.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of yet another messenger, this time your own bird, Ydle, sleek and golden, hailing from Velaris. Unfolding the note, you read the familiar handwriting of Elira, one of the healers at the Velaris clinic.

Y/N,

We have a critical case on our hands—a rare form of Greyscale has developed in one of our patients. Preparations for the operation are underway, but we need your expertise to supervise. The procedure is scheduled for tomorrow. Please make haste.

Elira

There was no time to waste. After gathering most of your belongings, you prepared to return to Velaris. But before leaving, you knew you needed to address the Illyrian healers. Calling them together, you spent the next hour explaining the different measures to take in your absence, detailing protocols for various emergencies and ensuring they understood the importance of keeping thorough records of any developments.

As you finished outlining the final points, Devlon, the warlord of Windhaven, entered the room. His imposing presence was hard to ignore, and his sharp gaze scanned the gathered healers before settling on you.

“Still as bossy as ever, I see,” Devlon remarked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His tone was meant to provoke, but you were not in the mood for his games.

Fixing him with a steely glare, you replied, “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Devlon, but every healer in this court is under my command—not yours. So unless you’ve suddenly developed a talent for healing, I suggest you deal with your own business and let me do mine.”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable as your words hung in the air. Devlon’s smirk faltered, and though he said nothing further, the message was clear: you would not tolerate interference.

With that, you dismissed the healers and made your final preparations. The journey to Velaris awaited, and the clinic needed you now more than ever. Stepping out into the cold mountain air, you took a deep breath, centering yourself for the tasks ahead. 

You summoned your strength, focusing on the urgency awaiting you in Velaris. It wasn’t the first time you had left Illyria in a hurry, but something about this case weighed heavier. Perhaps it was the rarity of the Greyscale affliction, or perhaps it was the sheer responsibility placed upon your shoulders now that you had taken Madja’s place. Either way, the icy winds of the mountain pushed you forward as you winowed back to the city.

Arriving at the Velaris clinic in the quiet hours of the night, you immediately felt the bustling energy within. The faint glow of lanterns lit the hallways, casting long shadows against the walls. Despite the hour, the staff moved with precision, their steps purposeful. Elira met you at the entrance, her expression a mix of relief and urgency.

“Y/N, thank the Mother you’re here,” she said, gripping your arm as if to anchor herself. “The patient is stable, but the situation is precarious. His vitals are erratic, and the infection is spreading faster than we anticipated. We’ve done all we can to prepare for the operation, but…” She trailed off, clearly overwhelmed.

“Take me to him,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the adrenaline beginning to course through you.

Elira led you through the clinic, her hurried footsteps echoing against the polished floors. She briefed you on the patient’s status as you walked. A young male, mid-thirties, with no prior health issues, had developed a peculiar strain of Greyscale that seemed to target not just the skin but also the underlying tissue. The infection had started on his forearm and was now creeping toward his shoulder. If left unchecked, it could spread to his chest, putting his life in immediate danger.

“We’ve kept him isolated,” Elira continued, her voice tight with worry. “The room has been thoroughly sanitized, and only the most experienced healers have been allowed in. We didn’t want to risk contamination or worsening his condition.”

Nodding, you absorbed every detail. By the time you reached the patient’s room, your mind was already calculating the next steps. Pushing open the door, you were met with a grim sight. The man lay on a sterile cot, his arm wrapped in tightly woven bandages that barely concealed the mottled, grayish hue of his skin. His breathing was shallow, his face pale and glistening with sweat.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, your hands glowing faintly as you prepared to assess the extent of the damage. You would need precision, focus, and every ounce of your skill to save him.

But first, you needed a moment to prepare yourself mentally. You turned to Elira. “I’ll need the detailed records of his condition and the herbs prepared for the salve. Have everything brought to my apartment upstairs. I’ll be back shortly.”

Elira nodded, her confidence seemingly bolstered by your presence. As you made your way upstairs to your quarters, you felt the weight of the night settling over you. There would be no rest until this life was out of danger. But as always, you would rise to the challenge—because in this realm, healing was not just a duty, but a promise you had made long ago.

The rest of the night was a blur of meticulous preparation. You reviewed every note, re-checked the herbs, salves, and tools, and consulted ancient texts for anything you might have overlooked. Greyscale spreading internally was an anomaly, something you had never encountered before. The thought gnawed at you as the hours stretched on, but you pushed the worry aside. Dawn was approaching, and with it, the operation that would demand every ounce of your focus.

As the first light of the sun kissed the horizon, you and your team began. The patient had been sedated; the concoction you used was strong enough to keep him under without compromising his vitals. You moved quickly but carefully, beginning the painstaking process of removing the infected tissue.

Layer by layer, you worked, your hands steady even as the sight before you grew grimmer. The infection had spread deeper than you had anticipated, weaving through muscle and sinew like a parasitic vine. Every cut revealed more of the sickly gray tissue that needed to be excised, every moment reminding you of the high stakes of this operation. It was a battle against time, one that felt agonizingly slow yet required precision that couldn’t be rushed.

Hours passed. Your team worked in silence, their breaths shallow, their movements deliberate. The clinic’s usual hum of activity had dimmed to a quiet stillness, as if the entire building held its breath for your success.

You were midway through a particularly challenging section near the patient’s shoulder when one of the younger healers approached you, her voice hesitant. “Healer Y/N, someone is here asking for you.”

Your grip on the scalpel tightened slightly, but you didn’t lift your gaze from your work. “Who is it?” you asked curtly, your focus never wavering.

“The Shadow Singer,” she replied, a hint of nervousness in her tone.

Your heart skipped a beat, though you immediately cursed yourself for the reaction. What was Azriel doing here? You didn’t have time to think about him or the chaos his presence seemed to stir in you. “Unless it’s life or death, tell him to come back later. I’m busy.”

The healer nodded and retreated, leaving you to return to the grueling task before you. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as you continued cutting away the infection, applying salves and cleansing the exposed tissue as you went. Your back ached, your hands began to tremble from the strain, but you didn’t stop.

And then, you heard it: the soft but unmistakable sound of boots returning, followed by a second pair. Your jaw tightened, and without turning, you addressed the presence lingering just outside the room’s perimeter. “Azriel,” you said sharply, your tone edged with frustration. “What is it? And what could possibly be so important that it can’t wait?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw him standing near the doorway, his shadows curling faintly around him like an ever-present cloak. He didn’t step closer, respecting the sanctity of the operating space, but his voice was steady as he answered. “The general meeting has been pushed forward. It’s happening tomorrow instead of after the Dawn Court trip. Rhys needs you to finalize the financial proposal for the healer expansion plan.”

Your hands paused for the briefest moment before resuming their careful work. “Is that all?” you asked, your voice calm but clipped.

“Yes.”

“Then tell Rhys it will be ready.” You didn’t bother turning around, your attention fully on your patient. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a life to save.”

Azriel lingered for a moment longer, his shadows whispering around him as if reluctant to leave. But when he realized you wouldn’t offer more, he gave a curt nod, murmured something to the person who had accompanied him, and left.

You exhaled slowly, forcing your focus back to the task at hand. Whatever the meeting entailed, it would have to wait. For now, this was your battlefield, and you wouldn’t leave it until victory was certain.

The operation was reaching its most perilous stage. You had already spent hours meticulously excising the infected tissue, your hands steady despite the ache setting into your muscles. But now, you were working dangerously close to the patient’s heart. Every movement had to be exact, every cut deliberate, every application of salve perfectly measured. The slightest error could be fatal.

As you worked, time seemed to warp. Each time you pulled back a layer of skin or exposed the infected tissue near the delicate structures of the heart, it felt as though the world held its breath. The sound of your team’s soft murmurs, the clink of tools, even your own heartbeat faded into the background. It was just you, the patient, and the infection you were battling.

You swallowed hard, your focus razor-sharp. The infection had crept dangerously close to the heart, tendrils of the diseased tissue threatening the lifeblood of the body. Using a combination of precise cuts and a steady infusion of healing salve, you carefully removed the last pieces of infection. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and your breath came shallow, but you didn’t falter.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you secured the final section. The tissue was clean, the heart safe, the infection vanquished. The team around you let out a collective sigh of relief, and you allowed yourself a brief moment to close your eyes and inhale deeply. But the battle wasn’t entirely over. The patient would need close observation and care in the coming days to ensure no residual effects.

You stepped back from the operating table, your hands trembling slightly. “He’ll need monitoring,” you instructed the healers around you, your voice hoarse from hours of concentration. “Keep his temperature steady, and ensure he gets a nutrient tonic every four hours. Notify me immediately if there are any changes.”

The healers nodded, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and respect. You had done it. For now, the patient was safe.

As you peeled off your gloves and left the operating room, the adrenaline began to wear off, leaving you feeling as though your legs might give out at any moment. Your body screamed for rest, every muscle aching with fatigue. The thought of your bed—soft, warm, and inviting—was the only thing keeping you upright.

But, of course, the universe had other plans.

Just as you were about to leave the clinic, a younger healer approached you, clutching a large stack of papers bound together with twine. “Healer Y/N,” she began, looking both apologetic and slightly amused. “These just arrived from Madja. She said they were urgent.”

You blinked, your brain struggling to process her words through the haze of exhaustion. “Madja?” you echoed, your voice flat.

The healer nodded and handed you the stack. On top of the papers was a note in Madja’s neat, precise handwriting:

Dearest Y/N,

I trust this finds you well, though likely exhausted. These are the pending cases and research notes that require your attention. You’re more than capable of handling it, but don’t forget to breathe. You’re doing wonderfully, my dear.

With pride and love,

Madja

You stared at the note for a long moment, the sentiment warm and genuine—but utterly unhelpful in your current state. “That bitch,” you muttered under your breath, though the words lacked any real venom. It wasn’t anger you felt, just the bone-deep weariness of someone who had been running on fumes for far too long.

The healer stifled a laugh, and you gave her a half-hearted glare before turning toward the clinic’s staircase. Sleep had been within your grasp, so tantalizingly close, and now it felt like a distant dream. The weight of the stack in your arms was a physical reminder of the responsibility you carried now. You had always been a hard worker, but this—this was different. The stakes were higher, the expectations greater, and the room for error nonexistent.

As you trudged up the stairs to your quarters, you couldn’t help but long for a simpler time when the only thing on your mind was a single patient, not the fate of entire clinics, courts, and armies. But you pushed the thought aside. This was the life you had chosen—the life you were meant to lead.

For now, you allowed yourself one small indulgence: collapsing face-first onto your bed, the stack of papers forgotten on your desk for a precious few moments of peace. Even if the rest wouldn’t last long, you would take what you could get.

The sharp ring of your alarm shattered what little peace your sleep had offered. Groaning softly, you rolled over, willing yourself to ignore the incessant sound. But the meeting wouldn’t wait, and neither would the work you still had to finish. With a resigned sigh, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed at your eyes, the exhaustion from the previous days still weighing heavily on your shoulders. It was pretty much the same rhythm since you had taken Madja’s place but still you would need more time to be fully used to it.

Bless the Mother that the topics for the healer’s portion of the meeting were ones you had already prepared extensively for. You had been working on these plans for weeks now—financial overviews, resource allocations, and contingency strategies. At least you wouldn’t have to start from scratch.

After throwing on a soft, loose-knit sweater and some comfortable pants, you made your way to the small kitchenette. The rich scent of coffee filled the air as you prepared a steaming cup, its warmth a small comfort against the chill of the early morning. You grabbed a piece of toast, slathered it with a bit of jam, and headed toward the balcony.

Opening the door to the crisp winter air, you immediately regretted your decision. The cold bit at your skin, and your breath fogged in front of you, but the sharpness of the air helped shake the lingering haze of sleep from your mind. Standing there for just a moment, coffee in one hand and toast in the other, you took in the quiet of the morning. Velaris was still, the streets below dusted with a fresh layer of snow that sparkled faintly under the rising sun. The city had a magic of its own, even in moments like this.

The cold quickly seeped through your cozy outfit, and with a shiver, you retreated back inside, shutting the balcony door behind you. The moment had done its job, though—you were awake now, ready to tackle the day.

You set your coffee down on the desk and started sorting through the stack of papers from the night before. Your quill scratched against parchment as you finalized the last details, double-checking your figures and refining your notes. The financial overview was straightforward enough, outlining the current state of healer resources across the courts. Plans for improved training and resource distribution were already drawn up, and now you added the final touches to your strategy for the upcoming year.

Hours blurred together as you worked, pausing only to sip your coffee or glance out the window for a fleeting distraction. The cold air had invigorated you, but the work demanded every ounce of your focus. By the time you finished, the sun was higher in the sky, casting a pale light over the city. The documents sat neatly stacked on your desk, ready for the meeting ahead.

You leaned back in your chair, rubbing at the stiffness in your neck. There was still so much to do, but at least you had cleared this particular hurdle. The meeting would be demanding, no doubt, but for now, you allowed yourself a moment of satisfaction. You were prepared.

As you prepared for the meeting, you chose an outfit that balanced practicality with elegance. Your wide-legged black pants were adorned with a subtle sprinkling of golden star details, shimmering faintly in the light. The fabric was soft yet structured, allowing for ease of movement while still appearing polished.

Your top was a dark teal masterpiece with a high neckline that exuded understated sophistication. The long, flowing sleeves added a graceful touch, billowing slightly as you moved. The bodice of the top was fitted, hugging your form just enough to highlight your figure without sacrificing comfort. The smooth texture of the fabric caught the light, giving it a faint sheen that complemented the gold accents on your pants.

Over it all, you wore a long, thick coat to ward off the winter chill. The coat was a deep charcoal gray, its woolen material lined with plush fur at the collar and cuffs. It hung elegantly around you, the hem brushing against your ankles as you walked. The coat’s design was simple but timeless, a perfect addition to your ensemble and a practical barrier against the icy winds of Velaris.

The morning passed in a blur of preparation. After ensuring every document was meticulously organized and packed into your satchel, you took one last look at your reflection in the mirror. Satisfied, you grabbed your satchel and made your way downstairs just as Cassian arrived to pick you up.

The sound of his boots echoed as he stepped into the clinic’s entryway, his usual grin already plastered across his face. "Ready, Y/N?" he asked, his voice tinged with that familiar playful tone.

You gave him a pointed look as you tightened the strap of your satchel. "If you fly too fast and make me lose a single page of my work, Cassian, I will make sure you regret it."

His grin widened, a deep chuckle rumbling from his chest. "Oh, is that a threat? You’re starting to sound like Nesta."

“Consider it a promise,” you quipped, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a faint smirk. Cassian laughed again, motioning for you to step closer so he could scoop you up.

Despite his teasing, his grip was secure as he took to the skies. The cold wind whipped around you as Velaris stretched out below, its rooftops dusted with snow. The flight was smooth, though Cassian’s occasional playful dips had you clutching your satchel tightly.

When you landed on the balcony of the House of Wind, Cassian set you down with ease. "See? Not a single page out of place," he said with mock pride.

"Yet," you muttered, smoothing your outfit and adjusting the strap of your satchel. The familiar scent of the House of Wind surrounded you as you stepped inside, the crisp winter air left behind.

As you walked through the halls toward the meeting room, Cassian’s tone shifted, his earlier humor giving way to concern. "How were your days in Windhaven?" he asked, his gaze steady as he glanced down at you.

You hesitated for a moment, adjusting the satchel on your shoulder. "Busy," you admitted. "The healers there are trying their best, but there’s a lot of work to do. Some of them are very inexperienced. It’s a steep learning curve, especially with the conditions they’re working in."

Cassian nodded, his brow furrowing slightly. "And you? You seemed… tired last time I saw you. I mean, more than usual."

The unexpected sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. You glanced at him, surprised by the genuine concern in his expression. "I’m fine," you said after a moment, your tone softer. "It’s just a lot to juggle. But that’s why I’m here, right? To make things better."

He gave you a small, approving nod. "Well, if anyone can handle it, it’s you. But don’t forget to take care of yourself too, Y/N."

The warmth in his words lingered as you reached the doors of the meeting room. Taking a steadying breath, you straightened your shoulders and prepared to step inside. This was what you had been working toward, and you intended to see it through.

The meeting room was quiet as you and Cassian stepped in, the last to arrive. The others were already seated around the polished table: Rhysand at the head, Feyre beside him, Azriel sitting silently to his left, and Amren directly across from him. Their presence, the weight of being the Court’s leaders, filled the room with a palpable authority that made you pause for a moment. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before moving to your seat.

Cassian offered a light-hearted comment under his breath, but you were too focused to respond. Sliding into your chair, you arranged the documents and notes you’d brought with you, ensuring everything was within reach.

The meeting began with Cassian and Azriel reporting on their respective updates. Cassian delved into the progression of training regimens for Illyrian recruits, discussing efforts to implement more modern strategies despite ongoing resistance from the warlords. Azriel followed, his calm voice outlining intelligence gathered from his network of spies. He detailed movements from Koshiev’s suspected allies and the growing ripple of unease in neighboring territories. Their reports were thorough, efficient, and sobering.

And then it was your turn.

All eyes turned toward you as Rhysand gave you a small nod. You adjusted your papers, though you hardly needed them—you knew your material inside out. Sitting straighter, you began, your voice steady and professional.

“Thank you. As you all know, the healer network within the Night Court has been my primary focus over the past months, particularly in Illyria. After assessing the state of resources and infrastructure, I’ve developed several plans to address the gaps we currently face. First and foremost, I’ve identified key areas where resource exchanges with other courts or territories could benefit us significantly.”

You glanced briefly at Rhysand, noting his attentive expression. “For example, the Dawn Court has an overabundance of specific medicinal herbs that thrive in their climate but are difficult to cultivate here. Conversely, we have access to materials like Illyrian iron, which is rare outside the mountains and could serve as a valuable bargaining tool. Initial outreach has already begun, and I’ve drafted a tentative agreement proposal for review.”

You unfolded a detailed map, laying it out on the table. The map showed trade routes and key locations where resources could be obtained or exchanged. “Here, here, and here,” you said, pointing to the marked spots, “are regions where we could establish beneficial partnerships. I’ve already made initial contact with representatives from these areas and received promising responses. The next step would be finalizing the terms and ensuring transport logistics are accounted for.”

As you spoke, the room grew quieter, a testament to how closely they were listening. You continued without hesitation.

“Beyond external exchanges, I’ve worked on improving the efficiency of our internal supply chain. For instance, in Illyria, I’ve identified several bottlenecks that delay the distribution of vital healing supplies. I’ve proposed solutions to streamline these processes, including localized storage facilities and quicker transport methods between camps.”

You paused to let the information sink in before shifting to a more personal update. “During my recent trip to Windhaven, I worked closely with their healers. They’re skilled, but they lack resources and modern training. I’ve started drafting a plan to integrate some of our Velaris healers into rotations within the Illyrian camps. This would provide hands-on experience for both parties and improve the overall standard of care.”

Amren, leaning back in her chair, raised a brow. “You’ve been busy,” she remarked, her tone dry but laced with a hint of approval.

“I don’t believe in doing things halfway,” you replied, offering her a faint smile. “There’s still much to do, and the situation is constantly evolving. I intend to return to Illyria soon to solidify the plans I’ve set in motion, but my focus remains on creating a system that works seamlessly—whether I’m present or not.”

Feyre looked at you with something akin to awe. “It’s incredible how much you’ve accomplished in such a short time,” she said warmly. “And the level of detail in these plans… it’s exactly what we need.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes studied you for a moment before he spoke. “Your thoroughness is appreciated. These are not small tasks, and the scope of what you’ve already achieved is impressive. But tell me—do you feel confident this can be sustained in the long term?”

You met his gaze, unwavering. “Yes, I do. It’s not about quick fixes; it’s about building a foundation that will last. That means training more healers, establishing reliable trade partnerships, and ensuring every system we put in place is adaptable to changing circumstances.”

Azriel, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. “The Illyrian warlords don’t take well to outsiders imposing change. How have they responded to your involvement?”

You smirked faintly. “With skepticism, of course. But they’re beginning to see the results. Devlon himself has grudgingly admitted that the changes are working, though he’ll never say it outright. Actions speak louder than words, and I intend to keep proving them wrong.”

A quiet chuckle rippled around the table at your comment, and even Azriel’s lips twitched upward slightly. The meeting continued with questions and discussions about your plans, but the overall sentiment was clear: they were impressed. By the time the conversation moved to other topics, you felt a small sense of accomplishment. There was still much to do, but for now, you had their trust—and their support.

As the discussion shifted, the focus turned toward the borders of Prythian. Cassian began outlining the latest updates, detailing concerns about the tenuous balance along the edges of the Spring and Autumn Courts. His expression was serious, the tension in his voice evident as he explained how strained the relationships had become in recent months.

“The Spring Court has been quiet,” he said, glancing around the table. “Too quiet. We know Tamlin’s been trying to rebuild, but it’s hard to tell what kind of leader he’s becoming. And Autumn... well, let’s just say Beron’s court is a perpetual mess.”

Azriel added, his voice calm but laced with an edge of concern, “The situation in Autumn is as unstable as ever. Beron’s sons are still vying for power, and it’s causing fractures within the court. Lucien has been keeping us informed where he can, but even he has his limits.”

The conversation grew heavier as the implications of these reports settled over the group. Feyre frowned, her brow furrowed in thought. “Tamlin’s silence worries me. After everything that happened, I don’t know if he’s capable of rebuilding in a way that brings stability to his court—or even to himself.”

You listened intently, taking in their concerns. When a natural pause came, you cleared your throat softly, drawing their attention. “If I may,” you began, your voice calm but resolute. “I think Tamlin’s situation isn’t as hopeless as it might seem. The last time I spoke with the healer of the Spring Court—one of my former students—she gave me some insight into how things are progressing there.”

Everyone leaned in slightly, curiosity piqued. “Go on,” Rhysand prompted, his violet eyes focused on you.

“At the start, things were as dire as you’ve described,” you said. “She mentioned that Tamlin was wandering his lands in his beast form for months, completely disconnected from his court. It was chaos. His people were scattered, his court nearly in ruins. But...” You hesitated briefly before continuing. “It seems he’s made some changes recently. From what she told me, the Spring Court is stabilizing. Slowly, but noticeably.”

Feyre’s eyes narrowed slightly, her skepticism clear. “Tamlin’s... changing? How?”

“According to her,” you explained, “he’s begun focusing on the people rather than himself. He’s rebuilding villages, replanting forests, and actively seeking to restore what was lost during the war. It’s a stark contrast to the isolation he imposed before. She said he’s been kinder, more deliberate in his actions. It’s been months since he’s shifted into his beast form. He’s even opened the borders slightly, allowing for trade and aid.”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “That’s... unexpected. I thought Tamlin would continue down the path of self-destruction.”

You shrugged lightly. “Perhaps he reached a breaking point and realized he needed to change. Or perhaps he finally listened to the people who remained loyal to him. Whatever the reason, it seems to be working—for now.”

Cassian folded his arms, his brow furrowed in contemplation. “And what about Autumn? Do you have any insight there?”

You shook your head. “Unfortunately, my connections to the healers there are limited. The last I heard, they’re overwhelmed with injuries and illnesses caused by the internal strife. Beron’s rule is as oppressive as ever, and the constant infighting among his sons doesn’t help. It’s a court teetering on the edge of collapse, but without strong leadership, it’ll only spiral further.”

Azriel’s shadows shifted slightly, a subtle sign of his unease. “If Autumn falls, it could destabilize the entire region. The ripple effects would reach every court.”

“It’s something to monitor closely,” Rhysand agreed. He turned back to you, his expression one of cautious optimism. “Thank you for sharing what you’ve learned. Your connections with the healers of other courts are proving invaluable.”

You inclined your head in acknowledgment. “It’s what we do. Healers talk—we share insights, concerns, and stories. Sometimes, it’s the smallest details that provide the clearest picture.”

Feyre smiled faintly, though her worry for Tamlin remained evident. “It’s good to know that things in Spring might be improving, even if it’s slow. Maybe Tamlin really is trying to move forward.”

The room settled into a contemplative silence as everyone absorbed the information. While the challenges ahead remained daunting, the small glimmer of progress in the Spring Court offered a shred of hope that perhaps change was possible, even in the most unlikely places.

As the meeting began to draw to a close, Rhysand shifted his attention to you, his gaze steady but unreadable. “Y/N,” he began, his tone measured, “in five days, you’ll be heading to the Dawn Court for the healer’s meeting.”

You inclined your head slightly, already expecting this topic to arise. “Yes, I’ve been preparing for it. Most of the groundwork has already been laid, so I’m confident things are on track.”

“Good,” he said, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Being the lead for this meeting is no small task, especially considering the current tensions across Prythian. This gathering will likely involve more than discussions about healing techniques.”

You nodded, understanding the underlying weight of his words. “I’ve already worked on plans for resource exchanges and outlined measures to address cross-court needs. I’ll finalize those details in the coming days and ensure everything is in order.”

Rhysand’s lips quirked in approval. “I have no doubt you’ll be more than prepared.”

Before the topic could shift, Rhys turned his gaze toward Azriel. “That said, I’d like Azriel to accompany you to the Dawn Court.”

The statement caught you off guard, and you blinked, momentarily stunned. “That won’t be necessary,” you said, keeping your voice as steady as possible. “I spent years in the Dawn Court. I know the territory, the people. I’ve built relationships with their healers and leadership. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Rhysand’s eyes softened, but his tone was firm. “This isn’t about your ability, Y/N. It’s about the broader situation. With tensions rising, I’d rather not take any chances. Azriel’s presence is precautionary.”

You frowned slightly, frustration flickering beneath the surface. “Rhys, I appreciate the concern, but I’m more than capable of handling myself. The Dawn Court isn’t hostile territory.”

“It’s not up for debate,” Rhysand said gently but decisively, cutting off further protest. “Azriel will accompany you. This is as much about optics as it is about safety. The world is watching, and having one of my most trusted with you is non-negotiable.”

Azriel, seated silently across from you, inclined his head in acknowledgment, though his expression remained inscrutable. You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to nod despite the tightness in your chest. “Very well,” you said finally, your voice calm even if your thoughts churned beneath the surface.

“Thank you,” Rhysand said, his gaze meeting yours with quiet understanding before shifting to the rest of the room. “With that, I believe we’re finished here.”

As the meeting concluded and everyone began to rise, Feyre approached you, her expression warm and welcoming. “Y/N,” she said, her voice gentle, “I just wanted to remind you that tomorrow is the Solstice celebration. You’re more than welcome to join us at the townhouse. It’ll be a relaxed evening with good food, music, and company. It would be lovely to have you there.”

You hesitated for a moment, adjusting the papers in your hands. The offer was genuine, and the warmth in her tone made it hard to refuse. But the weight of your responsibilities loomed in your mind. “Thank you, Feyre,” you said sincerely. “It’s a kind invitation, and I truly appreciate it. But with the meeting in the Dawn Court in just a few days, I have so much to finalize. Plus, I’m handling the clinic alone tomorrow night. I gave the rest of the healers time off to spend the Solstice with their families, and I can’t call them back on such short notice.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering across her features. “Y/N, you’ve been working tirelessly. Taking one evening to rest and celebrate wouldn’t undo your progress.”

You gave her a faint smile, shaking your head gently. “Perhaps, but the work isn’t going to do itself. And the clinic needs to be open for those who might need care tomorrow night. Besides, this meeting is too important to risk being unprepared. It’s not just about me—it’s about representing the Night Court.”

Feyre sighed, clearly disappointed but understanding. “I had hoped we could convince you to take a break.”

Your gaze softened as you reached into your satchel and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped package. “Even if I can’t make it tomorrow, I wanted to give you this. I know it’s bad luck to celebrate early, but consider it an early birthday gift.”

Feyre blinked in surprise as you handed her the package. “You didn’t have to—” she began, but you cut her off with a small shake of your head.

“It’s nothing extravagant, just a salve I’ve been working on. It’s excellent for healing soreness, bruises, or just general aches. I thought you might find it useful, especially with Nyx keeping you on your toes.”

Her eyes brightened as she unwrapped the gift, a smile spreading across her face. “This is wonderful, Y/N. Thank you.”

You nodded, your smile genuine this time. “I truly hope you enjoy tomorrow. Maybe next year, I’ll be able to join you. For now, though, I’ll have to focus on my duties.”

Feyre reached out, giving your hand a small squeeze. “And when this meeting is over, we’ll have to find time to see you again—hopefully under less stressful circumstances.”

“I’d like that,” you said softly, the warmth in her gesture easing some of the tension that had built throughout the day. With a final nod, you excused yourself, stepping away from the meeting room and back into the rhythm of preparation for the days ahead.

Azriel’s POV

As the door clicked shut behind Y/N, the room fell into a moment of reflective silence. Azriel’s eyes followed the path she had just taken, his mind still lingering on her composure during the meeting. She’d been precise, efficient, and utterly unflinching in her delivery—a stark contrast to the overwhelming workload she seemed to be carrying alone.

Amren, who had remained quiet through much of the meeting, leaned forward and picked up one of the documents Y/N had left on the table. She scanned the contents, her sharp silver eyes narrowing slightly. “Look at this,” she said, her tone even but tinged with intrigue. “These aren’t just good ideas; they’re well-researched, meticulously planned, and already in motion. She’s brokered deals with some of the best suppliers in Prythian and beyond—at prices better than I’ve ever seen.”

Cassian whistled low, leaning over her shoulder to glance at the papers. “She’s been here, what, a few months? And she’s already pulling this off? She’s got connections everywhere. The Dawn Court, the Illyrian camps, even some spots in the mortal lands. It’s... impressive.”

Amren nodded slowly, flipping to another page. “It’s not just impressive—it’s unprecedented. She hasn’t just taken over Madja’s work; she’s expanded it. Madja ran the Night Court’s healing efforts masterfully, but Y/N is managing that and fostering collaborations with other courts and territories. She’s operating on a level where the pressure isn’t just from us—it’s from everyone. Every healer, every kingdom, every place that knows her name has high hopes for what she can achieve.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes gleamed with quiet understanding as he leaned back in his chair. “She’s an amazing healer,” he said, his voice calm yet laced with respect. “But she’s also a force in her own right. The weight she’s carrying isn’t just heavy—it’s enormous.”

Azriel said nothing, but his mind churned with thoughts. He had seen the intensity in her during the meeting, the unrelenting focus in her eyes. It wasn’t just that she was competent—she carried the weight of her responsibilities with a quiet, unyielding strength that was impossible to ignore.

Rhysand turned his gaze to Azriel, pulling him from his thoughts. “Az,” he began, his tone more casual now. “I appreciate you agreeing to accompany her to the Dawn Court, especially on such short notice. I know this wasn’t planned.”

Azriel inclined his head slightly. “It’s fine,” he replied. “And honestly, it’s better to have someone going with her. The Dawn Court might be peaceful, but she’s carrying a lot right now. She shouldn’t have to handle everything alone.”

Rhysand studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable, before nodding. “I agree. She’s more than capable, but even the strongest among us need support.”

Cassian smirked, breaking the serious moment. “Support? You mean someone to carry her stack of files?”

Azriel shot him a dry look but didn’t rise to the bait. His thoughts drifted back to the sheer amount of effort Y/N had put into her preparations. It wasn’t just the work itself that impressed him—it was the way she seemed to carry it all, as if failure wasn’t even a consideration.

Amren’s voice cut through the moment. “Just make sure she doesn’t burn herself out,” she said bluntly, closing the file she’d been examining. “The world needs her at her best—not pushing herself into an early grave.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, but her words settled heavily in his mind. As the conversation shifted, he found himself quietly resolved to ensure that Y/N wasn’t alone in the tasks ahead—not just in the Dawn Court, but wherever her path led.

The memory of Y/N in the operating room lingered in Azriel’s mind, vivid and unshakable. He had watched her, bathed in the sterile glow of moonlight, working with unwavering precision to save a life. The gap between them felt stark in those moments—she was someone who healed, who saved lives, while he was someone who ended them, a hand of darkness in service of his court.

Even now, as he sat in the quiet aftermath of the meeting, her image remained. The way she moved, commanding the room without force, her hands steady despite the chaos around her. There was no doubt that Y/N was brilliant in her craft, but Azriel couldn’t dismiss the lingering doubts Elain had planted. She hadn’t specified why she felt uneasy about Y/N, but the implication that it could be tied to a vision gnawed at him. Elain’s foresight, as rare and erratic as it was, wasn’t something he could simply ignore.

I’ll keep an eye on her, Azriel resolved silently. Her loyalty, her brilliance—it didn’t mean she was above scrutiny. Too much was at stake for him to let his guard down, no matter how impressive she was.

When the others finally left the meeting room, Rhysand lingered behind, and Azriel knew what was coming before a word was spoken. Rhys turned to him, his violet eyes steady.

“Azriel,” Rhys began, his tone laced with the kind of weariness that only came with navigating family matters, “about tomorrow. With Lucien coming—”

Azriel cut him off sharply, rising from his chair in one fluid motion. “You don’t have to remind me every time we speak, High Lord.” The title rolled off his tongue with biting sarcasm, his shadows curling faintly around his frame as his irritation flared. “I know my role, and I’ll play it. As you wish.”

Rhysand’s expression flickered, surprise giving way to something softer—understanding, perhaps, though it did little to soothe Azriel’s temper. “Az,” he began again, his voice gentler this time, “I’m not trying to—”

But Azriel shook his head, unwilling to entertain any further discussion. “It’s fine,” he said curtly, though the tension in his voice betrayed his words. “You’ve made your expectations clear.”

Without waiting for a response, Azriel turned on his heel and strode out of the room, his shadows pooling behind him like a trailing cloak. He needed air, space to think, to untangle the mess of emotions that Rhysand’s reminder had dredged up.

Tomorrow would come, and with it, all the complications Lucien’s presence would bring. But for now, Azriel let himself sink into the quiet comfort of the night, the stars above a distant reminder of a world that moved on, no matter the burdens he carried.

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[mymoshangthoughts]

the thing about my mobei jun hcs are that i believe two things are equally true

mobei jun is helplessly in love with (airplane) shang qinghua and would do literally anything for him, finds him charming, wants to spend the rest of his life with him, would simp 100%, very in love

mobei jun absolutely hates that sniveling motherfucking stupid piece of dumb shit (airplane) shang qinghua and spends many days thinking about how nice it would be to pop off his stupid little head so that he'd stop with all the fucking bullshit and also, fuck that guy

like i think he finds pathetic crybaby airplane to be the cutest thing ever. and he simultaneously thinks he's the most obnoxious bastard ever.

to be fair, i think most of his hate comes solely from the fact that:

airplane is clearly lying to him, has been clearly lying to him, their whole fucking relationship is basically a lie from day 1 and getting him to say anything sincere is like pulling teeth

airplane is not his type. oki bear with me, i know that i SAY two-faced crybabies are his type and thats because THEY ARE. but its like, he doesnt REALIZE that's his type and it's also the type he hates. highkey, this man has 'uncle issues' and realizing that his type is lowkey similar to his uncle is a reality that he is NOT ready to cope with. so he very much THINKS thats the type of person he hates most, even tho he's weak to it

airplane is NOT RESPONDING APPROPRIATELY TO ANY OF HIS COURTING ATTEMPTS, NOT EVEN GIVING AN APPROPRIATE REJECTION. IT IS MADDENING. try being strung along for many years with someone who keeps kinda giving you HOPE they miiigggghhhttt like you back, but then they rescind it just as quickly. over and over and over until you kinda hate them a little bit

i just love the contradiction of mobei jun being very ready to be a devoted and loving partner while also being very ready and happy to punt shang qinghua into a death-cave, oki? like he's been strung along for WAY TOO LONG not to have some hang ups about his shitty not-boyfriend

in other words, our beloved ice demon king is a motherfucking tsundere. to his very core, this trsundere is dying at all times because he simultaneously loves and hates the object of his affection and feels deeply embarrassed by his own feelings and equally shameless about them. mobei jun is pretty much ready at all times to completely deny any affection ever held for shang qinghua with a cold passion AND to shamelessly announce that this is his consort, his husband, the owner of his heart, and the only one he ever wants near him and the person he cares for most in this world

our precious tsundere king is sliiiggghhttly just trying to guard his heart from breaking because shang qinghua basically sends him every single mixed message in the world and LOOK IT MAKES HIM A LOT INSANE

when he tastes even a whiff of rejection from shang qinghua, mobei jun is ready to close himself off and haughtily sniff "i never liked that human anyway, fuck off. im not crying at all". at the slightest indication that shang qinghua returns his affections, he's ready to throw away almost all of his pride and cling to him desperately

i love him so much. mobei jun is so fucking silly and i love it. he absolutely is mad at shang qinghua and holds a grudge against him (for various reasons). but he's also so down bad for shang qinghua that it's a bit sad lmfaooo

expanding upon my previous thoughts of "shang qinghua totally tricking mobei jun into marrying him without his knowledge", i'd just like to say that i think it's a particularly amazing thought with regards to mobei jun's Very Conflicted Heart in mind

like he's split in equal parts "omg omg omg im his!? he's mine?! WE'RE MARRIED?!?!?! HE LOVES ME?!!? HEAD EMPTY, NEED QINGHUA, WHERE QINGHUA, MUST QINGHUA, LOVE QINGHUA, AHHHHHHHHH, NEED HUSBAND NOW" and ".........im going to kill him. im going to skin him alive. im going to roast him over one of those fires he loves so fucking much and eat his organs in front of him while he pleads for his life. THAT MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT I CANNOT BELIEVE HIM IM GONNA--"

[jewishvitya]

Haaretz did this:

The full thing is under the cut, in case this link is paywalled for other people. The actual text has blocked out portions as well, to highlight what it's like to report on cases of administrative detention.

Highlights:

Like all administrative detention hearings, it was held in-camera, to obscure the fact that detainees' lawyers do their job without access to the facts of the case. Even the few details that are not secret are prohibited for publication. The administrative detention order was approved in full for a period of six months

And

In the past, it was considered, at least officially, a measure reserved for the most extreme of cases. This hypocritical position has always been false, but now there is no longer any need to save face. According to the Israeli army's own data, almost 5,000 arrests were made in the West Bank in the past eight months. These are very conservative numbers, as they don't include the many thousands arrested and released without being indicted.

The data shows that administrative detention, this so-called extreme of extremes, is now the norm. According to Israeli Prison Service numbers, Israel now holds 7016 people who have not yet been convicted in its jails – either awaiting trial or under administrative detention. Of these, 4,299 – more than 60%! – are held without charge or trial. And all that is without saying a single word about the torture, hunger and humiliation to which all Palestinian prisoners held by Israel are subjected these days.

Administrative detention is based on secret suspicions, secret evidence and no charges being brought. To conceal its inherent absurdity, hearings are held in-camera and away from the public eye. As such, even the little that is revealed to the defense remains prohibited for publication.

On the morning of October 29, after a short farewell to his wife Nariman and their kids, Bassem Tamimi left his home in the West Bank village of Nabi Saleh, north of Ramallah, and started heading east toward the Allenby Bridge. He was on his way to visit relatives in Jordan he had not seen in a long time. A little after 11 A.M., Nariman received a message saying, "The secret police asked for me. I'll write when it's over." And then, shortly after 3 P.M., a call: "I am being arrested. They're coming to take the phone. Have to go. Bye."

This, unfortunately, was not Bassem's first encounter with Israeli law. His village, Nabi Saleh, has waged a multi-year campaign of civil resistance against land grabs and settlement expansion. As a prominent activist, he was incarcerated repeatedly for his role as a protest leader, part of Israel's attempt to quell dissent.

In the evening, the phone rang again. The woman on the line introduced herself, saying she lived in Silwan and was currently at the Hadassa hospital in Jerusalem. She then went on to say that Bassem was there, surrounded by soldiers. He was taken there after his blood pressure soared dangerously. Nariman could faintly hear Bassem's voice over the line saying, "I'm fine, don't worry, everything's good." After a few more hours, at night, that same woman sent a picture of Bassem in the ER, undergoing a checkup; his hand bound with ziptie cuffs. That was the last time Nariman heard from him. Save for a single short lawyer visit before Eid al-Fitr in April, no one has been in contact with him since.

Four days after his arrest, police ████, ████ ████: "███████ ███ ████ █████ ███ ████████, ██████, █████? "███████ ███ ██████: "████ ███ ██████." And that was that. Eight days later – the maximum time afforded to the authorities by article 33 of Israel's military law in the West Bank before a detainee must be presented before a judge (who also is a soldier in uniform) – a six-month administrative detention order was issued, which did not suggest any specific allegations, but rather only a very general statement regarding ███████ ██ █ ███████ .

Eleven more days later, the Kafkaesque proceedings of judicial review over the order took place. Some of it was held ex-parte between the soldier-judge and the Shin Bet. Like all administrative detention hearings, it was held in-camera, to obscure the fact that detainees' lawyers do their job without access to the facts of the case. Even the few details that are not secret are prohibited for publication. The administrative detention order was approved in full for a period of six months, until April 28.

Administrative detention, however, is not really bound by the limits of time, and can be extended indefinitely. And indeed, as the six months passed, a new six-month order was signed, citing the same meaningless cause of ██████ ████ █ ██████ ██ █. This time however, and unlike the state of affairs in almost any other administrative detention case, the defense had a pretty good insight into the details of the case. Administrative detention is such a mundane phenomenon in Israeli military courts, that , , , .

A few hours prior to Bassem's arrest, Israeli forces arrested █████ █ ████ █ ██████ ███ █████ █ ████████ ███ ███, Bassem's friend from their days together in Israeli jail at the beginning of the millennium. Then too, under administrative detention. ██████ ███ █████ █ ███ ████ ███ ███ ██████ █ ██ █████ █ ███ █████ ███ ███ █ ███ ███ ████, █ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ ████ █ █ ███ █████ ██ ██ ██ ██ ███ ████ █ ███ █████ ███ ███ █████ ███ ████ █ ███. █████ ███ ███ █████ ███ █████ █ ███, █████ ███ ███ ███ ███ ███ █████ █ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ █████? █ █████ ██ ███ ███. ██ ███ ██ ███ █ ██ █████ ███ ███ ██████ ███ █████ █ █████ ███ ███ ██████ ███ █████.

█ ████ ███ ███ ███ █████ ███ █████ █ ████ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ █████ █ ████ ██ ███, ██████ ███ █████ █ ███ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ █████ █ ██ ███ ███ ███ ███ ██ ███ ███ █ "██████ ███ ███ ████ ███ ████ █ ██████ ███ ███? █████ ███ █████ █ ████ ███ ███ █████ ███ ████ █ ███████ ███." ███ ██████ ███ ████ █ ███ ███ ███ ██ ███ █████ █ ██████ ███ ███ 25 ███ ██ █████ █ ███████ ████, long after the administrative detention order against Bassem was reviewed and approved by the court, ██████ was unconditionally released.

On his release, ██████ contacted Nariman and told her what had happened, thinking that his release must also mean Bassem should soon follow. This is how the defense learned the details it knows, and not through discovery by the prosecution. Even though there is no gag order on ██████ ██████'s case, discussing its details in conjunction with Bassem's administrative detention is prohibited for publication. Despite everything that was revealed – and that is the nature of administrative detention: there can always be more hidden evidence, secret, almost mystical – Bassem is still being held under administrative detention even now. Almost two weeks after the hearing, ███ █ ██ ██████ ██████ ████████ █████ █ █████ █ █████, the judge partially confirmed the second administrative detention order against Bassem in violation of military law provisions, ████████ ████ █ ███ █ ███████ ███ █ ████████.

Like Bassem, thousands more are held captive by Israel under administrative detention. In the past, it was considered, at least officially, a measure reserved for the most extreme of cases. This hypocritical position has always been false, but now there is no longer any need to save face. According to the Israeli army's own data, almost 5,000 arrests were made in the West Bank in the past eight months. These are very conservative numbers, as they don't include the many thousands arrested and released without being indicted.

The data shows that administrative detention, this so-called extreme of extremes, is now the norm. According to Israeli Prison Service numbers, Israel now holds 7016 people who have not yet been convicted in its jails – either awaiting trial or under administrative detention. Of these, 4,299 – more than 60%! – are held without charge or trial. And all that is without saying a single word about the torture, hunger and humiliation to which all Palestinian prisoners held by Israel are subjected these days.

[artisimpossible]

I've noticed that people take writing advice way too literally and then get really mad about it, so here's a quick guide of what the typical "bad' writing advice is actually trying to tell you.

[Note: you don't have to take literally any piece of advice. It's just there for your consideration. If you hate it, leave it and do things the way you want. But the reason all of this advice is regurgitated so often is because it has helped a lot of people, so it's okay if it's not for you, but it may still be life changing for someone else.]

Write Every Day

"Write every day" is NOT supposed to be a prescriptivist, unbreakable rule that dictates anyone who doesn't write literally every day isn't a real writer. It's supposed to be a shorthand way of saying "establish a writing routine. Get used to writing at certain times or in certain places or in certain patterns, both so that you can trick yourself into writing even when you don't feel like it by recreating certain conditions, but also because if you only write "when you're in the mood", you may never get around to finishing a project and you likely won't be able to meet publishing deadlines if you decide to pursue publication."

The point of this advice is basically just to get used to seeing writing as part of your daily routine, something that you do regularly. But if you decide you can't write on Tuesdays or weekdays or any day when you have certain other activities, that's literally fine. Just try to make it a habit if you can.

2. Show Don't Tell

"Show don't tell" DOES NOT AND HAS NEVER meant "never state anything plainly and explicitly in the text". Again, "show don't tell" is a shorthand, and its intended message is "things tend to feel a lot more satisfying when your reader is able to come to that conclusion on their own rather than having the information given to them and being told they just have to accept it." It's about giving your reader the pieces to put the puzzle of your book together on their own rather than handing them a finished puzzle and saying "there. take it."

So if you have a character who's very short-tempered, it's typically more satisfying that you "show" them losing their cool a few times so that the reader can draw the conclusion on their own that this character is short-tempered rather than just saying "He was short-tempered". Oftentimes, readers don't want to take what you tell them at face value, so if you just state these sorts of details, readers will push back against that information. People are significantly more likely to believe literally any information they are able to draw conclusions on without being told what to believe, so that's where this advice comes in.

3. In Medias Res

This one is so often misunderstood. "In medias res" or "start in the middle", DOES NOT MEAN to literally start halfway through your plot. It also DOES NOT MEAN that you should start in the middle of an action packed scene. It just means that when you start your story, it should feel like the world and the characters already existed before we started following them. It shouldn't feel like everything was on pause and the world and characters only started acting the moment the story begins.

This is why starting with a character waking up or something similar can feel jarring and slow. We want to feel instantly compelled by your character, and the most efficient way to do that is [typically] to have them already doing something, but that something can be anything from taking a shower to commuting to school to chopping off a dragon head. We just want to feel like the story is already moving by the time we enter.

4. Shitty First Drafts

The idea that you should let your first draft suck and not revise it as you go is a tip presented to combat the struggle a lot of people have with not being able to finish a draft. If you find you've been working on the same first draft for five years and barely gotten anywhere, you might want to try this advice. The point is to just focus on getting to the ending because finishing a draft can give you renewed energy to work on the book and also makes it easier to get feedback from readers and friends.

That said, if your story is flowing fine even as you go back and make edits, then don't worry about this. This is advice specifically designed to target a problem. Likewise, this doesn't mean that you can't clean up typoes when you see them or even make minor edits if you want to. It just means not to let yourself get completely bogged down by making changes that you never move forward.

A "shitty first draft" also doesn't mean that your story has to be completely illegible. It just means that you shouldn't let perfectionism stop you yet. I see a lot of people say "well, I can't keep going until this first part makes sense", and that's totally reasonable! Again, the point of this advice is just to get you out of that rut that keeps you from making progress, but if you spend a couple weeks editing and then move on or you find the book is still making forward strides while you edit, then you're fine. You don't need this.

5. Adverbs

The idea that you "shouldn't use adverbs" DOES NOT MEAN that any time you use an adverb, you're ruining your story. It just means that you shouldn't *rely* on adverbs to carry your story, namely in places where stronger verbs or nouns would do a lot more heavy lifting.

For instance, you can write "she spoke quietly", but generally speaking, that "quietly" there is a lot weaker than just subbing out this clause for "she whispered". You probably have the word "spoke" all over your draft, so subbing out one instance of it here for a stronger verb in place of the same verb + an adverb makes for stronger prose. This doesn't mean that you'll never want to use the phrase "spoke quietly" over the word "whispered". For instance, if I write, "When she finally spoke, she spoke quietly, like that was all the volume her weakened lungs could muster." In this case, I'm using "spoke quietly" specifically *because* it echoes the previous spoke earlier in the sentence, and it evokes a certain level of emotion to have that repetition there. I also used it because she's not actually "whispering", but trying to speak at full volume only to come off sounding quiet.

So when people tell you to cut adverbs, they're saying this because people often use adverbs as a crutch to avoid having to seek out stronger verbs. If you're using your adverbs intentionally, having considered stronger verbs but ultimately deciding that this adverb is what does the job properly, then there's nothing wrong with using them. This is just a trick to help you spot one common weakness in prose that a lot of authors don't even realize they have.

6. Write What You Know

This is potentially the single worst-underestood piece of writing advice. "Write what you know" DOES NOT MEAN to write only what you know or that you have to put all of your life's knowledge on the page. It just means that drawing from your own experiences and already there knowledge will help you craft a better story.

So, for instance, being an eye doctor doesn't mean you have to write a story about an eye doctor. It doesn't even mean you need to write a story that directly deals with any eye knowledge. It just means that there are likely things you've experience as an eye doctor that can help inspire or inform your story. Maybe you remember a patient who always wore the same yellow shoes, and so you include a character who does exactly that. Maybe you spent a lot of hours dealing with insurance so you decide to write about insurance agents. Maybe your practice was located next to a grocery store so you decide to write a zombie apocalypse story that takes place in a location inspired by that shopping center.

The point is that, as people, our lived experiences allow us to relate to other people and craft more believable worlds. So don't limit yourself to your lived or experience or feel obligated to only write the things you've done, but when you find yourself wondering what to write about next or how to give a character more depth or how to describe this random location, pull things from your life and let what you already know bring a certain level of unique you-ness to your writing.

And the MOST important advice I can give you is to stop looking at writing advice as some holy, unbreakable rules passed down by the gods that you cannot ever deviate from. And if a piece of advice sounds totally bonkers, do some research on it. There's a good chance that whoever's passing it to you has no idea what they're talking about. But even if every other writer swears by a certain piece of advice, you absolutely do not need to take it. Try it on if you want, and throw it away if you don't, but stop making yourselves miserable by letting random internet people dictate your life. Most people giving advice on the internet aren't where you want to be anyway, so don't expect them to be able to guide you somewhere they've never been.

Everything's made up, and nothing matters. Write what you want.

[pepsiboyy]

CRUISE CONTROL.

pairing: matt sturniolo x fem!reader summary: with your parents arguing and the volume growing increasingly loud, you text your boyfriend matt to take you on a drive to clear your mind. warnings: established relationship, use of y/n lol, parents arguing, fluff, reckless driving if u squint a/n: i was driving home one night. really sad. and wanted to stick my head out the window. and got this idea. it's litterally just a little drabble sorry it's kinda bad but i think it's cute lowkey ANYWAY ENJOY

it was times like these where i allowed my mind to wander. staring at my ceiling, led lights on their lowest setting and alex g desperately trying to make its way into my head at full volume through my earbuds. no matter how high i turned it up, nothing tuned out the sounds of screaming and clashing and banging on the other side of the wall.

the deep circles under my eyes were particularly prominent about now. no matter how hard i tried, i couldn't seem to fall asleep.

the distortion in my earbuds due to the loud volume began to annoy me and i ripped them out by the cord for some relief, but i was immediately reminded of the sound of my parents.

i quickly reached for my phone and unlocked it, going into my messages and finding matt. i began typing, attempting to get my mind away from the sound of my parents screaming.

i dropped my phone in my lap as i took a deep breath.

now for the hard part.

i carefully sat up and made my way to my closet to grab one of matt's hoodies that he had left over and pulled it over myself, keeping my pajama pants on.

i carefully slipped on some socks and checkered vans before making my way to my bedroom door.

a deep sigh escaped my lips.

gently, i pushed the door opened and tip-toed out of my room, ignoring the increasing volume of my parents shouting. i flew down the stairs and to the front door, biting my lip harshly as i slipped out and quickly shut the door behind me.

silence.

i pressed my back against the front door and slid down it, my hands covering my face as i took in a deep breath and let out a shaky breath.

all that i could hear was the soft breeze and the sound of my breathing.

the outdoors is such a peaceful place, i thought. i should come out here more often.

the sound of tires against the gravel caused me to lift my head and quickly scramble to my feet, making my way to the van in front of my home.

matt met me halfway and pulled me into a tight hug, gently resting his head on top of mine and allowing a hand to rub my upper back gently in circles.

"you okay?" he questioned softly, his voice so gentle as if i were going to crack if he spoke any louder.

"'m okay." i mumbled against his chest, gently pulling away and smiling at him reassuringly.

matt's eyes scanned my expression, and he nodded softly as he caressed my cheek and gently took me by my hand. "let's go for a ride, okay?"

-

nights like these were my favorite.

nights where matt gave me the aux, his hand on my thigh as we drove absolutely everywhere but at the same time, nowhere. flying down the road going heinous speeds, no set destination, matt and i simply had each other and that was what mattered to us most in these moments.

with all of the windows down and the music all the way up, i bit my lip as i smiled at matt.

a thought ran through my mind that i couldn't seem to resist.

my hand gently ran over matt's that was on my leg, taking his hand in my own and setting it to the side.

matt shot me a glance in confusion. "you okay?"

i smiled and nodded as i unbuckled my seatbelt.

"y/n-"

"don't worry," i smiled as i sat up and pressed a button, opening the sunroof and sitting up.

for the sake of matt's sanity, i gently held his hand and lifted my head out of the window, smiling as i felt the wind immediately hit my skin and my hair. my eyes felt like they desperately needed to close, but i didn't care.

most would think this is psycho, or i look stupid.

for some reason, each gust of air that brushed past me felt like a wave of relief.

about fifteen seconds went by and i sat back down in the car, smiling at matt who couldn't help but giggle at my expression.

"you feel better?" he questioned, and i nodded happily. "can i fix your hair?" he chuckled, and i nodded as my face grew warm.

matt, after pulling into a gas station and parking by a gas pump, gently reached over and took my stands between his fingers as he flattened them and fixed the stray ones. he gently ran his finger against my cheek and smiled at me, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to my lips.

i smiled against his lips and gently squeezed his hand, our fingers tightly intertwined, before he pulled away and smiled at me.

"go get your gas, i'll be waiting here for you." i whispered.

matt nodded as he rolled the windows down and pressed one more quick peck to your cheek before opening the door and getting out.

i let out a deep breath as i looked at my fingers, smiling to myself.

matt always knew how to make me feel better. whether it be talking through emotions with me or as simple as just existing beside me, he was the best.

matt leaned into the car, his arms against the bottom of the rolled down window as he smiled at me warmly, and i turned to him.

"wanna spend the night tonight?" he questioned.

it was tempting, but i knew i needed to be home tonight. if my parents were going to be angry at me any night, it would be tonight.

"i'll go home tonight, but i would love to tomorrow if the offer still stands." i smiled.

he held out his pinkie with a soft smile, and i locked my pinkie with his.

"the offer is always standing for you, y/n."

-

i sighed as i undid my seatbelt.

"you gonna be okay?"

i turned to matt and nodded with a soft smile, beginning to get out of the car. matt did the same and walked with me to my doorstep, gently taking both of my hands in his once we arrived.

"call me if you need anything, or anyone to talk to.. i'll be here, okay?" he smiled.

i nodded as i let out a deep breath and leaned into matt, pulling him into a tight hug.

"thank you matt." i whispered, and matt smiled as he hugged me back tightly, hands running against my back again.

"of course, my love." he bit his lip as he pulled away and smiled at me, leaning down for one last kiss.

i hummed softly against his lips before we both pulled away.

"drive safe." i told him before opening my front door and stepping inside.

the silence was loud.

i assume my parents fell asleep.

i made my way up the stairs carefully and let out a deep sigh as i kicked off my shoes and laid against my sheets.

sometimes some loud music and company is all you need, and tonight helped me with my loud thoughts and parents. but it also helped me realize how much matt truly means to me.

i couldn't be more grateful.

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 29 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Your hormones are raging to the point of distraction, but Bradley channels that energy toward a purpose: christening the new Bronco. When the two of you attend Mickey's birthday kegger, Bradley realizes everything would be easier if his friends knew you were pregnant. Hopefully the first visit with your new doctor will set your minds at ease instead of making you more anxious.

Warnings: Swearing, smut, pregnancy, angst, fluff

Length: 6000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

You woke up to your alarm for work on Friday morning, groggy and nauseous with a growling stomach. "Roo?" you asked, popping up in bed when you realized he wasn't there. The house was silent. His spot in the bed was cold. You groaned and rolled over to grab your glasses. You needed to eat something immediately or the vomiting was going to start.

Still wearing your underwear and shirt from last night, you shuffled to the kitchen and downed a full glass of water and the plate of peanut butter crackers Bradley left out for you. "Roo?" you asked between bites. You opened the sliding glass door, but he wasn't in the backyard. When you turned toward the front door to see if the Bronco was here, something caught your eye through the front window. "What the hell?"

You grabbed the throw blanket from the couch and wrapped it around yourself as you shoved the last cracker into your mouth. When you opened the front door, you saw your husband and your dog in the driveway. Bradley had moved the Bronco to the street, and he was wearing gym clothes and hosing down the cement slab. 

"What is going on?" you called out, squinting against the early morning sunlight as he waved to you. "What are you doing?"

Bradley was smiling brightly as he dropped the hose next to the industrial sized broom and started running toward you. "You have to hear it, Sweetheart." He was fumbling with his phone. "The most beautiful words." He thrust the phone in front of you as a voicemail message started to play.

"Hi, Bradley, this is Terry from the Ford dealership. I'm just calling to let you know your new Bronco is here."

You groaned as he bounced on the balls of his feet, and Tramp wandered past your legs and back inside. "I still don't understand why you have the hose and broom out...? Are you cleaning the driveway? For the new Bronco?"

"Yes," he replied as if he was talking to a very small child. "I wouldn't want to bring it home to a mess. I want it to feel welcome."

You closed your eyes as he put his phone away and let his palm come to rest against your belly. "It's barely even light out, and you're cleaning the driveway for our new car to feel welcome."

"It's not just a car, Baby Girl. It's a Bronco. And I was too excited to sleep."

You opened your eyes and kissed him before you shook your head. "I can't imagine how you'll be when we start shopping for baby stuff."

His brown eyes lit up as he rubbed your belly. "As soon as you give me the green light, I'm ready to go. I can't wait to decorate the nursery. And I really think we should talk about getting a contractor to work on the attic."

You held up one of your hands, trying to keep the blanket wrapped around you. "Can we just do one thing at a time, Roo? When are we picking up the Bronco?"

He kissed your cheek and moaned. "I knew you were as excited as I am. We can go right from work later today."

"Okay," you agreed with a shrug before shuffling back inside and leaving him to finish cleaning the driveway.

-------------------------

It was Friday, Bradley's wife was pregnant, he was about to pick up his new Bronco, and everything was perfect. A little too perfect. He tapped on your office door as soon as he got out of his afternoon lecture, and when you opened it, you looked upset.

"What's wrong?" he asked, ducking inisde with you and closing the door. He cupped your face in his hands and stroked your cheek. "What is it, Sweetheart?"

You let out a needy moan and then licked your lips. "I am so fucking horny."

Well. At least that was better than there being something wrong that he couldn't take care of. You turned your head slightly and took his thumb between your lips, and Bradley grunted. "Holy shit. You're not kidding." He was met with another soft moan and your fingers on the fly of his khakis while you sucked. He had to grab you to make you stop before you had your hand down his pants. "Okay," he whispered. "Here's what we're about to do, alright?"

You nodded, looking up at him like you trusted him completely as he removed his thumb. "Tell me."

"If you're ready to leave, we'll stop and pick up Bronco number two and drive them both home, and then I'll do whatever you need, okay?"

You sucked in a deep breath, and your voice shook. "Okay."

Bradley carried your work bag for you, and when it was just the two of you in the elevator, he wasn't sure how you managed to make it through the day. You were a mess. You had him pinned to the wall, one hand at the back of his neck, the other resting on his abs, and you were kissing him like you would at home in bed. 

He wanted this. Badly. Your tongue stroked against his as you traced his scars with your fingertips. Every little gasp and sound you made went right for his cock. "I need it so bad," you whispered, pressing your lips to his mustache. "God, Roo."

"Fuck," he groaned as the elevator started to slow. "I'd take you right here if I could."

You were whimpering as the doors slid open revealing Maverick. Bradley desperately tried to move your hands to more suitable places on his body, but you just pressed your cheek to his chest and smiled as you said, "Hey, Captain Mitchell."

He smirked and replied, "Lieutenant Commanders."

"Sir?" Bradley croaked, taking both of your hands in his and pulling you out of the elevator. 

Maverick shook his head, and Bradley expected that he would get a text this weekend, but he'd deal with that later. Hand in hand, you and he ran toward the Bronco, and he quickly got you inside and buckled your seatbelt. But you lured him in for more kisses with your fingers in his hair. 

"You taste so good," you whined, licking his lips and tongue. 

"Shit." He was hard now, and he was going to have to try to get you to behave on the short drive to the dealership. Bradley wrenched himself away from you and tucked your hands to your sides. "I love this, I really do, but you need to try to behave for like thirty more minutes."

He ran around to his door, wrenched it open, and soon he was pulling out of the parking garage. You had your head tipped back and your eyes closed as you whispered, "I can't explain it, Bradley, but all I can think about right now is your cock. Just huge and delicious. Fucking me and making me scream."

"Jesus, Baby Girl," he gasped, nearly driving off the road. 

You turned toward him, eyes wide now. "And I swear to god, you have never looked hotter than you do right now. I want to put my mouth on you."

This was doing nothing for his raging erection as he adjusted himself at a red light. When he saw your hands coming his way, he grabbed them and said, "Absolutely not. Sit on them." You whimpered, but you did as you were told and tucked your hands beneath your thighs. "Now listen closely, Sweetheart." The light turned green and he gunned the accelerator. "I love this enthusiasm. So I'll tell you what we're gonna do. When we get home, we're breaking in the new Bronco."

"Yes," you gasped, biting your lip and nodding. "Fuck me in it."

"I sure will," he rasped, unsure how he was going to manage your hormones for the next eight months. He really hoped this elevated sex drive meant everything was healthy for you and the baby. 

As he pulled into the Ford dealership, the bright cherry red Bronco was parked at the front of the building, and he sighed when he saw it. "There she is. Isn't she gorgeous?"

You unbuckled as soon as he parked. "It'll look even better when I've got my pants pulled down inside of it."

"Damn straight," he growled, climbing out his door and adjusting his pants the best he could. You came running to his side, and the two of you walked into the building, trying your very best to act normal. Bradley wrapped his arm around your shoulders and kissed your temple as you took some deep breaths. "You're doing great, Sweetheart," he muttered as he flagged down Terry who left him the voicemail message.

"You're back for the red Bronco!" he said as he headed over. "Why don't you step into my office so we can sign the final paperwork and get the keys."

Bradley felt you link your fingers with his, and the two of you sat side by side while Terry printed out some pages and rambled on about the extended warranty. You kept glancing at Bradley out of the corner of your eye and squirming in your seat. And if you thought he looked hotter now than he ever had before, then the feeling was completely mutual. You looked so damn good, even struggling through your morning sickness, that he wanted to get his hands all over your body. 

When your teeth sank down into your lip as you looked at him, he thought about sweeping everything off Terry's desk, telling him to get the fuck out of his own office, and nailing you right here. God, you'd make the prettiest sounds, too.

"How does that sound?" Terry asked, looking from you and then back to Bradley.

"I'm sorry, what?" Bradley replied, trying his best to get his libido under control. "I missed what you said."

Terry smiled serenely like he didn't know he was practically in the middle of a porno right now. "Would you like me to show you all the controls and interior features? Go over how everything works before you drive off with it?"

"Nope. I think we'll be fine figuring it out on our own," he replied immediately as he grabbed the proffered pen from the other man. He scribbled his signature on the bottom of the paperwork and then passed it to you to do the same. "You ready to get busy, Baby Girl?" he asked as he stood. 

"God yes," you moaned as he took the two sets of keys from a rather stunned looking Terry. "Let's go."

The two of you ran back out to the Broncos, and Bradley groaned. "Oh, hell yes. A hot wife, a baby and two Broncos. Someone pinch me."

"Just get in," you commanded, shoving him toward the red one. "You can deal with not knowing the controls, and I'll meet you at home." 

Bradley let you take the keys out of his pocket before he climbed inside the new one. He took a second to inhale that fresh, new car scent. He ran his fingers over the leather steering wheel. Then he kissed the keys and cranked the engine, barely taking the time to adjust the mirrors before pulling out onto the main road behind you. 

It took eight and a half minutes to get home, and the sun was dipping lower in the sky, but it was by no means dark outside when Bradley pulled in the driveway next to you. Your movements were sure and intentional as you unbuckled your khaki belt while you walked around the blue Bronco and went straight for the back door of the red one. 

"Are you coming?" you asked with desperation as you climbed in the back and looked at him still sitting in the driver's seat. You were on your knees on the seat, pulling your uniform pants and cute underwear down your thighs. "Please?"

"Holy fucking shit." On all fours. On the backseat. Back door open. You were just asking for the fuck of a lifetime, and he was going to give it to you.

"Bradley?"

He killed the engine and left the keys on the dash as he climbed into the backseat behind you. It was roomier than your shitty Honda, but he still had to work with what he had. "I got you, Sweetheart," he promised as you folded your arms and let your head rest on the seat with your gorgeous ass up in the air. He tasted you there, running his lips and mustache down through your soaking wet pussy while he undid his own belt.

You sighed in relief as you pressed slowly back for more pressure, and as soon as he had his hard cock hanging out the front of his pants, Bradley took your hips in his hands. You tasted and smelled delicious and familiar as he licked and kissed you everywhere as his hands slowly crept around to your belly. His fingers stroked you softly where he knew your tattoo was, and he licked you from hole to hole. 

"You're really worked up," he murmured as he kissed along your ass cheek and swiped his fingers through your pussy.

"I told you, Daddy!" you moaned, and he coated his cock up with your wetness and his precum. Then he got himself in position behind you, glancing around to see if any of the neighbors were out and about. But it didn't matter. You were already too far gone. He reached behind himself and closed the door a few more inches before it hit his boot, and then he covered your body with his own.

As he slid his cock slowly inside your pussy, he could already feel you clenching around him. When he bottomed out, you were whimpering pathetically. "Roo."

"Shh. I know, Baby Girl. I'll take care of it."

You nodded beneath him, glancing back as he kissed your perfect cheek. "I love you."

Bradley's heart melted even as he started to slowly thrust. He kissed your shoulder through your uniform shirt and wrapped one big hand around your belly. "I love both of you," he promised. Then he patted the seat right next to your folded arms. "In a few more months, there's gonna be a car seat right here. And I can't fucking wait. I can't wait to meet our baby."

"Daddy," you whined, and he planted his palm on the upholstery and held your body as he started to fuck you harder. He knew you wouldn't feel better until you could barely walk, and right now that's what he wanted, too. He thrusted harder as the sounds got more obscene, knowing anyone could see what was happening right now if they looked this way. You turned back with an absolutely delighted expression on your face and whispered, "Watch where you're bracing your foot."

Then he really let you have it, spanking your pussy lightly with his damp fingers and making you squeal while you clenched around him. He turned your head with his other hand so that your mouth was pressed to your forearm, hoping to muffle some of the noise before returning his palm to the upholstery. Oh, you were close now, and so was he, but he'd spend all night out here fucking you with this steady rhythm until you got what you needed from him. Because you always gave him everything.

As he stroked your clit with his middle finger, you whined his name, and your legs started to shake. "Come on, Baby Girl. Come on," he coaxed, pushing himself deep and staying still while you squeezed his length and shook beneath him.

A pitiful cry of Daddy was all he heard as you started milking him for everything he was worth. He rolled his hips until he was done, and then he gently wrapped his hand around your neck and guided you so your back was against his chest. He kissed your ear, letting you hear how he was panting to catch his breath while he said, "Baby number two gets made in a Bronco."

---------------------------

Well. The red Bronco now smelled like new car and filthy sex at the same time. And you had Bradley's cum all over your uniform pants. And your nipples hurt from rubbing against the backseat. But you felt incredible as Bradley closed up the doors, locked it and patted the hood before leading you to the house with his arm around your waist.

"All better?" he asked, slipping the key into the lock as you rubbed your face against his bicep. 

"So much better," you replied as Tramp greeted both of you. "In fact, I think I'm going to go relax in the bathtub."

When you tried to walk away from him, Bradley grabbed your hand. "Whoa. Not so fast." He yanked you gently back into his arms. "First of all, now that the new Bronco has been appropriately christened, you get to take a set of the keys." He dropped them into your hand as he kissed your forehead. "And second, I read about taking baths during pregnancy, and you can't have the water as hot as you're used to."

You gaped up at him. "You read about it?"

He nodded as his cheeks started to turn pink. "Yeah. Just online. You know, just because you like taking baths. And sometimes we take them together.  And I know I told you I wasn't going to start shopping too much yet, but I did order a tub thermometer on Monday. And it arrived yesterday. And I hope you don't think I'm crazy right now."

You squeezed him tighter as you whispered, "I don't think you're crazy. I think you're sweet and smart. You always seem to think of things that I don't. And on that note, would you like to get the thermometer and meet me in the bathroom? Naked?"

He patted you on the butt and whispered, "I'll feed Tramp and meet you in there."

You stripped out of your uniform and turned on the water, but you didn't crank it as hot as you normally would. You dipped your toes in and swirled them around as you thought back to last weekend when you sat in the empty tub and counted for three minutes until your pregnancy test was ready. It was fascinating to you, growing something inside you that made you so reactive to everything. Every time you thought about your upcoming appointment, you got antsy, hoping they would tell you everything looked as it should. 

Bradley kissed your shoulder as his body met yours. "I brought the goods," he whispered as he dropped the floating thermometer into the tub and held up a sleeve of crackers and a bottle of cold water.

You moaned and reached for the food, knowing you should eat something now while you still felt okay. "You're the best husband in the world."

As you shoved some crackers into your mouth, Bradley knelt and kissed your belly. "Hi," he whispered, making a huge smile break out on your face. "It's me again. Just checking in." He kissed your belly button and looked up at you as he said, "Mommy and I are hoping to see you next week with an ultrasound." He paused and pressed one more lazy kiss a little closer to your tattoo as he stared. "Your tits look fucking incredible, Sweetheart."

"Do they?" you asked, looking down at yourself. "They're so sore." 

Bradley grunted and shut off the water after he checked the thermometer. "So what you're saying is I can look, but I can't touch? Because that's just mean." He climbed into the tub and helped you in while you laughed. 

"It didn't hurt too much the other day when you were very, very gentle," you whispered as you straddled his lap facing him. These slightly cooler baths would take some getting used to, but it wasn't too terrible. 

"Got it." You ate a few more crackers as he intently focused on your half submerged breasts like they were about to cure cancer. His thumbs were soft and when his lips met your nipples, you arched your back until you were getting just the perfect amount of pressure. 

You let him kiss and nuzzle around for a few minutes while you played with his hair. When his mustache started to feel a little too rough, you yanked him back, and he stopped. "You're bristly."

He raised one eyebrow. "Do you want me to shave?"

"No!" you gasped running your fingers down his cheek to stroke his facial hair.

"I will if you want me to," he whispered, kissing your palm and pulling you a little closer. You curled up against his chest and hugged him.

"I don't want you to shave, Roo. You're so handsome this way." You kissed his sparse chest hair. "Thanks for getting the bath thermometer and making sure I got a new car. And thanks for fucking me all the time and taking care of everything."

He chuckled. "How can you go from feral and horny to sweet and snuggly so quickly?"

"It's the hormones," you replied with a yawn. "And as soon as I get out of the tub, I'm probably going to fall asleep. So if there's anything else we need to talk about, we have to do it now."

"Just Mickey's birthday party tomorrow," Bradley reminded you, and you groaned. 

"I forgot all about that. I'll have to bring crackers and hope I don't hurl everywhere. And how the hell am I supposed to avoid drinking at a kegger?"

"I have a few ideas."

-------------------------

Bradley's ideas were decidedly not the best, but you didn't come up with anything better, so you just went along with him. It was blazing hot out the following afternoon at the beach, and you felt a little bloated in your bathing suit, but your husband literally couldn't keep his hands off you.

"Roo!" you scolded when he came running over to you mid football game while you lounged on your back on a towel next to Phoenix. He dripped water all over your legs before dropping into a pushup position above you and kissing your lips until you giggled. 

"I can't help it," he panted. "I'm obsessed with this bathing suit. You wore it to the cliffs beach the first time you kissed me."

"Gross," Phoenix moaned as Bradley dipped his tongue into your mouth before standing again. 

Then he flopped down on her towel and kissed her cheek as he said, "All thanks to my very best friend."

"Go away!" she screeched, pushing on him until he got up and ran back to the rest of the guys who were all tipsy and trying to tackle Mickey. "He's horrible. I can't believe you married him," she said as she rolled onto her stomach. You wanted to be able to do that, but you were feeling pretty nauseous.  

"We all make mistakes," you replied, trying to discreetly eat another cracker. "Bradley's is the fact that he didn't reapply sunblock yet. I should probably call him back over."

"Please don't," Phoenix moaned. You sat up on your towel and tried to stretch, and then you saw Bob making his way down the beach. But he wasn't alone. 

"Maria!" you called out, waving your friend and Bob's new roommate your way.

Phoenix raised her arm in greeting, and you didn't miss the way Bob smiled down at Maria as she turned toward the towels as Bob headed for the water, catching a pass from Javy on his way.

"Hey," Maria greeted, dropping her bag down next to yours.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" you asked, patting your towel next to you.

She dropped down as she said, "I didn't really know I was. I got home from taekwondo right when Bob was getting ready to come here, and he invited me. Then he waited while I got changed."

You could tell she was looking at him through her dark sunglasses. Interesting. 

"Is he driving you crazy with his dice collection yet?" Phoenix asked her, and Maria started laughing.

"No, but it was so cute when he unpacked them. He has them all sorted by color, and he told me about his Dungeons & Dragons character while we drank a bottle of wine." Suddenly she stopped talking and cleared her throat. "So, how are you two?"

You gave her side eye as your stomach started to gurgle. You were really afraid you weren't going to make it through the day without being sick. You watched Jake pumping the keg of beer and squirting it directly from the nozzle into his mouth, and you prayed they finished the whole thing before anyone tried to offer you another cup. "I'm fine," you said absently. "I'll be back. Let me make sure Bradley puts on more sunblock."

You grabbed the tube from your bag and headed toward the water as Maria and Nat started to discuss workplace politics. "Bradley!" you called when you got a little closer, but he couldn't hear you over the sound of the waves and the guys all yelling. "Roo!" You waved your hand in the air, and Reuben turned toward you right as he was looking for a receiver to catch his throw. The football spun in slow motion, powerfully thrown, and you gasped as it was headed right for you. It was going to hit you in the stomach.

At the last second, you dropped the sunblock and turned, squeezing your eyes closed and holding out your hand. The ball hit you hard in the hip, and you gasped in pain.

"What the fuck, Payback!" Bradley thundered as he ran toward you, kicking up wet sand as your eyes welled up with tears behind your sunglasses. "Sweetheart! Are you okay?" His big hands were all over you, as you tried to nod. When his fingers grazed your belly, he pulled you close. "Where did you get hit?" he asked, wrapping his other arm around you. 

"My hip," you managed, and his hand dropped lower as he pulled you to his chest. "I'm okay. I just wanted you to put more sunblock on."

Now Reuben came rushing over. "I'm so sorry!" he said, reaching out a hand and placing it on your shoulder. 

You could feel Bradley tense up, and you had to whisper, "I'm okay. It didn't hit my belly. I swear, Roo."

Then he snapped at his friend. "Can you fucking pay attention next time?" 

"I'm sorry," Reuben repeated, and you left Bradley's arms to give him a squeeze instead. 

"I'm fine," you promised him. "Bradley's just protective, and it did hurt a bit."

"I will be extra careful," he promised.

"And I won't wander into the game unless I'm completely ready to play."

"It wasn't your fault," Bradley growled, and now you had to put your hands on his arms. 

"I'm fine," you reiterated. "Just put on more sunblock, okay? I don't want you to be in pain and bright red tonight when I will probably need you for special activities."

That got him to quirk one eyebrow up as you kissed him. "Okay." He bent and picked up the tube and tucked it into the pocket of his cutoffs, and as soon as you wandered away, the football game picked up again.

------------------------

By the time Javy and Jake started the bonfire, Bradley was feeling pretty drunk. Reuben was still keeping a safe distance from him, which was making Bradley feel a little bit bad. It wasn't like he hit you on purpose, but the idea of the football hitting you that hard even close to your belly scared him. A lot. But you were claiming you were just fine, and he believed what you said. You even showed him the exact spot where you said you would be sore and bruised by tomorrow, and it seemed like it was a little closer to your butt than anywhere else. 

Right now, you were laughing with Nat and Maria, and you had a red solo cup of beer on your hand that you weren't drinking. Every time you looked at him a certain way, he pretended to fill his cup all the way and switched with you. It was working out well enough, except that he was getting drunk twice as fast this way.

"Come on," Nat was saying as she pulled on your arm. "Do a keg stand! I'll do one if you do one!"

You gave him the look and he sighed. He hadn't done a fucking keg stand since he was at UVA, and frankly he was too old for this shit, but he knew what he needed to do. "Nat, I can drink you under the fucking table any day of the week."

She turned to him, eyes flashing. "Prove it."

Next thing he knew, he was doing a handstand on top of the keg, one leg held up by Bob and the other by Javy, and Jake was squirting a steady stream of whatever shitty beer this was into his mouth while he tried to swallow it before it dripped down to his nose. Everyone started counting, and he made it thirty seconds before he started shaking his head. Once his feet were back on the sand, he realized his vision was a little blurry. 

When you wrapped your arms around his waist, he hissed. Shit. He never did reapply the sunblock like you told him to. Oh no. Now Mickey wanted him to do another keg stand. 

"Okay, birthday boy," Bradley replied, and you released him so he could have another go. This time, he couldn't remember how long he lasted, but everyone was slapping his sunburned back and jostling him around a lot. And he was drunk. Like really fucking drunk.

"How did he get like this, Angel?" Jake asked as he slung his arm around you. 

Bradley scoffed. "Hey, that's my wife," he slurred as he reached for your hand.

"Yeah, I'm well aware," Jake replied, and then Bradley started laughing when he remembered that you and Jake were friends, and he decided to lay down on your beach towel for a little bit. 

He couldn't be sure how long he was there, but the air was cooling down as the night wore on, and he felt kisses on his forehead. "Baby Girl."

"Yeah, I'm right here, Daddy," you whispered, taking his hands in yours. "Thanks for drinking enough to kill a horse."

He started laughing hysterically as he got to his feet. "You're fucking funny."

"I know, Roo," you said as you tugged him along the beach. "That's why you married me."

"No, it's not," he swore. "No. No. Not just that. I married you, because I had to."

You laughed as the new Bronco came into view, and Bradley wondered where everyone else was. "You had to marry me?"

"Oh yeah," he replied. "I knew it right away. Couldn't live without you. You're too sweet. And your ass is too fucking fine."

He let you push him into the passenger side door, and he kissed your forehead as you buckled him in. "Oh, Bradley," you giggled. "You're a mess." You were cupping his face gently, and you were going in and out of focus a bit, but he knew he didn't have to worry too much about anything while you were here.

"I love you," he whispered, and you pressed the softest kiss to his lips. "I love you and the baby."

As you brushed your fingers back through his hair, you told him, "Please don't barf in my Bronco, Sweetheart."

-------------------------

Bradley couldn't even move until Sunday afternoon. You tried your best not to laugh too much, but the combination of his hangover and the sunburn were perhaps the funniest thing you'd ever seen. He was walking around the house completely naked and holding his head. When you tried to facetime your parents, you had to send him back to the bedroom, and you could hear him moaning the whole time. 

"Do you want more aloe?" you asked him as you munched on a peanut butter cracker. "Or something to eat."

"Stop talking about food," he begged from his spot on his stomach on the bathroom floor. "And if you put more aloe on my back, I need you to do it very softly. Like how gentle I was with your tits, okay?" Then he groaned and lifted his head up from the bath mat. "God, I can't even fuck you properly right now."

You squeezed aloe onto your hands and carefully massaged it into his skin. "That's okay. Maybe you can watch me masturbate later?"

"Fuck! That's like a punishment! My hands are fine. I'll finger you. It'll be great." He winced as you rubbed him a little too hard by accident, so you kissed his pink cheek. 

"Just rest up, Daddy. We have a big week. I need to finish my portion of the presentation for Annapolis."

"I can help you practice it," he promised, petting Tramp when he wandered in to get an update on things. "And don't forget about 4:30 on Wednesday afternoon. That's the most important part of the week."

You combed your fingers through his hair, and his eyes closed as your tummy swooped. "First appointment with the obstetrician," you whispered. Excitement filled you up every time you thought about it, but so did a bit of anxiety. You'd been waiting seemingly forever to get to this point, and as you rubbed your sore hip, your mind filled with negative thoughts. What if they couldn't do an ultrasound? What if you didn't get to see the baby? What if there was something wrong?

"Hey." Bradley was sitting up, and his arms were open for you even though he looked a bit like a lobster. You crawled willingly into his overheated embrace, and if you were hurting him, he didn't say a word about it. "Wednesday, Baby Girl. I couldn't be more excited. Just wait, everything will be perfect."

You were surprised to find that the week didn't drag too much. Work was busy, and Bradley's sunburn was starting to peel. When you were on the verge of tears on Tuesday night because your libido was so insane right now, he fucked you hard in the kitchen while he said, "Next time, please force me to reapply the sunblock!"

"I will," you moaned as you came, delighting in the feeling of perfect release. 

And next thing you knew, it was Wednesday, and you were about to meet your new doctor for the first time. And hopefully you were going to see your baby for the first time.

"Are you nervous?" you asked Bradley as he laced his fingers with yours as you sat in the quiet waiting room together. There were expectant mothers at varying stages of pregnancy sitting around you, and you tried to imagine how big you'd be in a few more months. 

"Excited," he replied, kissing your cheek and ear. "Just really fucking excited. I've been thinking... about starting a notebook. Kind of for the baby? Like how sometimes I like to write down what I'm thinking and feeling for myself."

You nodded. "I love your deployment notebooks. I love what you wrote about me."

He kissed you hard on the lips. "I think I want the baby to be able to read about how much I was looking forward to meeting them. When they're older, I mean. They can read about how I feel like my heart is going to pound out of my chest right now," he said with a laugh. "And how I can't wait to hold them and give them a name. All about how much I love their mom."

Tears filled your eyes as you turned to tuck your face against his neck. "I like that idea." You kissed the side of his neck and told him how much you loved him back, and then you jolted in your seat as a friendly looking nurse called your name. 

"Come on back, you two," she said with a smile. "Hopefully mom and dad can leave with some new family photos."

------------------------

I'm hoping for a family photo in the next part! I also don't know how she's going to survive Annapolis right now. I also can't believe Maria and Bob aren't about to fuck nasty. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 30

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[o-sachi]

Nose Boops - Drabble for WinBre Week!

ᯓ something's suspicious about sakura... time to find out why ᯓ character; sakura haruka (wind breaker) ᯓ tags; fluff, tsundere sakura, afab reader, no y/n

[🐟]: for day 4 - accidental pet acquisition prompt! @windbreakerweek

Sakura's been acting strange.

Like reaaaaaally strange.

He was supposed to walk with you back home today, but somehow he suddenly has to patrol at that exact time. You knew his patrol schedule like the back of your own hand and you were certain that he didn't have to patrol. Besides, you knew Hiragi wasn't the type of guy to stray from fixed routines.

Anyway, you didn't like doubting him, so you asked Nirei. One text message and you confirmed that... Sakura was lying to you.

At first, you didn't know what to feel. Sakura was the most honest person that you knew and even if he did lie—he was way too obvious. But then again, it's always the person that you least expect to do you wrong.

Instead of walking straight back home later that day, you decided to investigate a bit. You checked out the usual streets that their team would roam around in. But nothing. You saw a couple of Furin boys, but none of them were familiar to you.

You even checked the cafe and asked Kotoha if he had been there. But still no luck. It was then you figured that maybe he was already at home. If he wasn't there either... well, that's definitely a cause for concern.

Part of you was incredibly nervous with what was waiting for you at his place, but all that worry dissipated in an instant at the sight that greeted you: Sakura walking the little puppy that you two found on the side of the street a week ago.

He had a small smile on his face, one that he reserved only for you (sometimes for his friends too, but he won't admit it). Sakura even bought the little thing a new collar and leash. You weren't exaggerating when you thought it was the most adorable thing ever.

Soon enough, he noticed your presence. His smile shifted into a flustered frown. "W-what are you doing here?" he asks, pointing at you.

You walk over to them, a toothy grin on your face. "Oh, I dunno... maybe I just wanted to see what my boyfriend was so busy with. But it's definitely not because of patrolling."

"Shaddap..."

He turns to look away, hoping to hide the rosiness of his cheeks. But as he looks away, the puppy takes notice of you and rubs her tiny head against your leg.

Crouching down, you pat her softly. "Aww, hey there. Is he taking good care of you hm?"

The dog can't really speak, but with the way it's wagging its tail—tells you that she loves her new owner.

"He can be a bit scary sometimes, but he's the biggest sweetheart. Don't you think so?"

Sakura clicks his tongue. "Stop talking about me with Momo."

"Momo?"

His cheeks turn into a deeper shade of scarlet. He was biting down on his lower lip so hard that you wouldn't be surprised if it just started bleeding.

"T-the dog... Momo," he replies. As much as he tried to keep his cool, he was certainly failing at it. Even though you two have been going out for a few months now, it still wasn't that difficult to render him into a blushing mess.

"You named her?"

"How would I talk to her if I didn't?"

Point. You turned to look back at the dog, smiling warmly at her. "Your name's Momo huh? That's cute," you say before booping her nose.

You stand back up and face Sakura who was struggling to look you in the eye. He opens his mouth to speak only to stop. But he tries again.

"Don't even start and tease m—"

Boop. You just booped his nose—the same way you did with Momo.

It left his jaw hanging, unsure if you really just did what you did. With his brows furrowed, he picks up the dog in his arms. You wanted to be serious just like him, but you found it hard to maintain your composure at such an unusual (but lovely) sight.

"Keep teasing me and I won't let you go near her. No petting... defintiely no booping."

He says all that with a straight face. And off he goes—back inside his humble abode with his little friend in his clutches.

For a guy that refused to take in that dog a week ago... he sure has taken quite a liking for her.

o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

[la-muerta]

[ENG SUB + Translation] Hou Minghao's farewell message to Zhao Yuanzhou, 16 Nov 2024

"There's always a breeze or two in the mortal world that can send me on beautiful dreams for 18,000 miles."

This trip in the mortal world is a journey that I, Zhao Yuanzhou, had to make.

A one-word spell: Dream. Now, let me tell you a story...

In the Great Wilderness, everyone knows me, and everyone sees me as the Great Demon that has committed every evil deed, deserving of death. But I made the unexpected choice to enter the fray with sworn enemies, old friends, and new acquaintances, embarking on a new path investigating cases and hunting demons together. To voluntarily sign a contract that decided my death date... most people would think that is an ill-omened beginning. But to me it was a relief, to finally be free of the prison that was of my own making...

Fate bound our demon hunting team together, and as we solved cases together, we got to know each other's true hearts. Some amongst us conquered might with gentleness, some amongst us were full of righteousness, some soft-hearted despite our tough exterior, some are lively troublemakers, some holding on to a true heart. Such a motley crew coming together and the only thing they seemed to be able to agree on was: that I wasn't to be trusted. They know me as Zhao Yuanzhou, but they can't forget all the evil I did as a Great Demon. But it didn't matter since I didn't hold much hope for myself as well, so all these other emotions didn't mean anything to me.

If you asked why I came here, I would tell you it's because I am the Great Demon Zhu Yan, forced to bear the burden of being born as a "vessel". I lost control and made an unredeemable mistake, and only death can eliminate the pain in my heart. Living is torture; Death is the gift of relief. However, I also wanted to give myself a chance at redemption, a boat rowing against the current.

Along the way, the demon hunting team encountered many complicated cases, but we worked hand in hand to solve them and the blades that we had pointed towards each other were turned towards the outside. Sworn enemies became comrades in arms, and as we took one step closer to saving the world, we also uncovered wounds that had already scarred over. As we saw each other's past wounds more clearly, we saw the past laughter that was used to hide the pain. Those who had a responsibility to protect found themselves unable to, those bearing the burdens of upholding the family's honour were just trapped in a dream, and those should have grown up with no worries found their world turned upside down overnight...

If you have a nightmare, someone might comfort you by saying don't worry, everything that happens in a dream is inverted. But what if it's a beautiful dream? Everything I'd experienced felt so real to me. As I journeyed on, I began to get lost in the dream. I started to wonder, what was I going to do if I was the one who lost everyone else in the end? I have to confess, I began to feel reluctant to part with everyone...

The lonely boat travels across the bitter seas, but friendship caused waves to rise in a heart that had died. Along the way, we mended each other bit by bit. What I have experienced is too beautiful for the other "me" to ever understand. The wish to enjoy the passing seasons and happiness of an ordinary life held great hidden strength, so that even though I already knew the ending, I did not give up the struggle. Because of all of you, I was driven not just by my thoughts of despair, but by my desire to protect all of you.

Be it the Great Wilderness or the mortal realm, everything must return to its original path. If you grieve over the fact that Zhu Yan did not get a chance to choose, then I will tell you that it was only a dream. If you are looking forward to embarking on a new journey with Zhao Yuanzhou's companions, then you have to wake up to hear the rest of the story. By the way, don't forget what I said – in the future, when it rains, that means I've come to accompany you. Turn the boat around and think of it as a big dream. On the other shore, someone is searching for me. A one-word spell: Wake.

The days I spent with Zhu Yan/Zhao Yuanzhou, confining myself to my shell and experiencing a life seeking an inevitable end, but I also felt the redemption in the countdown. For an actor, this was a very special creative process. The director's help, encouragement, and trust played a huge role in letting me experience this unique and meaningful role of Zhao Yuanzhou. He gave me a lot of room to interpret the one and only Zhao Yuanzhou, and with this support, I was able to accompany Zhao Yuanzhou through this journey, and finally entrust him to you, the audience, with peace of mind.

Also unforgettable were our companions who were with us every step of the way, and the process of everyone coming together in the creative process is very enjoyable, very satisfying, very worthwhile, and I will remember those scenes vividly. I will miss the Great Wilderness, the Demon Hunting Bureau, and the Kunlun Mountains... places where we left our joys and sorrows. Thanks to Wen Xiao, Xiao Zhuo-daren, Pei Sijing, Xiao Jiu, Ying Lei – because of our little demon hunting squad, Zhao Yuanzhou left knowing he was loved. Thank you to my ride-or-die Li Lun, we didn't forget our oath to protect the Great Wilderness. Thank you to my dear friend Zhao Wan'er, and Grandpa Yingzhao, who gave Yuanzhou the rare warmth of familial affection! Last but not least, I would like to thank all the crew behind the scenes for their hard work over the past few months. I have woken up from the dream, but my heart will always remember.

Signed, Zhu Yan/Zhao Yuanzhou, with remorse but no regrets