#i bought five hundred books

[hedgehog-moss]

Some photos I took in Parisian second-hand bookshops this week.

[kbwrites]

Breaking up is hard to do!

synopsis: breaking up with the jjk men.

⚝characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami

⚝content: heavy angst, gaslighting(Gojo's), depression (Suguru's), mutual breakup(Nanami's)

⚝wc: 3.5k

Satoru Gojo

“Yeah so then Yuji popped out of the crate and surprised them all! You should’ve seen it baby!” Satoru wheezes holding his stomach as he recalls the event from the day.

No matter how hard you try though, you can only muster a small smile.

It had become really hard to do much else recently. With the weight of the hundreds of tasks at work taking its toll. Satoru looks over at you, waiting for a laugh—but it doesn’t come.

“Hellooo? Everything alright princess?” He questions giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Mhmm!” You nod.

He looks at you for another moment, unreadable expression on his face. Satoru shifts, clearly expecting more from you. “You sure? You’ve been quiet tonight. That’s not like you,” he says, his voice still light, but there’s a hint of curiosity now.

You try to hold back the frustration, but it bubbles up anyway. “I’m just tired, Satoru.”

“Tired? Seriously?” he mutters, pulling his hand away. “You work, what, a nine-to-five? You act like you’re running yourself into the ground.”

You blink, taken aback by his dismissive tone. “Satoru, it’s not just about the hours. It’s everything piling up, and—”

“Piling up?” He cuts you off with a scoff, already reaching for his phone. “Why didn’t you just say something sooner? You know I could’ve hired someone to handle that for you. I’ve got the money. You shouldn’t be stressing over... whatever this is.”

The words sting. You knew his mind would go there. It always does—like money could just make the exhaustion disappear, like hiring someone to take care of the smaller details would magically solve everything.

“It’s not about the money, Satoru.” you snap, trying to hold onto your patience. “I don’t need someone else doing my job for me. I just... I need you to listen.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Listen? What do you expect me to say? You’re tired. I get it. But don’t act like you’re drowning when I could have fixed this a long time ago. Hell, I could’ve bought you time off or flown you somewhere. You're sittin' here sulking like I can’t take care of things.”

You clench your fists, the exhaustion now compounded by frustration. “It’s not about you fixing things, Satoru. Sometimes I just need support—not your money.”

He stares at you, eyes narrowing. “Right. So you want to feel miserable instead of letting me help. That’s real smart, princess.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you shove clothes into your bag, the sound of zippers and drawers slamming echoing through the room. You can feel Satoru’s presence behind you, hovering, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Not after that.

“C'mon, princess.” he says, his voice exasperated, like he’s the one who's supposed to be annoyed. “What are you doing? Where do you think you’re going?”

You don’t answer, your hands moving faster, yanking more clothes off hangers, ignoring the sting behind your eyes. You’re so angry you can barely breathe.

“I’ll book us a trip,” Satoru tries again, a hint of desperation creeping into his usually arrogant tone. “How about Paris? We’ll stay at that five-star hotel you like, the one with the private balcony. You love that place.”

Your jaw clenches. “This isn’t about a vacation, Satoru,” you snap, stuffing the last of your things into the bag. “It’s not about your money or your fancy hotels.”

“Then what is it about?” he shoots back, his voice rising with frustration. “You’re acting like I haven’t given you everything. "What more do you want?"

You freeze, bag halfway zipped, your body trembling as you turn to face him. His icy blue eyes are wide, confused, and maybe even a little hurt, but you’re beyond caring. “I want you to see me!” you shout, the words tearing out of you, louder than you intended. “I don’t need you to throw money at the problem! I need you to actually understand what I’m going through!”

Satoru stares at you, speechless for once. His mouth opens, but no words come out. He looks almost... shocked, like he can’t comprehend that his money, his status, can’t fix this. That he can’t fix this.

“Do you even care?” you ask, your voice quieter now, but no less angry. “Do you care about how I feel? Or is it just easier for you to throw cash at me until I stop complaining?”

He’s silent, his gaze hardening as he crosses his arms. “I’m trying to help. What else do you want me to do?”

“I want you to listen!” You throw your hands up in frustration, feeling more alone than ever. “I don’t want your money. I don’t want trips or fancy dinners. I want you to care about me, Satoru. Not just the idea of me.”

His lips press into a thin line, but he says nothing. The silence is louder than any of his words.

As your hand grips the doorknob, ready to leave, Satoru’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and bitter.

“Right, run off to Shoko’s.” he scoffs, his arms crossed defensively. “You always do this, don’t you? The moment things get tough, you bolt. Guess it’s easier to complain to her than actually deal with me.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, stopping you in your tracks. You turn slowly to face him, disbelief clouding your vision. He’s standing there, arms folded, arrogance in his posture.

“I always do this?” you repeat, your voice trembling with anger. “I’ve stayed through everything, Satoru!"

“You’re just like Suguru.” Satoru spits out, the words dripping with bitterness and desperation.

Your hand freezes on the handle. You weren’t expecting that. Slowly, you turn to look at him, and the mask of arrogance has cracked. His eyes are wild, wide with something close to panic. “Running away the moment things get hard,” he continues, his voice shaking slightly. “Is that it? Just gonna leave like he did?”

Your heart skips a beat, anger fading for a moment as something else stirs inside you. You’ve seen Satoru angry before, frustrated, even cold—but this? This is different.

“That’s not fair.” you say quietly, though the anger still simmers beneath the surface. “I’m not leaving because things are hard. I’m leaving because you’re not listening.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow, his lips pressing into a hard line. Then he snaps, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade, sharp and cold. “Well, fine. Go. I survived him abandoning me, I’ll survive you too.”

His words sting, burning through the air with a finality that makes your breath hitch. It’s a challenge, a defense—his way of masking the fear that’s clawing at him from the inside out. He’s pushing you away before you can leave, just like he’s done with everything else that’s threatened to crack his carefully controlled world.

You stand there, frozen for a moment, staring at him as his walls rise higher, shutting you out. This is what it’s come to. He’s too scared to let you in, too scared to admit that you leaving isn’t something he can just survive—that it’s something that terrifies him.

But he won’t say it. He won’t ask you to stay.

And that’s when you know.

Suguru Geto

You rest under the comfort of your blanket. How many days have you been in this bed? Three days? Four? 

The world was just too much right now, and your room was the only security available. It had been a week since Suguru vanished without a word, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and broken trust. Principal Yaga’s words still echoed in your mind—a whole village slaughtered, his parents among the dead. 

And not even a text.

You weren’t sure if he was even alive, maybe it would be better if he wasn’t. At least then you wouldn’t have to come to terms with the fact that the love of your life was now a wanted killer.

You took another tissue from the box, blowing into it and tossing the crumpled mess into the garbage can.

Satoru hadn’t responded either, was he okay? Did he know?

Your mind screamed for silence, for the thoughts to stop, but they kept coming, relentless.

“Angel?”

That voice… no it couldn’t be. You lower the covers from your face.

It was

“Hi baby...” his normally soothing voice does little to alleviate the ache in your chest.

“You…” your voice barely a whisper, threatening to break. “I thought you were dead.”

He moves closer, his footsteps barely making a sound on the floor, and you finally take him in. Despite everything, despite the horrors you’ve been told, he looks… normal.

How could he look so much like the Suguru you knew, the Suguru you loved, when everything inside of you was shattered?

Was this the same man who held you close? Whispered sweet nothings in your ear—promised to protect you with his life? 

“It’s me, (Y/N).”  he says softly, his voice cutting through the silence as if he had read your thoughts.

The tenderness in his tone feels like a knife twisting in your chest. How could he say that—so casually, so easily? Like everything was normal, like your world hadn’t come crashing down around you. You blink, trying to force the tears back, trying to find the right words, but nothing comes.

“Are you?” your voice is small, barely more than a whisper. Doubt lingers in every syllable.

He doesn’t respond to your question. Instead, his gaze softens, and without a word, he pulls the covers off of you. The cold air rushes over your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you had buried yourself in, and for a moment you flinch, instinctively clutching the blanket before you let it slip from your fingers.

His eyes trace over your fragile form, and there’s something in them—a flicker of sympathy, regret, even—but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s the reason for your downward spiral. He knows it too. The weight of it presses on him, though he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he moves with a gentleness you hadn’t expected, sliding his arms under you and lifting you up as if you weighed nothing.

You want to protest, want to ask what he thinks he’s doing, but you’re too tired, too drained to fight. So you let him carry you. His arms are steady, and despite everything, you can’t help but melt in his embrace.

He takes you into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the space as he sets you down gently. You can feel the cool tile under your feet as he kneels in front of the tub, turning the faucet on and testing the temperature.

You had so many things you wanted to say. You wanted to yell at him, curse him, ask him why. But you couldn’t.

He dips his hand under the stream, adjusting the temperature until it’s just right. His movements are deliberate, methodical, as if this is the only way he knows how to show you any kind of care right now.

You stand there, numb and silent, watching him. The man who destroyed your world, now kneeling before you, acting as though he can piece it back together with something as simple as a bath. It feels absurd, almost cruel, but at the same time, you don’t have the strength to stop him.

Suguru rises to his feet, his presence towering yet calm as he began to undress you. Gentle hands pulling his t-shirt off of you, the one you had been clinging onto for days.

His hands brush lightly against your skin as he lifts the shirt over your head, sending a shiver down your spine.

He had seen you in this state before, many times. But this….this was different.

Suguru guides you to the shower, washing your body with a gentleness you missed so deeply.

You close your eyes, letting him take care of you, even though you don’t understand why or how he can. The silence between you grows heavier with every passing second, filled with words unspoken and emotions too tangled to sort out.

Finally, you speak, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. “Why are you here, Suguru?”

His hand pauses for a moment, the washcloth resting against your skin. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, but when he answers, his voice is low, steady, like he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

“Because I….I love you” His voice almost too quiet, as if he’s afraid to say the words out loud.

“Then why, Suguru?” your voice trembles, almost breaking under the weight of your next words. “Is it true? You killed those people?”

The washcloth falls from his hand, splashing into the water as the silence between you deepens. He doesn’t speak right away, and the hesitation in his silence is an answer in itself.

You swallow hard, the air thick with the weight of the truth you already know but can’t bear to accept.

“They were… in the way,” he finally admits, his voice low, almost hollow.

You step out of the shower, the warm water sliding off your skin in slow rivulets. Without thinking, you reach for the towel, wrapping it tightly around yourself like armor.

This isn’t the man you loved, the one who spoke of protecting the weak, of valuing life. Yet, there’s something so heartbreakingly familiar in the way he says it—like a twisted version of the Suguru you knew, now wrapped in darkness.

“But those were people, Suguru,” you say, your voice fragile, as if you’re trying to reach the man you once knew beneath the monster he’s become. “Innocent people. How could you…?”

He takes a deep breath, stepping closer to you, his hand brushing against your skin, cold and distant. “Because this world is broken.” he murmurs. “And I need to fix it. I had to do it. Can’t you see that? We—sorcerers—we’re meant for something greater. And they… they were holding us back.”

You shake your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “I don’t understand, Suguru. I don’t understand any of this.”

He steps closer, his hand cupping your face gently, as though trying to reassure you with his touch. "Come with me." he whispers, his voice softer now, pleading. “Run away with me. Together, we can build something new. You don’t have to be a part of this broken world anymore. We can leave it all behind.”

Before you can respond, his lips press against yours, a kiss that’s both gentle and urgent, as though he’s trying to pour every unsaid word, every plea, into this one moment. It’s the Suguru you remember—the Suguru who once made you feel safe, loved.

But the reality of who he’s become crashes down on you.

You pull away, your hands pressed firmly against his chest, creating a wall between you. “No.” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I can’t.”

For a moment, Suguru just stands there, staring at you, his dark eyes searching yours for something—some kind of understanding, some sign that you’ll change your mind. His hand lingers on your cheek, his touch softer now, almost hesitant, as though he’s trying to hold on to whatever connection is left.

But then, slowly, he withdraws, his hand falling back to his side. He straightens up, his expression hardening as he steps away from you, giving you the space you so desperately need. The softness in his eyes fades, replaced by the cold determination you’ve seen before.

“You’ll see,” he says, his voice quiet, but there’s a sharp edge to it now. “One day, you’ll understand. When you see what I’ve seen, when you finally understand the truth about this world—you’ll come around. I know you will.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and without another glance, he turns and walks toward the door, leaving you standing alone, trembling in the silence.

Nanami Kento

Kento was an honest man. There was nothing he ever kept from you. Other people might view him as a hard shell, but you could read him like a book.

So when he came to bed that night, holding you just a little tighter than usual—you knew something was up.

You shifted slightly in his embrace, his grip tightening instinctively as if he feared you might slip away.

“Kento?” you asked softly, your voice breaking the stillness of the room. 

“I’ve decided to talk to Gojo tomorrow.” he said quietly, his voice steady but with a hint of resolve. “I want to return to being a sorcerer.”

The words hung in the air, sinking into you like lead. You stiffened, a sharp sting blooming in your chest as you processed his decision.

“Are you seriously considering this?” Your voice trembled with a mix of hurt and disbelief. “You know what that life entails. You’ve seen the consequences. Are you really willing to go back to that danger?”

Kento’s silence was heavier than any response he could have given. His arms, though still holding you close, seemed distant now, as if they were reaching out from across a chasm of uncertainty.

“I’ve thought it through,” he said finally, though his tone lacked the conviction he tried to project. “I need to do this for myself. I can’t keep pretending I’m satisfied with where I am.”

The last words echoed in your ears their weight sinking deep into your heart. “So you’re not satisfied with me?” you whispered, barely able to speak past the knot forming in your throat.

Kento’s eyes widened in shock. “No, that’s not what I meant—”

“Then what is it, Kento?” you demanded, frustration and hurt sharpening your words. “We have something good here. You have a good job. You left Jujustu High for a reason! What about Haibara—”

At the mention of Haibara, Kento’s face hardened. His eyes, which had been searching for the right words, now burned with anger and frustration. “Don’t.”

Your eyes widen at his tone. He sighs, trying to catch himself. “This…isn’t about him, or his fate. It’s about my own path, my own choices. You think I’m risking everything without knowing the cost?”

 “And what do you expect me to do, Kento?” Your voice cracked, raw emotion rising as you slid out of bed, unable to lie still any longer. “Sit at home and worry about you? Not knowing if you’re going to come back in one piece? I can’t live like that! I can’t live every day with the fear that you might not come back, that you might be hurt or worse?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. You paced the room, your emotions boiling over, while Kento sat still, his gaze following you but offering no solace.

“You’re asking me to accept a life where every day is a gamble with your safety!” You stopped, turning to face him, your chest heaving with emotion. “How am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to pretend everything’s okay when the reality is that you might not come back to me? This isn’t just about you, Kento. It’s about us, our future!”

Kento ran a hand through his blond locks, frustration etched into every line of his face. “I’m not asking you to pretend it’s okay. I’m asking you to understand that this is something I need to do for myself, even if it means risking everything.”

You blinked, tears blurring your vision as his words sank in. “And what if everything we have is the cost?”

The question lingered, echoing in the space between you. Kento rose from the bed, standing tall before you, but the weight of the moment seemed to bow his shoulders.

He stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly as they cupped your face. His eyes, filled with a deep sadness, searched yours, looking for understanding that he knew might never come. “I love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You need to know that.”

You shook your head, your voice breaking. “But that isn’t enough… is it? It never will be…”

There was a heavy silence between you, the weight of your words pressing down on both of you.

“I… can’t watch you throw your life away, Kento.”

He took a deep breath, the sound heavy with resignation. "Then… we’ve both made our decision."

His hands, which had held you with such tenderness, felt distant as you pulled away. You took a step back, a sob catching in your throat.

He opens his mouth, but no words come out with a trembling breath, he stepped forward and gently pulled you into his arms. The embrace was tender, filled with the weight of finality.

He buried his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent one last time as if trying to imprint it into his memory. The warmth of his body, once a comfort, now felt like a dagger in your chest.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered, his voice strained. The words were barely audible, but the sentiment hung heavy in the air.

Kento lingered for a moment, his hand sliding from your back to gently cup your face. His thumb brushed away the tear you hadn’t realized had fallen, and his expression softened with a promise you weren’t sure either of you could believe.

“I’ll come back,” he whispered, his voice strained but resolute. “Somehow… I’ll find my way back to you. One day.”

You clung to him for a moment longer, feeling the ache of goodbye in every fiber of your being, before he slowly pulled away. Leaving you.

[dcxdpdabbles]

ok but office supplier is even funnier if jason hasn't been declared legally alive again and danny starts dating him thus allowing him to both be and not be part of the wayne family

"I have a date," Danny says one random morning as he refills the office snack bar. Danny, in his own words, is one of the highest-paid employees. He has chosen to create a snack center for all Wayne employees. He has one on every three floors, filling it with fruits, chips, chocolate, pudding, and drinks.

And a cabinet with free samples of stationery supplies he thought more people should know about. Next to the supplies, he wrote the name of the product, where to buy, and even recommendations of

Everyone felt really touched by this and started bringing snacks and drinks to help him. Half the time, Danny only refilled the stationary since everyone was happy to have a community snack bar.

"A what!?" Jack from accounting gasped. Danny didn't pay him any mind; he was too busy picking between the flower and moon mini-planners.

Both were pocket-sized, but one had a workout addition, while the other had a section to track books for readers. He felt like there were more readers than gym goers, but he didn't want either to miss out if he picked one over the other.

"A date," he responded after placing both options inside the basket. He'll have to wait to introduce the amazing erasable pens he found, but he could make it up next month.

"With who?" Demanded Sara. She worked in PR and had been attempting to have him attend at least three parties with the Waynes in the past month alone.

"Peter. I met him a week ago at a street fair. One of the personal pen makers I follow would have a booth, and I was dying to see them." Danny pulls a box from his pocket, showcasing the fancy navy blue pen. "This is the George Washington Battle of Princeton edition. It has the painting of the battle wrapped around it, with careful silver-golden details on the cap to resemble the colonial era and a golden-edged nib; this is one fine fountain pen. It cost me five thousand and nine hundred dollars."

"Danny, please focus- five thousand? You spent five thousand on a pen!?"

Danny puffs out his chest, smiling broadly. "It was worth every penny!"

"That's-never mind. Are you sure Peter is a good person?" Jack pressed, "Because I know a great man. Mr. Drake-Wayne! Wouldn't you rather go on a date with him?"

"But Peter bought me easrsers that were shaped like fried chicken. They came in bucket. See." He ramages through his bag until he pulsl out a palm-szed bucket with chicken shaped earses inside. "Isn't it cool?"

"I'll admit that's pretty cool," Sara conceded but shared a quick glance with her coworkers. Danny wonders why they all look so worried. This wasn't that expensive. Peter only used ten dollars for it. "Do you like Peter?"

"I don't know. It's just a first date." He shrugs. "I don't usually have those. Not many people are willing to listen to me ramble about stationary."

"You know who would love to listen to you?" Jack throws an arm around Danny's shoulder. "Mr. Drake-Wayne!"

"Mr. Grasyon-Wayne!"

"Mis Wayne!"

"Mr. Wayne!" Everyone turns to stare at Gary, who flushes, "Bruce Wayne, not Damian!"

That caused some head nods and a few scattered comments about how the age gap was still alarmingly large, but if both were consenting adults, who were they to oppose it? Danny stared back as everyone debated whether Danny and Mr.Wayne should date.

He glances down at his heart-shaped notepads and figures they are right. It's not like he has any feelings about this date. He just agreed to get the passers.

Taking out his phone, he sends Peter a message to cancel their date. He should go out with someone because he likes them, not because they may allow him to discuss his interests.

Jason despairs somewhere on the other side of town as he reads the text for his second persona- a living citizen Peter Todd- from the guy who he saw at the street market going gaga over pens. The guy was so cute, too.

[surielstea]

Bejeweled Daggers

Based on this request.

Pairing: Azriel x Bimbo!FemReader

Summary: Reader struggles to find her place in the Inner Circle, Az comforts her.

Warnings: Amren’s a bitch but it’s canon | angst (not inflicted by Az) | Hurt/Comfort

3.8k words

I pad into my mate's study with a wild grin on my face, holding my minidress tight to my body as I approach the male who was peacefully reading.

"The others will be here any minute," I croon and Azriel's eyes drag from the page of his book to me, raking up my figure, the strapless dress putting the expanse of my neck and collar bone on display. "Can you tie me?" I whirl around and as a reply he grips the strings of my corset and then pulls tight, knowing exactly how much I hated it when it was too loose.

"I haven't seen this dress," He muttered as he tied the strings into bows. I turn my head to look at him.

"Cause I bought a new one, duh," I roll my eyes. "I should've guessed," He smiled softly and once he was done with my corset I spun back around.

"You like it? The clerk said it looked like it was made for me when I tried it on," I flash him a toothy grin and he returns it with a smirk.

"It's very pretty, but we talked about length," He hums and I groan, slinging my arms around his neck.

"C'mon Azzie, everyone knows I'm yours," I sing, kissing up the column of his throat, he swallows thickly in control.

"Cassian needs a reminder," The shadow singer grumbled beneath his breath and I giggled, rising onto the tips of my toes and pecking his lips, which he returned chastely.

"You're so cute," I say and he smiles down at me.

"Likewise, love," He inclines and presses a kiss to my temple, then pecks all over my face until he finally finds my lips.

I sling my arms around the back of his neck and lean closer, pulling him into me as my chest presses against his.

I smile against the feel of his lips sealed over mine, the familiarity and warmth of it making me grin like a madwoman. He pulled back with a sloppy smirk and I giggled at the blush tinging his cheeks, reaching forward and wiping the lipgloss off his bottom lip. "If you ruined my makeup I'm gonna kill you," I threaten and he shakes his head.

"It's just lipgloss," He shrugs innocently, clearly guilty of messing it up.

"It's expensive, I can't reapply it every five seconds because you want to kiss me," I reason and he frowns.

"I'll buy you all the lipgloss you want," He hums. "Just let me kiss you," He sighed, his hands roaming from my waist down to the curve of my ass, gripping it in his large hands. I squeal at his sudden urge and pull him closer, pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

"Now you're all glittery," I murmur, pulling away and wiping at his neck.

"Everything you touch turns to glitter," He says and I scowl up at him. "In a good way, my love," He smiles down at me but before my grin can return he adds, "Except that one time you bedazzled truth-teller, don't ever do that again," He said, his voice cold but my mischievous giggle cut right through it.

"It was so funny when you had to torture that guy with a sparkly knife," I murmur past my laugh and he glares at me.

"It took me weeks to get that shit off, I'm still finding sequins on it," He sighed and I only continue to cackle, entirely forgetting that Cassian and I had done that when Azriel foolishly left the sacred knife out on the counter.

"I was trying to teach you a lesson," I roll my eyes.

"Yeah? What lesson is that?" He looks down at me pointedly and I smile like a maniac.

"Not to leave sharp objects out," I shrug.

"You're right, I should've known two fully grown five hundred-year-olds would put glitter on my knife," He grumbled.

"Or, children, I'm just saying don't make a habit out of putting weapons in low places," I add, wrapping my arms around his torso, propping my chin up on his chest as I stare up at him. He looks at me with slight shock. This is the first time I had ever expressed wanting a child before, to say he was stunned as well as relieved was an understatement.

A knock at the front door makes his shoulders tense and I beam, rising onto my toes and pecking his lips before slipping from his grasp and leaving the office.

When I opened the door I was met with a wide-grinned Cassian and a thoroughly annoyed Nesta. My smile matches the Illyrian’s and I open the door wider for them to come in. "You guys are early," I croon.

"Cassian insisted on it," Nesta huffs, shucking off her jacket and hanging it on the hook

"Oh don't act like you don't want to be here," I beam wildly at her. "Or are you still pissed I missed training?" I sigh dramatically.

"For the third time in a row? Yes," She nodded, making her way to the dining table where a charcuterie board sat lined with cheeses and crackers, she opted for a grape, popping it into her mouth with a contemplative look on her face.

"I don't understand, if Azriel shows up to help train what are you doing at home?" She grumbled but before I could reply Azriel's arm slithers around my waist.

"She insists on getting her beauty rest," Azriel excuses and I smile wickedly.

"It's not my fault I'm tired after you keep me up all night," I tease and Nesta's cheeks flush pink, making me giggle. "I'll come to the next training I promise, I'm sure Cassian will have my head if I don't," I say, looking to the warrior who was currently stuffing his mouth full of cheese and crackers, not paying any mind to the three of us.

The knock at the door makes my grin falter slightly but Azriel was quick to answer it.

I had always been the closest with Nesta out of everyone in the inner circle. Feyre was kind and Rhys was charming, but they all kind of looked at me as if I was only some ditzy girl. Which, granted, wasn't far off but they belittled me and took pity on Azriel for being stuck with a girl like me as a mate. Nesta saw the way they looked at me and knew how it felt to be undermined.

Azriel had reassured me a multitude of times that I was the only one for him, that I was a Carynthian warrior far greater than a pretty face. "Deep breaths," Nesta mumbles as Amren, Rhysand, and Feyre with Nyx in her arms file into the house. I bump her lightly with my shoulder and she returns it playfully.

I greeted the guests with a bright smile on my face, and Nyx was particularly pleased to see me. "Hi, little lord," I say as I take the two-year-old from Feyre's arms, propping him on my hip.

"Auntie I missed you," He clings to my side, nuzzling his face into my shoulder and I giggle.

“I think Uncle Az and I are watching you soon," I say and he cheers with a wide smile, that smile is one of the reasons I wanted a kid in the first place. If baby fever was a person, it'd take the form of Nyx.

The inner circle had come over to talk strategy on how to get each court to sign Rhysand's new peace treaty, humans included. Apparently, they've been working on this since the war with Hybern, the entire thing managing to fly under my radar.

Everyone was in the sitting room, staring at a large map of Prythian sprawled out on the coffee table along with dates and schedules scribbled along the borders of it. I had tuned out most of what they were saying, using confusing language and names of people whom I did not know made me lose interest and grow frustrated with my lack of comprehension.

I stuffed my face into Azriel's neck defeated, my legs sprawled over his lap as he traced with the hem of my skirt.

"You tired, baby?" He murmurs quietly and I shake my head no with a huff. "What's wrong, hm?" He nudges the side of my face with his nose and I slowly lift from the crook of his shoulder to look at him.

"I'm just confused, I don't know this stuff," I sigh, toying with my hands anxiously. His fingers intertwine with my fidgeting ones, calming me. I hated not understanding, it put me on edge. Being raised in the hewn city without a clue of what the real world was supposed to look like would do that to you.

"I'll walk you through it later tonight okay?" He tilts his head and I nod with creased brows. His other hand comes to my jaw, scarred thumb brushing over my cheek reassuringly. "Don't worry so much, I'll explain whatever you want alright?" He stresses and I reply with a dip of my head, then lean on his shoulder again.

I place soft pecks on his neck throughout the rest of the meeting, ignoring the others and focusing on my mate, and him alone. After a few more minutes of just dwelling there, attempting to tune out their words I begin to wear out and know better than to distract Azriel with my boredom.

I swing my legs off of Azriel's lap and stand with quiet movements. Azriel looked up at me curiously, hand linking with mine, silently asking where I was going.

"I think you're right, I'm just tired," I whisper and he hesitates, then inevitably nods— but before I can leave his grasp he pulls me closer, quietly demanding a kiss with a dramatic pucker of his lips. I roll my eyes at his dramatics but lean down nonetheless and chastely plant a kiss on his mouth.

"I'll see you in the morning, alright?" I murmur against his lips and he nods with a soft smile. I mirror it and he allows me to leave his hold. "Night Nes," I pat her shoulder and she looks up at me tiredly.

"I better see you at training tomorrow," She warns and I wave her off with a flick of my hand.

"We'll see," I tease as I travel down the hall.

I tried to sleep but it hadn't come. Truthfully I wasn't tired, I just wanted to get away from the stares of the others. I could still feel their eyes on me. Defiling and obvious like they weren't trying to hide their dislike for me.

I run a bath, eager to wash that feeling of their eyes on me off. I tie my hair up and add soaps and oils to the water, running my hand under it until it gets hot before stripping down and stepping into the basin that was slowly filling. A shiver runs down my spine at the sudden change of temperature, my body tensing at first then muscles relaxing into the water. I sigh in slight relief and lean onto the back of the tub, pearlescent bubbles slowly beading along the surface of the water in a pastel pink shade.

I smile and gather a pile of foam in my hands, lightly blowing air into them and creating a larger bubble. I smile but the expression drops when I hear a loud shout over the sound of the running water. I crease my brows when I recognize the voice as Azriel’s.

Quickly I turn off the faucet and allow the room to go silent. Azriel never shouted, so I was confused as to what all the ruckus was about.

“You have no right to speak of her like that,” My mate claims on the other side of the wall and my back straightens at the coldness in his voice. He was beyond angry.

“I’m just saying, she doesn’t really belong with the rest of us,” Amren’s unmistakable voice made the water around me suddenly feel cold.

“What the hel is wrong with you?” Nesta spews.

“She's my mate, I don’t give a fuck if you think she belongs or not,” Azriel claims, and my eyes widen, my hands coming up to my mouth. They were talking about me. Quickly I move closer to the wall, hovering beside it to get better audibility. Was it eavesdropping if it was me they were discussing?

“Amren you promised you wouldn’t do this,” A voice sighed so quietly I couldn’t make out who it was.

“You talked about this before you came?” Nesta rages, her voice louder as if she was standing now.

“She’s a Carynthian, most of you can’t even claim that title yet you’re so quick to underestimate her,” Cassian’s defending voice was close, like he was leaning against the connecting wall between me and the sitting room.

“I’m only stating the truth, what does she bring to the table?” Amren continued and I could practically feel Azriel’s bloodlust seeping through the walls, the lights of the bathroom flickered and I realized he was draining the light, his shadows absorbing any existing brightness.

“Get out of my fucking house,” Azriel seethes and offers no other words to the eldest of the group and I imagine she stormed off because the next thing I hear is the front door slamming shut.

There's a moment of shared silence, but no words come before the same door opens and shuts again.

There were muttering and sighs in the next room over but there were no words I was capable of making out. I could tell by the tone as well as the femininity that it was Nesta speaking, I could only assume Cassian stuck around with her as well and was proven correct when I heard the familiar warmth of his voice a moment later.

It wasn’t long before they left as well. Leaving the house silent and the lights dim.

I couldn’t help but let the tears slip from my eyes, I felt pathetic for silently crying over Amren’s lone opinion but it hurt. The inner circle knew Azriel better than anyone, if they truly thought I didn’t bring anything forward then perhaps I wasn’t the one for Azriel, maybe the cauldron managed to get it wrong, even if I loved him more than anything.

“Love?” The soft knock at the door makes me startle, quickly wipe away my tears as I move away from the wall I had my ear pressed to.

“Come in,” My voice cracks but I pray he didn’t recognize it. The door creaks, shadows come in first, then him. I smile at him softly and he mirrors it.

“I thought you were going to bed?” He asks and I shrug.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I murmur and he comes closer, grabbing the stool from my vanity and pulling it to the rim of the tub, placing himself on it and I find myself amused at the view of the intimidating Shadow Singer on my fluffy pink stool.

“You hear all that?” He creases his brows. I give a dip of my head with a small frown pulling at my lips. “Don’t let it get to you, alright?” He stresses and I nod again while muttering, “I know.”

He sighs, his expression softening as I avoid his gaze and continue to admire the pastel bubbles that made the room smell like peaches. “Come over here, I’ll wash your hair,” He offers and I flick my eyes up to him with a small look of hesitance, he nods reassuringly and I do as he says, turning around and backing myself against his side of the tub.

He tilted my head back before pouring warm water down my locks, running his hands through it smoothly with the gentlest of detangles when he found a knot near the ends. After my hair was successfully wet he lathered it in my most luxurious shampoo. I cared deeply about my appearance, it took a lot of time to look as pretty as I did, but at this moment I hadn’t felt any of it, just dejection and a sense of exclusion.

Shadows dipped into the water and then sprung from the surface in playful loops, noticing my low spirits and attempting to cheer me up. I smile and reach my hand out towards the darkness, to which the strands swirl up my forearm excitedly. Azriel rinses the soap from my hair before moving onto the conditioner. “Do you want to talk about it?” I tilt my head back, catching a glimpse of him from my peripherals.

“There’s nothing to talk about, I know I love you and that’s all that matters” He replies and a frown pulls at my lips. “Unless you want to talk?” His hands freeze their massage on my scalp. “I’m fine,” Lie. “I don’t need comfort, and I don’t need to be protected,” I murmured. “But I appreciate you defending me,” I turn my hand to the side to look at him with a weak smirk.

“I can tell when you’re lying, love,” He intones and I flush looking back down to the suds in the water.

“Okay so maybe what Amren said got to me,” I huff. “She was right,” I confess.

“She wasn’t,” Azriel’s tone was unwavering with no hesitance. There was no swaying him.

“Azriel, think about it. What do I bring to the table?” I ask as he washes the conditioner from my hair.

“You made all the food, and set up the whole meeting,” He explains and I roll my eyes.

“You would’ve had the meeting with or without the food, the fact that’s the only thing you can come up with shows just how pathetic I am,” I spell out and his expression hardens before he says, “You didn’t let me finish.”

I look at him longingly, then let out a sigh, hinting that he can continue. “Don’t worry about what you bring to a war meeting, it’s not your scene and that’s okay,” He murmurs, gathering a fluffy towel for me as I step out of the warm bath.

“But it’s your scene,” I argue as he wraps the warmed towel around me, his hands patting down my body until I am dry.

“I love that we’re different, you’re a breath of fresh air from all of that, like sunlight in a cell,” He smiled, scarred hands coming up to cup my cheeks. I never forgot Azriel’s background, how torturous his half-brothers were, his father locking him up in that cell like he was some kind of animal. “We’re cauldron fated, made for each other aren’t we?” He points out.

“My parents are mates and my father used my mother until she died,” I state. “You don’t have to like each other, you’re just paired on offspring,” I shrug and a soft smile pulls at the corners of his lips.

“But I do love you and that won’t ever change, isn’t that enough?” He asks and I look up at him, into those familiar eyes that always managed to read me like an open book.

“I don’t want to come between you and your friends,” I whisper.

“You’re not, Amren’s always going to have her issues until you risk your life or save someone else’s, she’s just like that,” He shrugs.

“Okay,” A shiver runs down my spine from the cold of the room against my dripping hair.

He notices and guides me out of the bathing chamber into our bedroom. He walks me to the armoire where he collects my softest nightgown and a pair of undergarments.

Silently he helps me get dressed, his touches tender and reassuring as he slips the cotton underwear up my thighs then pulls my baby pink nightgown over my head.

I walk over to my nightstand and brush through my damp hair a few times before slipping into the bed with a tired yawn.

Azriel climbed in next to me after stripping until he was half-naked. His arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me right into him, my hands press against his bare chest and he smiles down at me. “Feel better?” He mumbles and I nod with a smile, it was the truth. I was coming across the realization that it didn’t quite matter if I thought I belonged or not, because I knew I loved Azriel, and I knew no one could rip me away from him even if they tried.

“I love you too, by the way,” I whisper and he presses a kiss to my forehead before a smirk stretches over his lips.

“I know,” He murmurs.

I look up at him with a beaming grin, then scoot up only an inch to press my lips onto his, my hand coming up to his cheek as I bare my soul onto his with the action, so innocent yet so powerful, like an electric charge between us, a current of both devotion and admiration that was outmatched against anything I had ever felt before, and the sensation returned every time his lips were on mine.

“Go to sleep love, you have to get some rest because I think Nesta might take down that door if you don’t show up to training tomorrow,” He hums and I groan, remembering I had to stay true to my word. “Valkyrie forced to do Valkyrie training, a true travesty,” He mumbled into my neck, dipping his head down into it.

“Shut up, Azzie,” I pout, wrapping my arms around the back of his neck and pulling him into my breasts to silence him.

“Yes ma’am,” He mumbles dreamily and I giggle, loosening my arms so he can look up at me. I pinch my lower lip between my teeth as I brush his hair back, admiring his sharp features. I run my thumb down the bridge of his nose, then trace beneath his lips that I never got sick of kissing.

“We could sleep, or we could find a better use of our time?” I suggest.

“I’m not fucking you senseless then forcing you to go to training tomorrow, you’d be too sore,” He shakes his head.

“Then don’t fuck me senseless?” I suggest.

“You know I’m incapable,” He replies and I crack a smile because I know he’s right. He pushes up and chastely pecks my lips.

“After training tomorrow we will, you always look your best in those tight leathers anyways,” He smiles, his hand coming to my upper thigh, notably gripping it for emphasis.

“I think I just always look my best,” I toss back and he nods.

“Also true,” He murmurs. “Now sleep, I’ll be here in the morning,” He mumbled tiredly and I nodded, leaning down once more and pressing one last kiss to his lips.

“Night night, Azzie,” I murmur.

“Goodnight, my love,”

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[silverzoomies]

Turkish Delight

peter maximoff x reader smut

chapter 1: sweet talkin'

link to chapter 2: here

warnings: shameless smut, porn without plot, phone sex, mutual masturbation, best friends, dirty talk

word count: 6,368

a/n: hiyaaa !! i'm back with more filth !! peter speaks russian in this one. i've seen people use russian in place of sokovian language before. and since i've been learning russian for a while, i thought i'd give it a shot !! if you're familiar with the language and anything seems off, please let know asap !! as usual, apologies if peter seems ooc, or if my writing isn't up to par !!

tag list (if i forgot you, please remind me !!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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Chillaxing on the sofa in his mom’s basement, Peter drew out a sigh. His hooded eyes gaped at the TV screen. As he channel surfed, his thumb tapped lazily on the remote. Peter stopped to check each channel in abrupt intervals. Afternoon cable was boring as hell today. It failed to grasp his short lived attention span.

Seinfeld reruns? He saw just about all of ‘em. Soap Operas? Those were more his mom’s thing. Huge pass. Nature documentaries? Could be cool. Guess it depended on which one, though.

Oh. It was the one about the polar bear’s great journey across the arctic! Nifty enough. Except, Peter saw that one three or four times already now. Скучный (boring). Так скучно (So boring).

‘Kay, soooo…TV was kind of a no-go. Instead, Peter popped on the PS1 and settled for a game of Metal Gear Solid. The game’s opening intro was a little too slow for his liking, but Peter forced himself to focus. It sucked he was so antsy today, so fidgety and impatient. He needed some kind of distraction. Any distraction. And he needed one fast.

Peter bounced a leg, half invested in the game’s dialogue. His fingers absentmindedly flicked the controller buttons. Not even five minutes into playing, he found himself frustrated and bored again. This time around, he figured some company might ease his ennui.

He darted across the arm of the couch to a side table. Over a stack of comic books and empty cans of soda, he snatched the receiver to a Garfield phone. Peter dialed a number in less than a second. Too fast, at first. The phone didn’t even register his request. Rolling his eyes, he dialed the number again. Slower this time.

Peter kept the vibrant hunk of orange plastic between his cheek and shoulder. Buzzy ringing echoed on the other end of the line, as he waited for the recipient to pick up. The time it took for a voice to finally respond felt like fifty billion years. Your voice. One of Peter’s closest comrades. The pal he shared most, if not all, of his free time with.

There were days when you visited, and you laid back on the sofa with him. With your legs stretched over his lap and a magazine in your hands, you relaxed. Peter would always do his usual, playing whatever game he ‘bought’ from the local K-Mart. Every time he cursed himself for making a misstep, you giggled. You knew how frustrating it was for him, if he wasn't a hundred leaps ahead of everything. And just to get back at you - but also to hear you laugh again - he’d reach over and dig his fingers into your belly.

He loved that it took such minimal effort to make you laugh. You always had an easygoing warmth about you. And maybe you were also pretty cute too. Sometimes, the crook of your smile made him blush. Oh, and you didn't mind duking it out in Mario Kart sometimes. That was also kinda cool. What more could a lonesome guy ask for? Просто друзья. Ничего больше (Just friends. Nothing more). Yeah. He could be content with that. No problem.

Ten minutes into conversation with you, Peter breathed a yawn into the receiver.

“You know, I’m surprised you have the patience for talking on the phone.” You joked.

The speakers roared with a soft buzz in his ear. Peter didn’t register your words at first. Blinking lazily, he tapped the PS1 controller buttons at rapid speed. In the game, Snake fought off an onslaught of bad guys. Peter faked his offense with a scoff.

“Seriously? Man, what’s up with that? It’s like everyone thinks I can’t do stuff at normal speed without goin’ berserk.” He said, cursing under his breath as Snake got gunned down again.

A small part of him wished you were there, with your legs over his lap, cracking jokes at his expense. Over the phone, you emitted a gentle laugh.

“Because you have? Multiple times, dude!” You said.

Surely you could hear Peter’s eyes roll in his skull.

“Oh, yeah? Name five.” he pressed.

The fast paced clicking of the buttons echoed like a trill in the basement. He overheard the sound of rustling as you shifted in place. If Peter had to guess, he’d bet his left foot you were still lazing around in bed. It was a Saturday, after all. With the hour tipping on the edge of late afternoon. You always moved at the slowest of speeds on your off days.

“I’m just saying! I totally get it. Even I don’t have the patience for chats on the phone sometimes.” You said, and a squeaky yawn followed.

More rustles scuffed from your end, as if you moved to stretch. Keeping his gaze fixed on the flickering, CRT screen; Peter followed flashes of light from each grunt’s gun. His reaction time proved effortless as always. His methods, not so much.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Peter mumbled after a beat, “Doesn’t bother me much if I’m talkin’ to you.  You’re not boring, first of all. And on the off chance I do get bored, I can just say - hey, babe, I’m gonna hang up. And you won’t get-uhhh…” He lingered on his next thought, distracted with gunning down more masked baddies, “You won’t get, like, butt hurt over it."

“Why would I?” You laughed, “Did someone seriously get offended by that?”

“My aunt did once. She got mad pissed ‘cuz I told her I was ‘kinda bored’ on the phone. She made me pass it to my mom, so she could rat me out. Said I showed a ‘lack of consideration'; ‘er whatever.” Peter paused, brows furrowed. In Metal Gear, Snake perished yet again. Peter rolled his eyes once more, “She’s kinda mental, though. это возмутительно (it’s outrageous).”

Your only response was a quiet hum of acknowledgement. Peter broke the silence that followed.

“Hey, you’re not busy today, are you? Wanna do somethin’ later?” He asked, knowing full well you had jack shit to do.

“I don’t know. I’m feeling soooooo lazy today.” You playfully teased.

The soft pattern of your breathing sent electric tingles down Peter’s neck. Shuddering, he shook off those unexpected chills. Another beat, and Peter groaned, as Snake perished over a low poly landscape. You gotta take it slow and stealthy, man - Peter reminded himself.

“Хорошо (okay)? So? Come be lazy over here then.” He replied, “Tell you what. If you do, I’ll go ‘n snag some of those Turkish delights you like. The same ones my mom gotcha for your birthday. Remember? From Sokovia?”

Your voice perked up instantly, bringing a cheesy smile to his face. Homely fondness simmered in his chest, and Peter felt himself blush. He pulled his lip between his teeth, pausing his game to focus more on conversation. Leaving Snake stranded in the middle of the snow.

“Oh my gosh!! No way?? I haven’t had those in forever! Seriously, the ones from Sokovia?” You chimed.

“Hell yeah! But you gotta get outta bed first, dingus. C’monnnn.” Peter whined, “I’m so bored here, babe. Oh! I totally forgot. I finally got my hands on a Gameboy Color too. Swear on my life I paid for it this time. You could come over ‘n try it ouuuuuut.” He teased in a sing-song voice, wiggling his brows.

“Gameboys and Turkish delights? You’re spoiling me today, Peter! What’s the occasion?” You joked over the line.

He shrugged, forgetting you couldn’t see him, “Bored outta my friggin’ skull. That’s what.” After a beat, he awkwardly added, “And maybe I like hangin’ with you? Do I even need a reason?”

“Well, I gotta admit…you had me at Turkish delights.” You feigned a dreamy tone.

Peter chuckled again. Under his breath, he muttered softly, “ Это все, что тебе нужно, да (That’s all you need, huh)?”

“Huh?” You asked, oblivious to his comment, “What’d you say? I didn’t catch that last part.”

Peter ran a hand through his silver locks, leaving his hair loose and messy. Cradling the phone in his other hand, he knitted his lips to one side.

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You want me to come get you? ‘Cuz I can.” He checked his digital watch, decked out in a Star Wars theme, “I can right now, if you-”

“It’s fine. I love going out with you, but I really don’t wanna deal with motion sickness today. I just had lunch too. No offense!” Another yawn rang over the phone, hitching into a squeal at the end. Peter didn’t realize he was smiling so big until his cheeks started to hurt, “I’ll just drive over. Sound good?”

Peter rolled his eyes, sarcastically groaning. He threw his head back into the sofa cushions, playing up his fake frustrations.

“Auuuuuuugh! But that’ll take years.” He dragged a hand down his face, pulling his cheeks under his fingertips, “Is this ‘cuz you blew chunks last time?? You know that doesn’t bother me, right? Everyone does it, babe.”

You made a noise of disgust. Something like an eugh , “Please, don’t remind me. That sucked so much. Yeah, no, I’d rather not. I really need a break from it.” You sighed again. Kind of a bummer, but he could deal.

“It’s whatever you want, I guess. So, when are you gonna head out?” Peter asked, sitting up on the sofa and putting the controller aside.

He bounced a leg at rapid speed, his knee moving in a flesh tone blur of motion. Less from agitation, more due to anticipation.

“I’ll leave soon. Just give me a few minutes. Think you can wait?” You chuckled in that sweet, quirky way again. The melody gave Peter butterflies. Ignoring the fluttering in his belly, he pushed himself off the couch. Grabbing the base of the Garfield phone, Peter cradled the lil guy in an arm. He figured he may as well get dressed, and freshen up before you arrived, “It’s so cold today. I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet! I’m still bundled up in my undies. Got your jacket on too. You left a Game n Watch in the pocket, by the way. I didn’t even know they still made those!”

“Yeah. I totally called that one. Get up already, ya slacker.” Peter joked trapping the phone between his cheek and shoulder again. He scratched his bare chest. His fingertips grazed the sparse covering of white hairs there. Yawning, he nodded, “Okay. Okay. Okay. Sure, just-”

Something about your last statement finally clicked in Peter’s brain. He rapidly blinked, shaking his head fast enough to give himself whiplash. Peter did a quadruple take.

“Подожди (wait)! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, waiiiiiit …hold on a sec.” He narrowed his eyes, “Say that again?”

“Say what again? The part about the Game n Watch?” You asked, and Peter’s brows furrowed.

“N-Nah. The…did you just…have you been lyin’ around in your underwear this whole time?”

“Uh, yeah? Why? Is this revolutionary information?” You chuckled.

“In my jacket? Like, I didn’t hear that wrong? What’d you like…sleep in it ‘er somethin’?” Peter arched a silver brow, pressing the phone handset closer to his cheek. As if doing so might somehow help him hear you more clearly.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal either way. You borrowed his jackets all the time. Peter never thought anything of it before this conversation. Aside from the fact that - when you did return them, he loved the sweet scent you left behind. The smell of your perfume, with the added bonus of your natural pheromones…

Ебать (Fuck)! Why was he even thinking about this? The two of you had such a casual thing goin’ on. But now, Peter thought of you in a different light. Something friskier. Not that he meant to. Maybe killer boredom + cute friend = horny speedster. Or perhaps the planets aligned in some totally off-the-wall way.

Whatever the case, Peter’s mind raced on autopilot. He pictured the way you might look right now. In your room, spread across your bed in nothing but your underwear and - Ебена мать (Holy shit) - his jacket. With your long legs bare, your knees bumping together as you squeezed your thighs shut. Tummy exposed. And your tits-

Woooooooah there! Slow down, casanova! Peter shouldn’t be…nah, he really shouldn’t be wondering what your breasts looked like. Ppfffbbbbt …’kay, so, maybe in the past he thought about it once or twice. But what dude wouldn't contemplate the hidden mystery of a pal's titties sometimes, ah?

“Well, so what if I did? That doesn’t weird you out, does it?” You asked, a careful waver in your voice.

“Uhhhh…nahhh, babe. Just…” Peter shifted in place, rerouting his thoughts, “Just…got one hell of an image in my head. Might’ve pictured you like that for no particular reason at all.”

Lucky for him, you didn’t seem to think anything of his confession.

“Not much to imagine…” You replied. Сомнительно (Doubtful).

“I mean…pffbbbttt…sure, yeah. Maybe not.” Peter awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of his neck. His voice dropped, a little more hushed, “Unless…you’re wearin’ some really cute panties over there.” Again, he laughed, rushing out a quick, “I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m totally messin’. Just bustin’ your balls, babe.”

Except…he sorta wasn’t. Peter found himself oh-so curious. Twisting the phone's orange wire around his finger, he anticipated your reaction. Anxious you might think him weird for pushing things too far. Never had the two of you charted this kind of territory. It was a minefield, with a 95% chance neither one would make it out unscathed.

“I guess? I think they’re kind of cute.” You added, innocent as ever. Awesome. You weren’t peeved at him, at least. Peter brought the phone to his chest, exhaling an anxious breath to calm his racing heart. When he put the phone to his ear again, he figured you’d moved on. But your cadence shifted. To test the boundaries of your friendship, you teased, “They’re pretty small on me, though.”

Ah. Ah. Интересно. Очень интересно (Interesting. Very interesting). What an unexpected but totally wicked development. Peter lowered himself slowly onto the couch, setting the phone's base on the side table. He eased backwards into the cushions, and tightened his twisting of the phone wire. Swallowing hard, Peter found he had difficulty focusing. Especially with his imagination running so goddamn wild.

“Yeah? …How small is pretty small?” He dared to ask.

Long seconds of silence ticked by at the pace of a narcoleptic sloth. If Peter weren’t so eager to hear what you had to say, he may have torn his hair out. Over the line, you laughed.

“Small enough they barely cover my ass? Why are you so curious all of a sudden?” You cooed.

Peter fluttered his inky eyes, nibbling chapped skin on his lip. Fuzzy pink swarmed the rest of his face, as his mind conjured images of you so effortlessly. Clear as day. Heat stirred to life in his groin, and Peter pictured the way your plush cheeks might hold in tight painties. His breath hitched.

“I-uh…” Peter felt the heat in his cheeks creep down his neck, flustered at lightspeed, “Just thinkin’...maybe you should do somethin’ about that?” He gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. What a lame response, “Черт возьми (damn it)!” He huffed under his breath, too quiet for you to hear.

Toying with this newly discovered sexual tension, Peter humorously asked-

“Sooooooo…what color?”

You giggled into the receiver, airy and light. His body registered the noise somewhere , down south of his belly. He wondered if you were as flustered as him. And the visual of your bashful face and shy smile had his heartbeat ramping up to mach 10.

“What? A-Are you for real asking me…oh my god, dude!” Your giggles turned into goofy snorts. Which he found so endearing. Once you composed yourself, you spoke again. Though, your tone came off as more flirtatious, “If you really wanna know so bad…then fine. They’re black. Lacy. With a little bow on the front.”

Дерьмо (Shit)...

His silver brows soared high, disappearing under his bangs. Paying little attention to his instinctive actions, Peter guided his free hand between his thighs. Inwardly, he told himself he was only adjusting his uncomfortable hard-on. ‘Cuz it’d be totally weird if he did anything else…right? Best to ignore the movement of his thumb, as it absentmindedly circled his bulge.

“Huh…that’s so…” Peter blinked, clearing his throat and masking his nerves with a chuckle, “‘Kay, I’ll be up front with you, babe. That sounds cute as hell. Very nice.”

“Really? Oh, please, Peter. They’d be cute on anybody.” You scoffed.

“Uh huh…” He smirked, dropping his tone even lower, “‘Cept, now that I’m really thinkin’ about it? I’m bettin’ they look criminally cute on you.” Peter lazily smirked.

You laughed, breathless like you ran a thousand miles, “Wh-...what are we even doing right now? Seriously, why am I talking to you about my-” The uneasiness in your voice bled through the line.

Your concern was for good reason. Nevertheless, Peter interrupted you mid-sentence.

“Easy there, chuckles. We’re just chatting. Nothin’ too unusual, right? We’ve had some seriously raunchy conversations before. Remember? That time I got laid on a golf course? You told me about that time some dude shot a load in your eye. What’s the difference, anyway?” Peter grimaced, as he recalled your story from eons ago.

You giggled yet again, “Peter, you know damn well what the difference is!” You clarified with a sigh, still playful. The phone wire went slack around his finger, as Peter second guessed himself. He parted his lips, on the cusp of apologizing. Bringing one hand up to the phone, he held it loosely. Your sugary voice chimed again, “I’m kinda wondering, though…what would you think if I told you I’m topless right now?”

His grip compressed around the handset.

“Topless, huh?” Peter cast a quick glance at his hard-on, twitching painfully under his boxers. His mind jumped straight to sinful places again. Peter thought about what your tits probably look like, embraced in his jacket. Nipples hard, grazing the inner-lining. He swallowed, “What’re you tryna tell me? You gonna drive over here in nothin’ but that?” Peter quipped.

A more sultry laugh melted through the receiver. Peter trembled, as your smooth voice coaxed him like a tempting song. His free palm squeezed his bulge, putting pressure to his length over fabric. Peter’s brows turned inward, and he fluttered his eyes shut.

“I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, if it wasn’t so cold outside. It’s freezing today. I don’t know how you can run as fast as you do when the weather’s like this.” Your tone disguised itself with lighthearted innocence again, “It’s not any warmer in my room either. My nipples could cut glass. They’re, like, soooo hard.”

Peter adjusted himself on the sofa, giving the swell of his bulge another teasing squeeze.

“ Ты маленькая соблазнительница (you little temptress)...”  His hot breath fanned the phone.

“I love it when you talk like that…” You replied, “Even if I have no idea what you’re saying. It sounds really hot, to be totally honest.”

“Oh, yeah?” Peter teased his lip with his teeth, speaking in a more flirtatious voice; buttery smooth, “ Я забыл вынести мусор (I forgot to take out the trash)...” For added effect - just to embarrass you more - he tacked on a husky moan.

Peter made himself blush, as the sound came out far more pornagraphic than he intended. The rasp of his voice scraped through the line in a hushed, “ Oh, yeah, baby. ”

The erotic tension you felt from his teasing was palpable, even over the phone. Peter could sense the shift in the way you gasped. So faint, so shy, so cute.

“Oh…oh, wow...uhm…” You tried concealing your bashfulness with more of those candy coated giggles. But Peter could practically hear the blood racing to your cheeks, “What’s that mean? Something good, I hope.”

Peter bit his tongue, lips turning in a cheeky grin.

“It means you’re really turnin’ me on…”

Another hesitant pause fell between the two of you, before you scoffed.

“Oh my god, no it doesn’t! I can hear you laughing!” You griped, snickering along with Peter. A few more tension heavy beats pulsed over the line. You spoke again, “Hey…I’m sorry. Can I put things on pause for a sec? I just wanted to ask…are you okay with this?”

“Are you?” Peter gently asked, giving you ample time to think about it.

“I don’t know…maybe…” You whispered, “Isn’t this, like, super weird for you?”

“I mean…suuuuuuure. It’s totally weird. If you kept goin', I wouldn't be into it...at all...” He bullied you with a playful edge, hoping you could read the flirtatious undertone in his voice.

“Ohhhhh…you wouldn't be?” Judging by the saucy lilt in your voice, you most definitely caught on, “You know what would be even weirder?”

Peter adjusted on the sofa again. Getting comfortable, he laid on his back. His taut legs stretched across the cushions, and Peter propped his head on the couch’s arm.

“Whazzat? Enlighten me, babe. I’m listenin’. You got my full attention.” He teased.

“Your full attention, huh? I must be doing something right.” You snickered, “So…you know how I said I love it when you talk…like that?” Your voice wavered, “What I really meant was-uhm…when you do that on the phone…it makes me kind of horny.”

His brown hues burst open, wider than ever. Peter’s pupils dilated, expanding as far as the universe itself. He swallowed again, his mouth falling open. Your filthy confession set his arousal ablaze, making his dick twitch. As heated desire took over, Peter couldn’t restrain himself. He snuck his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, fingertips gliding over silver hairs. A small piece of him almost felt guilty for doing so.

“It does, huh? Хорошо знать (Good to know).” Peter whispered, tenderly grasping his shaft.

You made a naughty squeak of a noise in response, “Y-Yeah, Peter, I’m serious. You really have to stop doing that.”

“Почему (Why)? Are you soakin’ yourself over it? Gettin’ a lil wet? It’s cool. You can tell me…” Peter heckled, expelling a breath as he gave his dick a single tug.

“Oh, I bet you wanna know all about that, huh? You’re so bad, Quickie...” You teased, clicking your tongue.

Peter’s ears burned, turning pink as he took in the coquettish nature of your voice. Scoffing, he feigned his indignance.

“What?! Hey, nah nah nah! You started this! Это несправедливо, черт возьми (it’s not fair. Dammit)!” Peter laughed, carefree with you as always, “You can’t seriously drop a bombshell like that and expect me not to-”

“Not to come running?” You hummed, sweet tempered, “I’m just messing with you, baby. But since we’re on the topic…I made such a mess of these little panties. Just from listening to your voice.”

Peter couldn’t even pretend he didn’t like the sound of ‘baby’ on your tongue.

“Oh, man…anything but the panties…” He joked, “You should-uh…you should save yourself some trouble. Y’know…take ‘em off, maybe? Might be more comfortable.” Peter hinted, playing nonchalant, “Just tryna be a good friend. Give you some advice. You should for sure take it.”

“But I’m already so cold…” You whimpered, “Your jacket’s so warm. Smells good too. Really good. But it’s not enough to keep me covered.” You spoke with flirtatious innocence, and Peter played along.

“No harm done, принцесса (princess). I’ll warm you up if you need me to.” He reassured, sweet talking you over the phone, “Ты думаешь, что я не позабочусь о тебе? (Do you think I won't take care of you)?" Peter mumbled again. He listened to your sickly sweet laughs, before asking, “So…do you get like this every time we talk on the phone?”

“Mmmm…maybe.” You hummed, “What if I said yes?” You shuffled around again, and Peter’s mind jumped elsewhere. He imagined you shed yourself of damp, black lace. Leaving you wanton and needy in nothing but his jacket, “You know…we’ve been talking about me a lot this whole time. You wanna tell me what you’re wearing? I don’t really have a visual.”

“Oh…me?” Your request caught Peter off guard.

“Yeah, you. Who else, blockhead?” You playfully quipped, smoothing your voice to say, “You don’t have to be shy. I just wanna know, so I can think about taking it off of you.”

Peter didn’t know he could blush this much. Puffing a bashful laugh, he looked down at his body. Mostly nude and toned enough. He had his x-gene to thank for his pecs and hard abs. A fluffy bouquet of silver hairs peeked out from his boxers. Underneath, his dick throbbed, pressing eagerly into fabric.

“Uhm…I’m not wearin’ a lot? Nothin’ special. Just some black, boxer briefs, I guess. Wait, no-” Peter lifted a foot, his lips curling in a goofy smile, “Got my Star Wars socks on too.”

A sensual moan graced his ears, “That’s so hot.” You softly whined, “Star Wars socks? Peter, just take me now.”

Despite the fact you were totally messing with him, that playful comment made his chest tight. 

“Nothing else though?” You pressed.

“Nnnnnnnnnnope.” He drew out the word, popping the P, “Just the-uh…yeah. Boxers ‘n sexy socks. Not much to take off.”

“And you’re pretty fit, aren’t you? You always looked really jacked to me, so-” You said.

Peter cocked a brow, snickering to cover his embarrassment.

“Wooooahhh…you been checkin’ me out, babe?” He asked, darting his dark hues across his athletic bod. Peter flexed an arm, “Sure, I guess I’m in decent shape.” He found he couldn’t dismiss your compliments. Peter looked good, and he knew it. But he preferred hearing it from you, “Hey, you wanna know somethin’, like, way crazy?”

“This? What we’re doing right now is so crazy, right?” You laughed, sounding as bashful as him.

Peter snickered, “True. Truuuue. But, uh…” He shrank in his spot on the couch, pressing the vibrant handset closer into his cheek. Pre-cum seeped through his boxers, as Peter tugged his dick steady and slow. Careful not to stimulate himself too much yet. He dropped his voice to a hushed rasp, “I’m kinda in the same spot you are right now. If you-uh…if you catch my drift.”

The two of you knew each other for a long time. Several years, in fact. But never once did Peter think he’d hear his closest pal say-

“Ohhhh. Are you hard right now, baby?”

Oh. Yeah, this buddy-buddy friendship was in major trouble. Doomed to crash and burn. As soon as the words fell from your lips, spoken in your honeyed voice; Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. He sank his teeth so hard into his lip, he almost broke skin.

“Y-Yeah. Since you-uh…started talkin’ about your panties. I’m sorry, babe. Just been kinda bored and worked up all day.” He sheepishly chuckled.

“You poor baby…” You coddled him over the phone. And while he should’ve been embarrassed, Peter had no problem with you talking like that, “Can I ask how big you are?”

Peter stalled for a moment, before pulling the front of his boxers down. His hardness flopped against his belly, pulsating and ruddy from his teasing. Taking his aching length in his hand, he rubbed the underside with his thumb.

“You mean my dick? It’s-uhhhh…like six, maybe seven inches almost?” He squeezed his cock, milking beads of pre-cum, “But size doesn’t matter, yeah? It’s the motion of the ocean, babe.”

“Noooooo, baby. You’re so perfect. Wish I could see how good you look like that…” You cooed over the phone.

Your kindly words and airy tone made the veins in his dick throb with electric heat. Peter clutched his cock tight, pumping the velvet skin a touch faster. Giving himself just a simple taste of relief. His stomach clenched, hardening his abs.

“Не так идеально, как ты выглядишь (Not as perfect as you look)...” Peter muttered, drawing in a shallow breath, “Babe, I gotta tell ya, I’m really feelin’ this. I’m so into you right now. W-Want you to keep talkin’ like-uh...”

His imagination took his depravity to the next level. Now, Peter thought about joining you in your room. He wondered how soft and smooth your skin would feel. Supple and hot under his fingertips. What might you look like writhing under him, whimpering as he played with you? As he teased you? Man, you were both so screwed.

“Never thought dirty talking with me would turn you on so much…” You giggled.

Peter secured the handset between his cheek and shoulder. With both hands free, he raised his palm to his lips. He drew a long stripe with his tongue, bringing his damp hand to his cock. The slick lubrication pulled a gentle moan from his throat.

“M-Maybe a little bit. Ебать (Fuck), maybe a lot.” Peter groaned, labored in his breathing, “Can you - Ебать (fuck) - you wanna do somethin’ for me? Just a little favor between friends? S’all I’m askin’, baby.”

“Anything you want, Peter.” You mewled.

“Can you- mmmmohgod -” Peter choked up. He almost chickened out, but pushed himself to ask, “Can you touch yourself for me? Please? Пожалуйста, моя маленькая принцесса (Please, my little princess)...” His foreign whispers weaved pretty whimpers from your lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, if you want me to. But you have to do the same for me too. It’s only fair, right? Equal exchange?” You whispered, acting playful again.

Peter breathed a guilty chuckle, “Uhm…yeahhhhh…about that…”

You softly gasped, “Have you been-”

“Playin’ with my dick this whole time? Maybe.” Peter admitted. His thumb caught another pearl of pre, spreading the slickness over his sensitive head, “But I’m not, like, totally jerkin’ it yet…” He lied, pressing you to encourage him.

“Oh, you’re not, huh? What are you doing then?” You asked, “Are you being a bad boy, Pietro?” The abrupt drop of his given name shocked him into silence.

Peter felt his groin tighten, and an exhilarating rush electrified his nerves. For the thousandth time, you giggled. And for the thousandth time, Peter’s heart leapt. Dumbfounded, he gathered his composure and played along again.

“Y-Yeah. So bad. You gotta help me, babe. I’m just-...I’m so hard. Don’t think I can stop myself if you keep talkin’ like that.”

Through the receiver, Peter’s ears caught wind of a needy mewl. He gripped his cock hard, guiding his fist in firmer strokes. His legs quivered, and the heels of his Star Wars socks slid across the couch.

“Does it feel good when you touch your pretty cock like that, sweetheart?” You cooed.

Peter almost went straight into cardiac arrest. He jolted in place, feeling his cock stiffen in his grasp.

“Святой трах (Holy fuck)..." Peter suffocated on his own groans. For an instant, his words failed him, “Uhmmm…hah…wow-uh…Ебать (fuck). Feels good, yeah. Don’t think it’s enough. I need-...uhm…I want-uh…”

“Yeah? What do you want, baby. It’s okay.” You spoke so sugary sweet again.

“I-...Я просто хочу увидеть тебя (I just want to see you)...” Peter’s veins tingled under his touch, as he tugged his dick with more urgency, “Shit! I-...how come I never knew you could be like this-” And to Peter’s ultimate humiliation, he whimpered your name. Along with another whiny, “ Ебать (Fuck). ”

“Like what?” Your coy voice teased him over the line.

“I dunno…so-uh…so damn nasty.” He joked, and even through the phone; he knew he had you flustered again.

“I guess we all have our secrets, hmm? Tell me more, Pietro. When you touch yourself like that. With those big, strong hands…how’s it feel?” You asked, driving him to keep going.

Peter snorted a laugh, “Strong hands? What??” His endearing playfulness took a backseat, as he grunted into the receiver, “God…feels like my strong hand’s not enough. Мне реально тебе нужно прямо сейчас. Нужна так сильно (I really need you right now. I need you so much).” His voice fell to a whisper. Pumping his slick, crimson cock through his fist, he breathlessly pleaded, “Talk to me, baby. Please. Tell me-ohhh…tell me what you’re doin’ over there.”

You squealed a sultry giggle, further igniting Peter’s pleasured frenzy. He squirmed in his spot on the sofa, forcing himself to stay put. Battling the forces of the universe, it was all Peter could do not to race to your room. Just to spread your legs and hump you like a speedy bunny.

“Mmmm…I’m just doing what you asked me to…I’m being so good for you right now.” You whimpered.

“Oh. Okay…uhm…far out. Uh…wanna gimme the steamy details?” He heckled again, fumbling his words in his nervousness, “Please, don’t hold off on me, baby.”

“I’m…” Your precious voice wavered, teeming with awkwardness as your confidence dwindled, “I’m playing with my little pussy. Just for you. And I’m so wet. I can’t stop thinking about your hands…so big…”

“Боже мой (my god).” Peter muttered. Combating impatience brought upon by his genes, he willed himself to take things slow. His strokes became steady and teasing, as he edged his aching cock, “Holy shit, babe. Yeah? Keep goin’...”

You moaned soft squeals into the receiver, “I want you so bad, Quickie. Please, baby, don’t make me beg. Can you touch this little pussy for me? Please? Your fingers are so big. I don’t think they’d fit all at once. It’s been a while, and I’m so tight.” Your naughty voice pleaded.

“God, I wanna touch you so bad. Я хочу прикоснуться к этой сладкой киске (I want to touch that sweet pussy).” Peter’s impatience got the better of him, and he quickly gave in. He grasped his cock hard, wringing himself fast enough to make his balls bounce. Creasing his brows, he groaned, “Ohhh..What’re you tryna to do to me, babe? Talkin’ about how tight you are…Ебать…”

“But I ammmm.” You whined again, “I’m squeezing my tiny fingers so tight. It’s so soft and hot for you. Bet it’d feel really good if you stretched me. With your fingers, with your cock - fuck, Pietro. I just need you, baby.”

“Please, baby, oh, please? Wanna be inside you. Wanna feel you. I promise I won’t go too fast. Я обещаю (I promise).” Peter whimpered. But as you mewled again, another forceful wave of carnal heat crashed over Peter. In a quieter tone, he choked, “Нет, я могу. Я пойду так быстро (No, I can. I’ll go so fast).”

“Pietro, you can go as fast as you want, baby. I won’t stop you.” You pleaded, your broken voice so kittenish and wanton, “F-Fuck. I’m rubbing my clit. So sensitive. Thinking about you. Thinking about your mouth on me.”

“Ебать!!” Peter moaned through clenched teeth. His self control rapidly abandoned him. Speedily rutting his sore cock through the squeeze of his fist, his body refused to slow down, “Говоря о скорости (Speaking of speed)...” Peter craned his neck back, raising a hand to keep the handset to his ear, “You gotta stop makin’ all those cute noises, baby. Please…I can’t-”

As surges of horny pleasure circulated through his body, Peter thought of you again. He imagined you on your bed, caged under him between his arms. In his daydreams, he kissed you intimately, touching your pretty, naked body. Peter wanted to feel how wet you were for himself. And hell, the danger of pushing your friendship past its limits made you more tempting. Such a lewd, risky thought pushed him closer to the edge of something righteous.

“Baby, I wanna see you. Can I? Can I see you stroke that thick cock? Would you let me? Ohh, fuck, Pietro.” You whimpered. And your noises were so shamelessly lecherous, you could’ve made a pornstar blush, “Can I kiss it, please? Can I kiss your big cock?” You whimpered.

“О боже мой, пожалуйста (Oh my god, please)!” Peter choked, every word hitching in his throat, “Baby…babe, you can’t do this. Ya really can’t be-” He laughed lazily, his dark eyes falling half lidded. His cock throbbed, bright red and turning purple at the tip. He rutted in a speedy blur, “Stop. Stop. Stop. I’m gonna…babe, I’m gonna bust-” He slurred.

You squealed his name as loudly as your hushed voice would allow. And Peter swore he could hear the slick sound of your fingers. As they played with your pretty, little cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Please cum with me. Please? Pietro, OH~!”

“я кончаю, я кончаю (I’m cumming, I’m cumming)! ‘M Gonna-” Peter’s moans seeped through the receiver, his wet lips parting and mouth hanging open.

His swollen cock erupted in white-hot jets, coating his pecs and belly. With all his muscles tensed, Peter’s legs trembled. He rode out those lusty waves in tandem with you. The pleasure of orgasm sounded leagues more intense on your side. You took longer to cruise through it, whimpering and moaning Peter’s name. As you did, Peter basked in his momentary afterglow. Keeping the phone pressed to his ear, his head resting on the arm of the sofa; he listened to you with a smirk on his lips. At the end of your journey in ecstasy, your moans turned into flustered giggles.

Peter's thoughts reeled him in again. Imagining you, looking so sheepish and fine in his jacket. Now, he desperately wanted the real deal. To see you in all your post-nut glory. Mere seconds later, his sore cock pulsed to life again. As his hardness squirmed on his belly, Peter breathed another sigh.

On his end, you heard nothing but silence. You kept calling his name, your tired voice infused with anxiety.

“Uhm…Peter? Hey…are you there?” You asked.

And he didn't say a single word more.

[acourtofthought]

Just in case people are confused why Eluciens don't feel Jurian is the reason Elucien shouldn't end up together and why we'd have no issues with her interacting with him -

Jurian looked right to Mor, whose mouth was a tight line. “You were my friend,” he said, voice straining. “We fought back-to-back during some battles. And yet you believed me at first sight—believed that I’d ever let them turn me.”

“And I was glad to do it,” Jurian snarled. “I was glad to do it, if it bought us an edge in that war. I didn’t care what it did to me, what it broke in me. If it meant we could be free. And I have had five hundred years to think about it. While being held prisoner by my enemy. Five hundred years, Mor.” The way he said her name, so familiar and knowing—

“You played the villain convincingly enough, Jurian,” Rhys purred. Jurian snapped his face toward Rhys. “You should have looked. I expected you to look into my mind, to see the truth. Why didn’t you?”

“You mean to imply,” Mor pushed, “that you’ve been working to help us during this?”. “Where better to plot your enemy’s demise, to learn their weaknesses, than at their side?”

I said to Jurian, “You don’t want to kill Miryam and Drakon.” There was stark honesty in Jurian’s eyes as he shook his head once. “No,” he said roughly. “I want to beg their forgiveness.”. I looked to Mor. But tears lined her eyes, and she blinked them furiously away.

Jurian was not my enemy. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Even as Rhys and I both looked. I didn’t linger for long. The pain and guilt and rage, what he had seen and endured … But Jurian spoke true. Laid himself bare to us.

Jurian leaned in as if he’d kiss me, and brought his mouth to my ear. “Were you smart enough to kill her before you took her skin?” My hands tightened on his jacket. “She got what she deserved.” I could feel Jurian’s smile against my ear. “She’s in his tent. Chained with steel and a little spell from his favorite book.” Shit. Shit. Perhaps I should have gotten Helion, who could break almost any— Jurian caught my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Come to my tent with me, Ianthe. Let me see what that pretty mouth can do.” (Jurian helping Feyre find Elain after she was taken by the Cauldron)

“Jurian …” Lucien blew out a breath, scanning the carved wood ceiling above. “Thank the Cauldron for him. I never thought I’d say that, but it’s true.” He ran a hand through his silken red hair. “He’s keeping everything running. I think he’d have been crowned king by now if it wasn’t for Vassa.”

“How’s the Spring Court?” Nesta asked. The fire crackled merrily to her right, and she let the sound ripple through and past her. Acknowledged the crack and what it did to her, and released it. Even as she concentrated on the male she’d addressed. Lucien’s jaw tightened. “How you’d expect.” Tension rippled through the room, confirmation that Tamlin had heard the news of Feyre’s pregnancy. From Lucien’s grim face, she knew he hadn’t reacted well. Nesta said, “And Jurian and Vassa?”

We've got canon confirmation that Jurian is actually a good guy, that he was willing to suffer so long as it saved the rest, that Rhys and Feyre looked into his mind to confirm this, that he's been a friend to Lucien, that he was Mor's friend.

So you'll understand why that all holds a bit more weight for us regarding Jurian’s true character over what anti's like to cling to, crass statements made while he was pretending to be the bad guy while Hybern and / or his lackeys were present.

Sarah has clearly moved the story forward showing Jurian in an extremely positive light. SHE is the one who wrote him making the joke (because it made more sense than Jurian telling Lucien Elain would be fine in the NC since they were his friends and he knew they'd keep her safe) then SHE is the one who revealed him as the good guy playing double agent. All we're doing is understanding what she wrote.

Elain would be lucky to have a war hero as her friend.

[leclsrc]

hi, could you please do the five confessions prompt with charles?

proving my devotion – cl16

genre: fluff, sry charles is a pining yearning mess, title from this

send for five times the receiver almost says ‘i love you’ and the one time they do.

The plates clack against each other, dissonant in the otherwise still evening. Charles stacks one atop the other, awaits his mother’s nosy questioning—the inevitable gamble, every time he brings a girl home—but she’s quiet, humming a song under her breath, the one she always sings when she’s doing the dishes. Something’s different tonight, a slight change he can’t name.

“So,” he starts, because she won’t and the curiosity kills him. His eyes find you, with the ease he’s adopted in the months of knowing you, dancing with Lorenzo on the patio to a Luther Vandross song. “Thoughts?”

“Hmm. Tu es fouineur.” She teases, a glint in her eye. How the tables have turned, she seems to say.

Silently, over the dirty dishes, they both recount the day gone: the lunch moved from noon to half-past-three because Arthur burned the turkey, the dropped bottle of wine you’d gifted because one of Charles’ uncles accidentally let it slip from his hand (you said it was okay, it was just a hundred euros when it was closer to one grand), the guitar performance from Charles.

The way the sun had drowned in a sea of Monaco orange, and with it the stories of weddings, Jules, and Hervé, and the affair moved outside to the patio so Lorenzo could boast his brand new speaker that was so worth the many zeroes on the price tag, maman! And you had quickly found out Charles’ inability to dance was, in fact, genetic.

It’s a new sensation for Charles, a thrilling one, a frightening one even. He squeezes the sponge and watches soap filter through his fingers. He turns, lets his green eyes meet your soft ones. It’s an exhausting effort but he says it anyway, wrenches it out quietly: “I think… I think I…”

“I know,” Pascale says. She presses a kiss to his shoulder. “I see it.”

—

You’d taken home a frayed copy of The Little Prince you bought at a garage sale.

It’s so old, its pages have long yellowed and there’s evidence of past ownership all over it. Most notable of them is a name on the front page, along with a number that’s probably unused now. Isn’t it so quaint—and the words, babe, you’d said with conviction when he questioned your purchase, the words are in French!

You’ve been trying your luck with the language for a good few weeks, but it’s a brick wall—mur de briques, if you go by the textbook on your bedside table. You huff when you can’t translate the last lines of the passage you’re reading, tossing the book onto the empty space beside you that is quickly occupied by Charles’ bulky figure.

“Stuck again?” He asks, opening the dog-eared pages to find where your bookmark is nestled. Under your palms, you groan and nod with frustration.

“Don’t try me,” you say, voice gravelly. “I can’t translate it.”

The rough pad of his index finger traces the yellowed page, and he smiles softly at your many annotations. Verb conjugation, words you found easy, words you still forget now.

His eyes flicker up, to your lying figure, the freckles on your arms, the mole on your hip he can only see because your shorts have ridden down low. His heart swells, seizes, his mind rampant with thoughts of you. Please tell her, he says to himself. Tell her everything. Tell her how you find her in all the passages, in all the French words, in all the books, in all the times she says your name. She’s everywhere, she’s everything. Tell her tell her tell her you lo—

But the realness of it all chokes him, and he says instead, placing a big palm on your abdomen, “I’ll read it for you.”

—

There are few sentences considered odd on a paddock. People say anything on it—driver gossip, car gossip, celebrity gossip, engineer gossip. Charles can guarantee he’s heard some of the weirdest statements and Freudian slips (the one time Christian Horner called Toto ‘dad’) on a paddock. 

“Carlos—pshhfhf—sprayed—pfffsh—whip cream—on my face!” …Okay, that’s. That’s different.

He turns, eyes wide. “What?!”

You stand in the doorway, frozen.

Your face is almost completely covered in white, and bits of your hair have fallen victim to the sweet spray of whip, too. You look frazzled and freaked. “I just got my hair blown out. I did my makeup. Dude. I look like a clown.”

“Oh, my God,” he says, already unable to contain his laughter. “I love you—!”

A millisecond passes him by like an hour. “—r uh, your new makeup hairdo, thing, a-ling. Thing-a-ling. Makeup. Your new makeup.” 

—

There is an angel in Charles’ bed. She leaves a lovebite on his neck.

“Good morning,” he says, gruff. I love— but it stops itself before he can even open his mouth.

—

You get into a minor fight about cooking music.

Charles waves the whisk in the air, claims he will die on the hill of cooking to French jazz. You call it pretentious and crank up the Stevie Wonder. Eventually you fall into a repeated pattern of songs that satisfy the both of you.

“I read somewhere that if you roll basil up,” you say, chewing on a rogue leaf of mint from your pre-dinner mojito and walking up to him, “and chop it, it saves time trying to cut it up by itself.”

“Does it?” Charles asks, entertaining you. You roll your eyes and shove him lightly. He raises the knife in his hand, mumbles careful, baby under his breath. You insist he try, so he rolls up two leaves. Unfortunately, you’re right.

“So now we get to have pesto in five minutes instead of five hours,” you tease, kissing him. It’s minty, there’s French jazz in the background, and you’ve taught him to chop basil in the most affectionate soft-spoken way possible. It’s sacred. He’s afraid, he’s always been, that he would never be able to say it, that it would always be a losing game of wrestling words out of his throat—but now he’s not. 

“I love you,” he mutters. It’s easy, unforced, natural. The words find solace, find home in the warm kitchen. He refuses to open his eyes because God knows what you’ll say then. Run away maybe? Throw all the basil to the ground? Down the entire cooler of mojito?

Your silence is deafening. “Did you hear me?” He opens his eyes.

A foolishly pretty smile greets him. “I got it the first five times.”

[cameronspecial]

I Will Explode With Joy, Rafe

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Summary: Rafe loves to make the Holiday season the best for his angel.

Masterlist

Rafe loves to go all out with presents during the Christmas season. He has to stop himself from filling the living room with presents from his angel. But this Christmas, he has found the perfect excuse that allows him to buy her a gift that costs at least two thousand dollars. The cost doesn’t phase him; his fiancée deserves the world with how hard she has been working on her Master’s. As soon as he feels her heavy breath meets the skin of his chest, he carefully untangles himself from her hold. He places a pillow with one of his shirts on it underneath her so she has something to cuddle. He heads down to the basement to start bringing up the things he needs for her gift. It takes him about three hours to get everything together, but it’s going to be worth it once he sees how excited she will be when she sees this gift. Because, of course, he will have more than this for her Christmas presents. The minimum he can spend on her is five thousand. He puts the final touches on the gift and makes his way back upstairs to bed with the woman he is going to marry. 

———

Y/N wakes up before Rafe does and she stays in bed until he does too. His eyes flutter open with a massive grin forming on his face at the same time. “Merry Christmas, Angel,” he whispers, kissing her nose. She matches his facial expression, “Merry Christmas to you too, Rafe.” His arms reach out to pull her closer to him. “Are you ready to go open presents?” he asks with excitement laced in his voice. Her lips pucker a little, “I am, but with how you are acting, I’m scared of finding out what you did this year.” Rafe chuckles and kisses her forehead. He gets out of bed, holding out his hand for her to take. He guides her downstairs and her eyes almost bulge out of her head at the sight of the most obvious gift.

It is a five-foot-tall Christmas tree made out of books, like the one she has seen on social media. The books overlap each other like bricks to make rows and rows of circles that meet at a point at the top. Ornaments rest on small book ledges alongside a light garland. At the very top, is a decorative book that has the pages forming a heart. It has to be at the very least one hundred books and she knows they are all new books because she recognizes some of the books from her to be bought list. She doesn’t walk further into the room; instead, she opts to stand in the doorway with her mouth agape. Her silence causes Rafe to panic. Did he get the wrong books? Did he go too far? Should he have made it taller? He knew he should’ve made it six feet. “Angel, do you like it?” he frets, placing a hand on her shoulder. Tears start to form in her eyes, “I don’t like it. I love it. I will explode with joy, Rafe. This is amazing.” She jumps into his arms, bringing warmth to his face by attacking him with her lips. Her legs wrap around him and he lets out a sigh of relief. “Good because I really wanted this to show you how much I love you,” he confesses. She gives him a final kiss on the lips, “You always show me how much I mean to you, but this really does take the cake. I love it and you, Rafe. Thank you.” Satisfied with her reaction, Rafe places her on the couch so that she can open her other presents. He’ll help her move all her new books into her library later today. She’ll probably need a new bookshelf too.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @queen-shadow22 @victory-in-the-llama

[coyotelip]

starchaser (+ onesided moonwater) microfic: salt, hypnotized || MCD || @into-the-jeggyverse @taylorswiftmicrofic || wc: 687

Every Saturday, the same man comes to the restaurant. 

They are a fairly prestigious restaurant, so regular customers are not uncommon, but this man is particularly eye-catching. He is always dressed in a perfectly tailored suit over a black shirt. In fact, all of his clothes are black, which suits his pale skin and black hair. He books a table for the same time, arrives exactly 5 minutes earlier, orders the same dish with the same wine. 

He is always alone.

This sets him apart from others, because such prestigious places are used for dates or meetings with partners to impress. However, it seems that the man has no one to impress. He is sitting at a far table under a painting of a forest landscape, eating his meal slowly and with manners and watching the candles on the table. 

He seems to be hypnotized, sometimes he can take a sip of wine and roll it around in his mouth, watching the flame at the end of a long candle for a couple of minutes. 

Remus is equally hypnotized by these moments, but it's not the candle, it's this man, his slow and graceful movements. And although he is dressed in black, he acts on Remus like a flame on a moth. He wants to get closer, wants to hear his voice and smell his cologne. 

However, the man's table is not assigned to him, and Remus does not even get the opportunity to ask if he needs some water or the bill, or to say bon appetit or good evening. 

So he stays in the corner, hypnotized by the unattainable flame, running through hundreds of questions in his head and wondering why. 

◇◇◇

Every Saturday, Regulus comes to their place. He comes to their restaurant, at their time, sits at their table, orders their favorite dish, and spends exactly the same amount of time as it took James on their first date to charm Regulus completely. Thirty-three minutes.

He recalls how the wine tasted the sweetest on those evenings together, how everything around them disappeared for him, and they existed in their own bubble, sharing events in their lives, discussing colleagues and friends. They met their anniversaries, birthdays, and celebrated promotions at work here.

James proposed to him here. At this table, with a bottle of this wine, five years ago. He hid the ring in the salt and made Regulus laugh with this incredible performance.

“Oh, I think the salad is under-salted today... Mm, something is wrong with this saltine, could you please take a look, dear?”

“Oh my god, it's probably just empty, call the waiter and they'll replace it”

“I don't want to bother them with something so stupid, but look, for me?” James' big eyes does wonders on Regulus, so he couldn't refuse and took the salt in his hands, unscrewing the lid.

Only to find a silver engagement ring with an emerald inside instead of salt.

Four years ago, they got married.

Three years ago, they bought a house on the outskirts of town because James wanted Regulus to have a studio at home.

Two years ago, their house burned down with everything inside. With James inside.

And the most painful thing was that Regulus was left with nothing, not a single thing, because the house had everything. He didn't care about the documents or his studio, all of which could be repaired with money. However, he did care about the things they had earned together, about their photos and books with notes, about gifts from his husband, about his things. He cared about James's body, which remained there, right in front of the door, because he hadn't managed to get out before he lost consciousness.

Regulus was left with only memories, and he decided to drown himself in them, finding no other way out.

And every Saturday he came to their restaurant, sat down at their table and ordered their meal, hypnotized by the candle in front of him, begging for the little flame to swallow him up and take him away with it, just as it had once taken James away from him.

[skyfallscotland]

Some updates since the last summary post. I didn't go to the convention on Sunday, but @caitm1 did and she said the workers told her that Rebecca's wrist swelled up from the amount of signatures she was doing (already, one day in!) and she had it taped up.

Rebecca also mentioned last night (Monday) at the second event I attended that she'd had a vestibular migraine just before and couldn't walk in a straight line a few hours ago, so I mean, I felt like I wanted to mention that first because as a chronically ill girlie I know how fucking hard it must be and I don't think a lot of fans appreciate what she does for us and how much she puts her body through.

Her signings this weekend were free and even though we paid for a ticket on Monday night, if you bought the ticket with the pre-signed book, that was at cost. $20 for a signed paperback. So yeah, just...I know it's a business, but she does a lot, ok. Don't be unappreciative of the extra mile.

Now, I recorded both Saturday's panel and Monday night's, I'm trying to figure out how to post it, but no website wants to cooperate with such a big file, so stand by, or like...help if you know tech things 💀

If you haven't seen my post with what we learned from Saturday's, it's here. Below is a summary of what we've learnt since then.

Bombshell alert: @caitm1 tells me that on Sunday, Rebecca said one of her original ideas for the end of Iron Flame was for Violet to become venin and not Xaden. *crickets* let's just take a moment here together... 😨

Honestly, I'm all for it, I low key feel like I would have liked that better, it would have been so good, but alas, we have venin-Xaden now, so we have to deal 🥲

Now, about Monday. A lot of the questions asked and things spoken about were the same as Saturday. The host picked the fan questions she asked and didn't really pick much that was plot or character related. She didn't pick any of mine and yes, I'm still mad about it. WHAT ARE THEIR NAMES

Here's the quotes, questions and tidbits I found interesting:

• Her editor for Fourth Wing and Iron Flame, is the head of Red Tower, so she's the publisher. I did not know this. I don't think I've seen this in practice before? She's also involved with the Amazon series because of this.

• "I'm not afraid of hurting you." That we already knew. 💀

• "Because we knew what had the television series when I was in edits, so we had to write out a synopsis and when I first thought it would be five books, I immediately sent the synopsis to my editor, who, you know, we sent it to Amazon because we needed to tell them; this is the definitive vision for the story. I can tell you, in Onyx Storm, I've already deviated from like...who I thought would pass in that book, as opposed to...I've already deviated some from that."

Sorry, what? Who was meant to die? My money is, as always, on Rhi or Garrick. You know I have thoughts/feelings about that. Look, if I've learned anything this weekend it's that someone important is going to die, a lot of people are going to die, ok? She's very frank about death and the realities of war and if you're worried about your favourite side characters for the next few books, well...you should be.

• She loves writing Ridoc. @yanny-77 no chance to ask about bodoc, sorry! 😂

• On Xaden and people's perception of him: "It's always funny because I always hear...he gets compared to Rhysand a lot? Xaden's like twenty-two at the beginning of Fourth Wing; Rhysand's like what? Five hundred? Ok, twenty-two, so it's very much like—it is a college. It's a college romance and that first love."

• She was surprised at how much people loved Aaric, given how little he's on-page.

• She also defended Dain again 🥳💗 #DainApologistsClub

• She expanded a little more on Jack. So perhaps what she meant on Saturday about his reasons, was simply that his reason will be touched upon in OS, but it's clear. "Jack's motivations are clear-cut, which makes him so easy to write. He's such an example of the hunger for power and what happens when you aren't selected for the power you think you deserve, which is one of the themes of Fourth Wing. So Jack's an easy character, he's straight-on."

• Are there any easter eggs that you put in the first two books that you don't think were caught by fans? "Violet's second signet! I totally thought it was obvious. Um, I did, to the point where my editor was like 'hey, we should probably put a line in here' and I was like dude no, people will catch it." Y'all know my thoughts on that so I'll stay quite over here in my corner.

Someone asked "what is it then?" and she replied, "no, no, no, now we're having fun with this, now."

• The hardest scene for her to write in Fourth Wing was the battle scene, because it was her first fantasy and so her first one. She wrote it and her editor said no, it has to be a little longer than this.

"So that was really hard for me to write, especially because in the moment she loses Liam, she has to get up and go. And I'm used to being able to give my characters this moment to grieve, this moment to take the news, this moment to absorb it and really feel it. And it's hard to get the reader to really feel that emotion when death is coming straight for you. So that was really difficult. And I was crying."

ME TOO, TBH

• If she was to describe Onyx Storm in two Taylor Swift songs, it would be Who's Afraid of Little Old Me? & So It Goes.

• If Empyrean was written in interconnected stand alones, she would have already jumped to Rhi or Imogen.

• Her favourite sections are the epigraphs that she writes above the chapter headings. "It's my most valuable real estate, the fact that you guys skip over them sometimes, I'm like—I'm wicked funny in there, ok?"

• If Violet and Xaden visited Australia, what would they do for fun? "I'd say go visit places they can't catch on fire. I guess they could find a beach." @empyrean-thrones there you go, we're on point! 😂

And that's about it! Happy theorising! 💗

It was a wild weekend, but so worth it. I was in my feelings a lot. I hope you guys get a chance to meet her or hear her speak in person one day, too 🫶

[yandere-sins]

Happy Valentine’s, my Love

a/n: Happy Valentine’s guys! I hope you have a lovely day, regardless of the purpose of the holiday or if you’re celebrating it. Remember that if there’s nothing else to love, we can still love Yandere (;

Warning: Yandere, Detailed Violence/Gore, Long Post, Abuse mention

Valentine's Day has never been your favorite celebration of the year.

When you were single, it showed you just how alone you were as you passed by happy, kissing couples on the streets. Halloween, Christmas, and birthdays—those were all festivities shared with family and friends, so you enjoyed them as long as they kept your mind off things. When you finally got your first boyfriend, you thought that for sure, Valentine's would be enjoyable from now on too. 

But you were wrong.

You loved him. You would have sworn to anyone doubting you that you loved that cruel bastard of a man who didn't care about your poor, desperate heart, pleading to be loved by him. Being with him broke you, and latest when Valentine's Day came around, and he decided to go out with his friends rather than stay with you, you realized he didn't feel as strongly about you as you did about him. Leaving him was the best and worst decision of your whole life. Best, because you knew you'd be able to move on, find someone to appreciate you. Someone normal, someone kind.

Worst because that scumbag wouldn't let you leave him so easily.

There was no detail you spared your boyfriend when you told him about your ex. You showed him the scars, the panic in your eyes, the restraining order, and every police report that came after. You wanted him to know. Everything. Without knowing your past, you couldn't imagine a future for you two. Though it may have been early in your relationship, you needed to know if there would be another lonely or, perhaps, a warm Valentine's Day awaiting you with this man you decided to trust. You finally had your answer when he held you as you cried, rubbed your back, and comforted you. He was the right one. He was kind and he was normal, accepting and understanding of everything about you.

So, how could it be that on Valentine's Day, you heaved yet another long sigh as you lowered your phone, still no reply from your boyfriend about when he was going to be home? There was no excuse like 'working late' or 'stopping to get dinner' when he had been off for the last five hours, and you had already cooked and set the table. Nothing could have been more important on a Tuesday evening than to get home to his beloved partner waiting for him. You couldn't think of any other excuses to make except for…

He forgot.

Maybe you were being childish. Disillusioned by TV and social media, romance books and games, that someone could actually exist who'd care. Care about you, your feelings, and this stupid couple's holiday. You didn't need someone who'd take you out on a unique, fancy date just because capitalism forced him to. You didn't even want presents or your partner being overly excited about a home-cooked meal and some sexy lingerie for dessert. Honestly, you two could have celebrated on any given day that you were in love and happy with each other. You just wanted someone to care. 

There were a hundred things you could think of that you two could be doing, even if some made you slightly less comfortable than others. Your boyfriend had some interesting hobbies, like taking you out to the woods for a weekend, a secret cabin where it would only be you two and his camera that would constantly go off to capture pictures of you. He liked to practice tying knots and bought you two all kinds of sensual toys, including blindfolds and gags. Occasionally, you enjoyed the new activities too. Still, you felt like you'd never enjoy them quite as much as your boyfriend did, no matter how much fun you had. It made him happy first and foremost, so you tried to indulge him, knowing he would do the same for you. If anything, he had always been exactly what you wanted—kind, caring, affectionate, and a great cook. The bar wasn't high after what your ex did, but your boyfriend lifted it higher than you ever thought he could. 

Which was why it was so strange he forgot this day, despite it being so important on your healing journey.

He usually was the one to always remember important dates or where you put your things whenever you happened to be forgetful. He took care of you when you were sick, saying things like, "I will always make sure you're happy and loved, Darling." His attitude and efforts made you look the other way whenever he asked you to pose for his camera or trust him when he booked another weird place for a weekend trip. You didn't enjoy these things as much as he did, but knowing he's been doing them since childhood, you couldn't deny him that little bit of freedom when he changed his life to accommodate you in return. 

You wanted to be angry about him not showing up, knowing it meant the world to you, but if you were honest, you were just disappointed. Maybe you had put too many of your problems onto him. Perhaps he was tired of taking care of you all the time. Maybe this wasn't the right relationship either, no matter how much you wanted it to be. Mistakes were made before, and this could have been one of them.

Your train of thought was harshly interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, your head snapping around as you stared at your boyfriend wide-eyed and surprised as he giddily stepped inside, holding multiple bags of renowned stores you liked to shop in, grinning like he always did when seeing you. 

"Sorry for not replying earlier! I was preoccupied."

Pushing off his shoes and hanging up his coat, he spoke nonchalantly as if your inner tumult didn't face him. Which, to be fair, you didn't even know if he was aware of. The bags in his hand were clearly apology gifts that he could shove wherever. Now you did feel angry, but when your boyfriend finally stepped into the kitchen, lifting his nose in the air and humming blissfully, you almost felt bad, seeing how innocent he looked, unaware of your anger. 

"I wish I could have gotten back earlier, but I needed to take care of something," he called out from the kitchen sink, rinsing his hands dutifully. He was a bit of a goofball, wiping his wet hands on his shirt before sliding over to you on his socks, grinning from ear to ear as he met your gaze. You loved his playful ways, the tenderness of always searching for your no matter what. It was either eye contact or holding hands in public; your boyfriend never too shy to show you were with him. 

"I know what you're thinking, but I didn't forget," he chuckled, scratching his cheek nervously after he noticed your furrowed brows. Moving around the couch you were sitting on, he took a seat right next to you, knees touching as he reached for your hand that you didn't pull away, even if just to see what he'd do. "I just wanted to make this the most special Valentine's ever."

Glancing at his fingers, your eyes got stuck at the red paint around the rim of where his nails met his skin, and you raised an eyebrow, replying, "Okay…?" 

Did he make you a card? Painted a picture? Maybe he decorated a cake… You wanted to be pessimistic, given how he had already wasted most of the day being tardy. However, the promise of him actually going through the trouble of making you something from scratch was already more effort than you could have expected from him. 

"Every day, you make me so happy," your boyfriend started, a doe-eyed look on his face as he gently massaged your hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss it reverently, his breath tingling against your skin. "Allowing me to love you is the greatest gift you could have ever made me. Just waking up every morning knowing I have you to cherish gives me the strength to overcome any hurdle in my life. I only need food, water, and you to survive my days with no regrets and no ill feelings. That's how much you changed me."

 Planting some more kisses on the back of your hand, your boyfriend looked back up at you, grinning one of his beautiful, sunny smiles that you loved so much, his dimples making him look like he was out of a movie rather than the man you called your boyfriend. Hearing his confession made your anger evaporate, tears brimming your eyes that he quickly wiped away with his thumb. "Don't cry yet, I'm not finished, and you know I can't hold back when you cry."

You both laughed off the awkwardness and the stuffy noses as you took some deep breaths, gathering your composure as best as possible. "I wouldn't want to miss you ever," he sighed blissfully, his gaze piercing right into your soul, laying the words there like bandages around your scarred heart. "You're my light, and I love you more than humanly possible. I want that, exactly this here, right now, forever."

Pulling his hand away from caressing your cheek, he fumbled with the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a little red box shaped like a heart. Your breath hitched as you put your hand over your mouth to not let it hang wide open, surprised as your boyfriend opened the lid to reveal a beautiful ring that undoubtedly would have your size. "Will you do me the honor of marrying me?" he asked, fingertips brushing over the velvet outline of the ring box nervously. And you…

Hesitated. 

A part of you wanted nothing more than to say yes, throw your arms around him, kiss him, let him put the ring on your finger, and call you by his last name. But then the thoughts you had before your boyfriend came home returned to your mind, and suddenly, doubts flooded you. You always thought he was the one to make you happy. The one to start a family with even. You were okay with his strange obsession with his hobbies, and he did his best to support you and make you feel loved daily. Why did you doubt him just because he was a little late on Valentine's Day? It was such a silly idea after the heartfelt confession he just made, wanting you to know all the ways he felt about you. 

Strangely enough, your eyes fell to his fingernails again, the red rims and dirt under the nail. Your boyfriend was very careful about his looks. It was strange that he didn't take the time to make himself look prim and proper for something as important as a proposal. He always obsessed about looking presentable to you whenever he was out with you. Even when he swore you were beautiful no matter what, he always put in the extra effort for himself. 

"I…" you mumbled, your sentence coming to a choked stop as if invisible hands were trying to stop you from speaking and squeezing the air out of your lungs. The sparkle in your boyfriend's eyes faded as he noticed your hesitation, an expression of hurt crossing over his face even though he tried to hide it behind a smile. 

"I'm sorry, was that too rash? I mean, we never discussed it. I just thought today would be a good day, and… Wow, I… This is awkward." 

Putting the ring away, he scratched the back of his head, turning from you. You wanted to reach out, console him, tell him he didn't do anything wrong, but as you watched his expression turn from hurt to bitter, you instead hugged your own body, leaning away from him. Next you knew, he was up, pacing back and forth behind the couch, muttering mixes of justifications and excuses.

"You said yes to your ex. I thought I could erase the Valentine's trauma if I did the same. I don't really know why I thought you'd say yes... We're still in our early stages, right? Gosh, I'm dumb sometimes! Just ignore I asked. It made sense to me when I saw the ring and thought of you, but I should have consulted you beforehand. It's not even that pretty. It's not good enough for you. You deserve a better ring, bigger and a lot more expensive than this little thing. They said it's a real diamond, but I'm not so sure. Am I making it worse? Please say no, this is already too embarrassing! We can't tell anyone I was so stupid to think you'd want to marry me."

Suddenly, your boyfriend stopped, looking at you. His breathing seemed to halt as he stared into your eyes with an unnerving, emotionless gaze. "You love me, though, right?"

Blinking at him, you couldn't quite follow his tirade of sentences, but you gave a slow nod, his expression changing instantly. "Phew! Lucky me! Here I thought I ruined it." The tension that had stopped him in his tracks flowed out of him, muscles relaxing, lips curling back into a smile. 

Coming back to the couch, he took his place next to you, reaching for your hand to take into his, resting it on top of his thigh. For a moment, he stayed like this, brushing his thumb back and forth over the back of your hand as he smiled upon it thoughtfully. "This was a mistake, but I wouldn't be able to bear it if you'd hate me now. Can you tell me why it's a no?"

Looking up at you, you couldn't help but avert your gaze after catching his, seeing his kindness and patience that swirled with his love for you in it. He was always like that, understanding and accepting no matter what you did. How could you possibly confess to him that it was because you had a bad feeling about how he acted on Valentine's Day? That would make you look like an absolute idiot, wouldn't it? Rejecting him for being late?

"It's just… a little too early," you stammered, making apparent excuses. Eleven months may have been a bit quick, but you two had a lovely relationship so far. "I see…" he mumbled. His head fell back as he let out a loud laugh, squeezing your hand tightly as if he feared losing his hold. "And here I thought it was because of your ex."

"Why do you keep bringing him up?" you asked, a ping of irritation going through you at the constant reminder. 

"Well, you brought up marriage much earlier with him, but you never talked about it with me."

Odd, you thought, not remembering giving him that detail. You were sure you mentioned you thought your ex was the one you'd marry, but this seemed like a knowledge that you didn't think you told him about.

"I… maybe?" you mumbled, unsure if this had actually happened since you avoided letting your memories resurface. 

"Yeah, so I thought maybe I wasn't good enough for you. Maybe you still like your ex more than me. That's why you never brought up marriage. Don't tell me you actually still feel for that bastard?"

His words were throat-cutting sharp as he spit them out, his eyes fixating tensely on you as if to warn you not to say the wrong thing. "Of course not…" you mumbled, appalled at your boyfriend's thoughts. "You know I'm with you now. I rarely ever think of that guy…"

"Good… good," he mumbled, features softening as he looked forward, brushing his thumb over your hand again as he stared into nothingness thoughtfully. "It would be hard to piece him together again if you changed your mind."

"What?" you mumbled, cocking your head and furrowing your brows, waiting for your boyfriend to explain what he meant with his strange choice of words. 

Sitting up straight, your boyfriend stopped tracing over the back of your hand, taking a deep breath instead. Rolling his head to face you, he forced a smile on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Somehow, I knew," he sighed, a hint of regret decorating his features. "I knew you wouldn't say yes."

"I couldn't pinpoint it. It was just a feeling I had as I drove home today. It got me thinking of reasons why you would reject my proposal. I kept driving up and down the street, too nervous to just come in and ask you; that's why I was so late. Because at one turn, I ended up on your ex's street, passing by his house, and I stopped the car. I felt like it was his fault that you'd reject me, and I looked through his window, and there he was, cuddling with some girl that didn't look like you at all. Probably a whore. That's the best that scumbag can do."

He spat the last two sentences as if they disgusted him on your behalf. As if he was angry, your ex wasn't at least miserable about losing you. It seemed sweet, but your boyfriend's actions were scaring you more and more, especially when you tried to pull back your hand, his fingers clutching around your wrist tightly as he kept you right where you were, not giving you a chance to back away until you relented, letting him continue to brush his thumb back and forth over it.

"I knew I couldn't just leave him like that. He hurt you. He hurt you badly, and I wanted him to suffer. I rang the bell, waiting for him to open, but he let the slut get the door for him, that lazy piece of shit. So I wrapped my arm around her neck, pulled her to the kitchen, and slit her throat right in front of his face. And can you believe it? He cried. Like a little baby, as the bitch bled out."

Your blood ran cold as he spun his gruesome tale. You were even more inclined to get away from him as his expression filled with a mix of indifference and hatred. However, he turned towards you, reaching for your arm and pulling you closer to him, no matter how hard he had to jank until you fell into his arms. "I thought about you," he mumbled, eyes shifting back to the affectionate spark you loved being looked at with normally. He smiled as he caressed your skin, full of goosebumps. "I only thought of you as I rammed the knife into his back over and over, not giving him an easy way out while he cried and pleaded for me to stop. But I didn't. Not until he collapsed, gurgling. That's when I decided it would be the best gift for you, and I hope you'll like it."

Finally, your boyfriend took his hands away, fluttering touches turning into nothingness as he got up. He was eerily calm, not chipper like usual, and not bothered by what he just told you. He stepped around the couch, touching your shoulder as he passed you by, chuckling to himself about the good thing he did while you tried to comprehend the shock you were feeling, disgust and panic not yet having set in. 

"I got you other presents too, but nothing as good as this one," he explained, and you heard the bags rustling behind your back, sending another shiver down your spine. How ironic, you thought, realizing he did make you something homemade for Valentine's. It made a splashing sound as he pulled it out of the bag, and it explained the red stains on his fingers, but it was neither a card, a picture, nor a cake. 

You opened your mouth to scream as your boyfriend slipped the severed head of your ex wrapped in multiple layers of saran wrap into your lap, an anguished expression of pain forever chiseled into the features of the man you once loved. He had never been a good lover to you, but you were pretty sure he didn't deserve this. 

Before a single, horrified scream could rip out of your throat, your boyfriend's hand came down to rest over your mouth, pressing around your lips so nothing but muffled sounds could escape you. "I took care of it. No need to get upset now, Babe," he mumbled, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. "He can never hurt you again, and when we do decide to marry, no one will be in our way," he assured you. 

And you believed him.

"Because if anyone else tries, I'll take care of them too," he added, and you could hear the smirk on his lips, an expression so mad you didn't even want to see it crossing his face.

"I won't let anyone come between you and me. Not now, and not ever, Baby. Happy Valentine's Day, my Love."

[kenananamin]

A Storyteller's Biggest Fan

Summary: Nanami loves listening to you speak. You fill a silence he has never been able to fill himself, so when he sees you getting into the A Court of Thorns and Roses series, he’s ready (and excited) for the rambling to start. fluff, nanami is a very patient man, obv major acotar series spoilers (a/n: i was in the car w/ my bestie for 3 hours after a movie and we talked about a bunch of stuff and that included me rambling about acotar lmao so here's what i think nanami would do in a rambling session)

Nanami's bookshelf was... uniform. He enjoys non-fiction, good biographies and autobiographies, and a whole lot of business themed books. There might be a few poetry, fiction, or self-help books scattered in the mix but the bookshelf as a whole looked the same.

Your bookshelf on the other hand was very very different. You enjoy similar things as Nanami but your bookshelf is packed with fiction, crime and mystery, historical fiction, graphic novels or comics, some horror, and very recently... fantasy. Fantasy was interesting but you never saw yourself digging too deep into any fantasy lore. You never really enjoyed stories where a powerful creature hundreds of years old is yearning to love a small and fragile human... at least until now. You accidentally fell into the world of fantasy when one of your favorite youtubers made a video on a a series you've seen everywhere but never picked up for no particular reason.

But now... your days were filled with the damn series. Nanami had noticed that you had been too quiet and on your phone much more than before. He wondered if he had done something wrong but you quickly shut down that idea and tell him you've been completely enthralled by the ACOTAR series. You had found a fan made audiobook and checked out the e-books through your community library which is why you were on your phone much more than before. You pull out your phone to show Nanami the book and give a small summary on the books. He laughs at what he can obviously tell is contained excitement but tells you that you shouldn't be so secretive or shy with finding a fantasy series you like.

The next day, Nanami stops at the bookstore to buy the series for you. He had to look up the series and check he wasn't missing anything and double checked with the cashier that those five books were the complete series. It was very different than anything Nanami had ever bought but he flipped through a few pages to get a taste of what you were reading.

The next week was filled with acotar content not only for you, but for Nanami as well. He would hear you listening to the fan-made audiobook while you cooked on your nights and would sit across from you as you cooked to listen to a few chapters with you. He liked seeing your eyes widen at the new revelations and your almost inaudible gasps at some trials that the main character was being put through. Nanami would ask a few questions throughout to try to stay in the loop but he'd mostly stay quiet and watch you instead.

It was part of your daily routine to go to the living room couch or your bed after some meals where you would either watch something or grab your own books to read over tea. Nanami grabs his book and looks over to your phone to check if you were on the first or second book. After confirming, he grabs the second book and returns to the living room. He sits on the couch, puts his book on one side and reaches for the mug of tea you're giving him. He gives you your book and extends one arm on the back of the couch so you can lean on him as you read. Reading was a quiet activity but he appreciated every second of silence that would let him listen to your calm breathing and slow sips of tea.

After a while of reading, Nanami puts his book down and takes off his glasses. His eyes were tired and didn't feel like reading anymore. But he didn't want to move, he wanted to stay in that position so he asks for you to read your book aloud. You turn in his arms and ask if he's sure, you knew fantasy wasn't his cup of tea and you didn't want to force him through anything. He nodded and smiled so you turn back around and start reading.

"Oh yeah she's illiterate, that's kind of important. But Rhys teaches her how to read and write, it's kinda hot but ok whatever," Nanami laughs as you interrupt reading the book to give explanations as to why certain things are happening. It's been over an hour since you started reading and Nanami's planning on letting you continue until you stop yourself.

———

Almost a week after Nanami bought the books, you were completely done with the series. You would try to keep your rambling short if Nanami asked about it but you wanted nothing more than to talk about this whole series. After finishing the books, Nanami noticed you would use the quiet reading time to look up theories and read through ungodly amounts of reddit threads.

"Don't you want to talk about it?" Nanami asks.

You turn in his arms, "Talk about what?"

He points to your phone with his head, "About the books. You can tell me about the books and the theories and well — everything."

You lightly laugh, "Well it's interesting and I really really like it but I know this isn't your cup of tea, Ken. I don't want to force you through anything fantasy."

Nanami puts his book down and grabs your phone from your hand to put on the bed. He sits up straight against the headboard and says, "You're not forcing me through anything. I want to listen to you talk about it. Now go, start."

You smile wide, knowing he's genuine in wanting to hear about it.

Oh god, I hope he doesn't regret it, you think before sitting next to him and starting.

———

"And they're mates! He had visions of her even while he was under the mountain and she was on mortal lands! And the visions got clear when she crossed to the spring court!" You fall back on the bed to kick your legs up in the air and continue, "And she always felt him! She didn't know what it was then but she would describe a shadow looking over her and that was him, it was RHYS!"

The more you talk about this series, the more invested Nanami is becoming. He had to put down his mug of tea because he kept shifting all over his side of the bed in anticipation. One thing about you, you can recall a whole story with all important details and tell it to anyone. Considering how important details seem to be in this story, Nanami is happy that you're the one telling this story.

It had been a while since you started your recap. You had snuggled up in bed after lunch and it was now pitch black outside. Nanami didn't mind, he would just pass the mug of tea if he thought your mouth was getting dry and let you continue.

"Tamlin fucking gave up Prythian to Hybern to get Feyre back. Literally sold out every single court and fae and human for Feyre. So now there's a bleeding Cassian and Az on the floor, Tamlin is standing there like it's a regular Tuesday and he didn't betray Prythian, Lucien — well hold on, I like Lucien, that's my boy," Nanami laughs but let's you continue, "but he's there too and the king tells the guards to bring them in. Guess who, GUESS WHO COMES IN?!"

Nanami sits up and tries to actually wonder who, "Amren? Tarquin? The girl from summer? Umm... the weird uncle from the court of nightmares?"

You shake your head as your answer, "No, babe, it— oh my god," You sit up on your knees and ask if he's ready, "babe, it's fucking Nesta and Elain." Nanami's jaw drops and his eyes move wondering if he's missed a detail. "The king fucking brought them to Hybern and he's going to throw them into the cauldron to turn them into FAE. KEN, THEY'RE GOING TO BE MADE INTO FAE, FEYRE'S SISTERS ARE GOING TO BE MADE FAE AGAINST THEIR WILL. AND LUCIEN FINDS OUT ELAIN IS HIS MATE AFTER SHE COMES OUT FROM BEING THROWN INTO THE CAULDRON. AND NESTA IS SO PISSED ABOUT IT ALL SO SHE TAKES SOMETHING FROM THE CAULDRON, SHE'S FAE BUT SHE'S DIFFERENT AND THIS COMES BACK UP LATER. AND CASS AND AZ ARE STILL BLEEDING ON THE FLOOR DURING ALL THIS."

Nanami is running his fingers through his hair, visibly stressed about the state of the Illyrians, the middle sister finding her mate in Lucien and the eldest sister becoming something different. You continue to tell him about the end of the second book and he also ends up on his knees in front of you. If anyone were to walk in, they would see you both kneeling in the middle of the bed, you shouting as you excitedly tell the story and your hands gathered between you, almost as if you were both praying to each other.

"So Rhys winnows his group back to night after Feyre's burst while Tamlin takes Feyre back to spring. But guess what?" You inch even closer to Nanami, "Feyre did not lose her mind in Hybern, she's still Feyre and she ends the book by saying that the high lord of spring has just brought THE HIGH LADY OF NIGHT TO HIS COURT, BABE — KEN, SHE'S A SPY! THE FIRST HIGH LADY OF PRYTHIAN EVER AND SHE'S COME TO WRECK SPRING!"

Nanami mirrors your excitement and stands up with you on the bed as you lightly jump. You're still rambling about Feyre and Rhys's wedding and secret ceremony to make her high lady but Nanami is more focused on the vein slowly popping out on your neck. You're yelling, you're excited, your hair is flopping around while you jump and your hands are moving left, right, up, down, to your face then his chest, you're excited. God, Nanami loves your excitement. He loves the sight and sound of your pure unfiltered excitement.

"So that's the second book, what about the third book?" Nanami holds your forearms as he asks.

You turn to look at the clock and notice it's way too late to start the third book. You know yourself and once you start on the third book, you will want to keep going. You grunt and throw yourself back on the bed. You're face down on the bed and kicking your feet when Nanami kneels back down and strokes the back of your head. You turn your head and say, "The second book is my favorite but god I can talk about the third one for a long time," you sit up to ask, "what if we start the third book tomorrow? I'll start early so I don't keep you for too long or too late like today."

Nanami smiles and lightly runs one finger over your lips, "We can start the third book whenever you want. I don't mind staying up, it's not like we have anything to do tomorrow."

He leans to give you a small peck and pulls away to sits cross-legged on the bed with a pillow on his lap, ready to listen some more. You smile and raise your eyebrows, silently asking if he's sure. He nods and laughs as he motions to continue with his hand.

You sit cross legged in front of him and grab another pillow to pull onto your lap. You take a moment to decide where to start the third book, "So Rhys barely told the inner court about their first ever high lady, and everyone in spring thinks that Rhys went into Feyre's mind and manipulated everything."

Nanami nods and smiles across from you. You begin to ramble on about the third book and there is literally nowhere he would rather be. He mentally makes plans to heat up the leftovers or maybe pop in a pizza in the oven if he hears your stomach growl.

My storyteller. I love my beautiful little storyteller, Nanami thinks as your rambling fills the apartment again.

———

(a/n: honestly y’all i love my bestie so much, i told her everything in that car from acotar to creating this account lmao, i love you girlypop, thank you for letting me ramble about an illiterate character and my favorite bat boy 🥹 also anyone please message me if you’ve read acotar, i want to talk about it and see what others think lol this story might not get any attention and thats fine, i just wanted to express my love for my two favorite things rn (nanami and acotar lol))

OH AND ABOUT THE FAN-MADE AUDIOBOOK— PLEASE check her out, her youtube acct is The Reading Hag Returns and she single-handedly got me obsessed with this series. Here’s the playlist for the first book 🤭 https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PL2oTNYiJ-4JDcEYd99snnkdjXa2kK9z6i&si=9CQDcNAL6RuXHBAA

[taomubiji]

25 Facts About Xie Yuchen

1. Xie Yuchen was born on October 3, 1978.

2. Xie Yuchen's stage name, Jie Yuhua, comes from the poem 《蝶恋花（用宜笑之语作）》 by Zhao Shixia.

3. Xie Yuchen and Wu Xie were playmates when Xie Yuchen was five or six years old.

4. Xie Yuchen and Wu Xie are distant cousins.

5. As a child, Xie Yuchen would play Hua Dan and Qingyi (types of female roles) in Chinese opera. As a result, many people, including Wu Xie, thought he was a girl.

6. After Xie Yuchen's uncle, Xie Lianhuan, died, his father died soon after, and then several more of his uncles died.

7. Xie Yuchen had to take over the family business at 8 years old.

8. Xie Yuchen described the experiences he had growing up as "very, very uncomfortable."

9. He lived in a military compound.

10. When a friend of his caused trouble, he bought more than a hundred sheep to make up for it.

11. The first time Xie Yuchen appears he is described by Wu Xie as being dressed in a black suit with a pink shirt underneath and no tie.

12. He originally wore the color pink to offset his murderous aura.

13. When Xie Yuchen and Wu Xie met again as adults, they both smiled "pervertedly" at each other.

14. Xie Yuchen became a guarantor for Wu Xie's debt after Wu Xie's now-legendary disastrous biddings at the Xin Yue Restaurant.

15. In the online version of Sand Sea 2, Xie Yuchen throws Su Wan, Yang Hao, Li Cu, and Liang Wan out the window of a moving train.

16. In The Lost Tombs and Ultimate Note, Xie Yuchen is included much more than in the novels the shows adapted. However, in Reunion and Tomb of the Sea, his role is significantly reduced.

17. He sings every year during the Qingming Festival for Er Yuehong.

18. Wu Xie thinks he is "an extremely difficult person to get along with."

19. Xie Yuchen likes salty foods.

20. He was the biggest contributor in preventing Chinese national treasures from being exported.

21. Xie Yuchen smokes cigarettes but isn't addicted.

22. He has a habit of collecting old buildings.

23. In his free time, he practices Chinese opera, paints, and arranges flowers.

24. Xie Yuchen has used a butterfly knife and an antique dagger as weapons.

25. A the age of seventeen, he had already been surrounded by death and had even heard the words "it’s going to rain blood tonight" by his own mother.

References

English novel references refer to Merebear's translation, Chinese novel references refer to the original Chinese version.

Photo: From NP Entertainment's Merch Weibo

Author Celebrated His Birthday on October 3; Volume 7, Chapter 56; 盗墓笔记7， 第五十一章 (XYC says that he's 26yo, V7 takes place in 2004).

The Mystic Nine Memories Extra; 九门回忆 (Note: it should be Jie Yuhua not Xie Yuhua in merebear's translation)

Volume 7, Chapter 31; 盗墓笔记7，第二十六章

The Mystic Nine (4) Xie-Wu Matchmaking Extra; 吴邪私家笔记，第三卷，九五做媒; 老九门短篇集 肆——九五做媒

Volume 7, Chapter 56; 盗墓笔记7， 第五十一章

Volume 7, Chapter 56; 盗墓笔记7， 第五十一章

Volume 7, Chapter 56; 盗墓笔记7， 第五十一章

Volume 7, Chapter 56; 盗墓笔记7， 第五十一章

Sand Sea, Chapter 112; 沙海3， 第一章

Volume 7, Chapter 35; 盗墓笔记7， 第三十章

Volume 7, Chapter 5; 盗墓笔记6：邛笼石影， 第五章

A Day in the Life of Xie Yuchen Extra; 解语花的一天

Volume 7, Chapter 6; 盗墓笔记6：邛笼石影，第六章

Some of Wu Xie's Thoughts Extra; 吴邪的小心情

Sand Sea, Chapter 73; 沙海2， 第三十四章 (Note: this part was removed in the print version)

Watch the shows; read the books

Xiao Hua’s Annual Party Extra; 小花的年会

Seven Fingers Extra, Chapter 13; 七指，第十三章

Fishing King Extra, Chapter 7; 钓王， 第七章

Sand Sea (Online), Chapter 89; 沙海2 (Online)，第五十章 (Note: this part was removed in the print version)

A Day in the Life of Xie Yuchen Extra; 解语花的一天

A Thousand Faces, Chapters 1, 17; 千面，第一，十七章 (Note: I don't have the published version)

Sand Sea (Online), Chapter 88; 沙海2 (Online)，第四十九章; 沙海2 (Print), 第五十一章

Volume 7, Chapter 31; 盗墓笔记7 第二十五章; Sand Sea (Online), Chapter 75; 沙海2 (Online), 第三十六章; 沙海2 (Print), 第五十章

Volume 8, Chapter 10; 盗墓笔记8 第十章

[callsignfate]

Valeria x Chaotic wife pt.5

(Hi, I just wanted to say thank you for all of the likes and attention people give this series! It means a lot because, honestly, I'm new to Tumblr, and I started writing (publicly) for a hobby. Thank you, and don't worry, I have no plans to end this anytime soon. Enjoy!)

Part One/ Part Two/ Part Three/ Part Four/ Part Five

Part Six/ Part Seven/

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

R/N: I'm tired.

Valeria: I told you to go to bed last night. You don't NEED to sit on your phone for an hour or more before you go to sleep.

R/N: ...I do it's a part of my process to fall asleep.

Valeria: At least it's not bluey anymore.

R/N before you say it, it's not a kid show. It tackles serious topics.

Valeria: for kids sure.

R/N: You watched it too!

Valeria: And if you ever tell anyone that I will deny it, then never let you leave again.

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

Valeria: Do you really need another one? You have like a hundred and I'm pretty sure I've seen that exact one.

R/N holding another squishmallow: This one is different it has a hat!

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

Valeria: Did you finish the last five books you bought?

R/N: Sort of...

Valeria: READ THE BOOKS YOU BUY BEFORE YOU GET MORE.

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

Valeria: Let's go to- what are you doing?

R/N: What?

Valeria: It is almost midnight and you are drinking an energy drink?!

R/N: They taste good..

Valeria: You are either going to kill yourself or me way younger than I want either of us to die.

R/N: ...Want one?

Valeria: NO I DONT WANT ONE!

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

Valeria's men: MA'AM YOUR WIFE SHES STUCK ON THE ROOF

Valeria: I left her with your for 5 minutes! How in god's name did she scale the building and get stuck on the roof IN FIVE MINUTES?!

Valeria's men: We don't know we turned our back for like a second..

Valeria: (cursing under her breath in Spanish as she gets up from her desk to go help you down from the roof)

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

Valeria: With the amount of trouble and situations you get yourself in.. I'm genuinely surprised you're alive.

R/N: Oh, me too, I think it's like a super power.

Valeria: I wouldn't call it a superpower, but alright.

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

Valeria: Why is there a ton of games downloaded on my computer?

R/N: ...

Valeria: What is wizard 101??

R/N: A game where your a wizard.. and you have to go to different towns and do different things..

Valeria: ...tell me.. do you do these things with the intent to annoy me? Or just do it and think 'no, Valeria won't care if I delete files to download A WIZARD GAME'

R/N: I'll take avoiding this question for 500.

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

R/N helping Valeria with paperwork: GOD THIS IS BORING AND DRY. Can't their be some hot woman or man in this?

Valeria: It's finance paperwork not one of your dark kink romance books.. which is starting to make me wonder because some are about Mafia or Cartel leaders...

R/N: Intresesting because (R/N sprints away)

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

Valeria: I'm trying to work.

R/N: and I'm trying to annoy you while you work to get you to stop working so we can do something.

Valeria: ...

R/N: Anyways as I was saying, then Edward says 'this is the skin of a killer bella' and honestly it's kinda fun-

Valeria: ALRIGHT WE WILL GO GET SOMETHING TO EAT.

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

Valeria: Why are my men saying your doing something stupid?

R/N: That's incredibly rude of them, I'm not doing anything.

Valeria: Then unlock the door and let me in.

R/N: We both know I can't do that.

Valeria: and why's that?

R/N: I tried to see if I could do this trick where you get your handcuffed arms from behind you to infront of you..

Valeria: You handcuffed your arms behind your back again?!

R/N: ...help.

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

[ellievickstar]

Between Two Worlds (Chapter 2) DISCONTINUED

Summary: After fifty years of being under Amarantha's reign, Your brother has found his mate, and as you prepare for a meeting with the High Lords of Prythian, you realise something utterly terrifying and yet so curious at the same time.

Request: N/A

Pairing: Azriel x Reader, Eris Vanserra x reader

Warnings: This is….long. I got a little carried away with the High Lord’s meeting.

Between Two Worlds / Part 2 / Part 3 / Discontinued

~*~*~*~*~

It had been a few months before Feyre had finally returned from the Spring Court, rumours of it collapsing from the inside travelled across the country, and you could still recall the absolute joy on Rhysand’s face when he had chased everyone out of the room to spend time with his mate. Giggling, you had led Azriel to do a bit of shopping, feeling like you should be compensated for rudely being kicked out of your own home. However, your spending barely made a dent in Rhys’s money pile.

Azriel had refused to spend so much money, but delighted in the fact you were happy. Well, it was a little short-lived when you realised your favourite bookstore had closed you had begun to cry. Azriel swore under his breathe and promised to bring you 20 books if you stopped crying. That had been a pretty sweet deal, so you had stopped.

Now, here you were, getting ready for the High Lord’s meeting. For the occasion you had chosen a light yellow gown that you had bought because the entire design was a map of prythian, well the versions of the map without Velaris that is. It saddened you that you could not tell others about this sanctuary that they could run to, but you knew that it was for the safety of the city, your father had taught you that.

The gown was off the shoulder, small flowers decorated the sides of the neckline. The bone bodice was beautiful as it extended into a flowing skirt with a slit right up your thigh. A knock on your door caught your attention.

“Come in,” Calling to whoever knocked, you smiled at the shadow singer who gingerly stepped into your room. Twirling in your dress, you asked if he thought you looked decent. “You’re beautiful,” Azriel assured you, before joking, “Ten bucks says Helion asks us to sleep with him again.” You grinned, “Twenty bucks says Beron will start the fight,” “I’ll raise, thirty, Tamlin hauls ass and magically shows up so he can throw a tantrum,” Shaking hands with each other, an agreement was made, Azriel believed there was no way Tamlin would show up after Feyre blew up his court like hat, you believed that he would, but only to humiliate her and convince the rest that he was the good guy.

You looked forward to the meeting.

~*~*~*~*~

You were right. Absolute Silence. Absolute stillness as everyone took in the High Lord of the Spring Court who had just burst in through the balcony.

You looked to Feyre as she looked back at you, not quite sure what to do as shield after shield locked into place around each High Lord and his retinue. You could feel Rhysand's anger rolling off of him in waves, after five-hundred years, you knew that the bored expression on his face was just another mask.

You took a deep breathe as you relaxed into the chair, ever the cool and collected second in command of the High Lord of the Night Court. You spied the vague distaste from Mor's face, and took pride in the cold caution that you had told Nesta to regard Tamlin with. You glanced at Feyre as you watched her expression morph from shock, to complete wariness. She was the only one here who would know Tamlin better than anyone else. And you were good enough at reading people, that you knew exactly which one of the Tamlin's mood you were going to be dealing with.

You smiled at the Spring Court's High Lord, trying to make your expression as passive aggressive as possible. After all, it was just like the asshole to show up unannounced, just like when he showed up unannounced all those years ago to slaughter your mother and sister.

You grit your teeth at the memory.

Thesan rose, his captain beside him remained stiff, his hand on his sword. “We were not expecting you, Tamlin,” He gestured towards his cringing attendants, cowards, “Fetch the High Lord a chair.”

In your ever so humble opinion, Tamlin the tool did not need a chair. He could stand. You huffed impatiently as you watched the High Lord stare at your sister-in-law. You were about to throw up, what form of 'running away from you' screamed: I want to be with you every waking moment. He was either dense, or straight up naive if he actually thought Feyre went running back into his arms. He doesn't even have the right to be pissed off.

Beron drawled, “I will admit, Tamlin, that I am surprised to see you here.” You exchanged looks with Eris. Little to your family's knowledge, you and Eris were actually good friends. After Mor was left for dead you actually tried to kill him, in which you eventually reconciled, however, you will always push him to sincerely apologise to Mor after Beron kicks the bucket once and for all. You were both worried about the fact that Beron would say something extremely stupid, but also looked forward to the fact that there was a huge chance Beron would be absolutely sassed by the other High Lords. Your bet with Cass was on Helion, or your brother.

“Rumor claims your allegiance lies elsewhere,” Beron continued as Tamlin paid him no mind, his gaze seeming to shift over Feyre. Feyre seemed like a deer in headlights under his gaze and you prayed that someone would break the tension because you certainly wasn't going to do it yourself.

The attendants dragged a chair and placed it in between Helion's entourage and Beron's sons. Though, both didn't seem pleased with it, they didn't show any reaction when Tamlin settled himself down. Helion waved up a hand as he spoke, “Let's get on with this, then.”

Thesan cleared his throat and you tried not to groan as everyone gazed at Tamlin, who refused to do anything except keep staring at your brother and sister-in-law. Creepy.

Tamlin finally spoke and you nearly rolled your eyes as his words finally rang out, “It would seem congratulations were in order.” Everyone knew that he was itching to say something terrible about them. Where was the fighting and brawling that your brother said would happen? He knew you despised meetings because of the sheer boredom you had to go through, but you were starting to get restless. You wanted to hit something, and you wanted it to be at least Tamlin.

Rhys only held Tamlin’s stare. Held it with a face like ice, and yet utter rage roiled beneath it. Maybe, just maybe, you would finally witness your brother lose his cool. He has been rather out of sorts with Feyre by his side, and he did promise a fight…

Your thoughts were interrupted as Rhys seemed to address Thesan, who had reclaimed his seat, “We will discuss this matter later.” Tamlin scoffed and you shot him a look as he spoke, “Don't stop on my account.”

It was then that you finally decided to speak up, “Forgive us for not being in business of discussing plans with enemies,” Helion grinned as he seemed to nod slightly in approval. You were quite close with Helion, when you were younger and your brother did not have time to take care of you, he would just send you to Helion for a ‘formal’ visit. Those visits often ended up with you and Helion falling on your asses after doing something incredibly stupid. He wasn’t the most responsible, but the High lord knew mischief, and he was good at it.

Tamlin replied with equal ease, “No, your court is just in the business of screwing them.” You paused as you took a deep breathe, trying to soothe your growing anger. You felt something tingle in your chest, making you glance down at the various inks that decorated your arm. All bargains, all promises.

Rhysand smiled faintly, ignoring the fact that Mor, Cassian and Azriel were about to try and commit murder after Tamlin decided to speak to you in such a…crude manner, “Seems like a far less destructive alternative to war,” “And yet here you are, having started it in the first place.” Your brother's blink was the only sign of his confusion. A claw slid out of Tamlin's knucle as he dragged it down the arm of his chair.

He smiled and said to Rhys, “

“If you hadn’t stolen my bride away in the night, Rhysand, I would not have been forced to take such drastic measures to get her back.” You wanted to say something in return but was interrupted as Feyre said quietly, “The sun was shining when I left you.” Tamlin's eyes slid to Feyre, he let out a low snort then looked away. The absolute audacity to dismiss her, that was some guts he had for a dead man walking.

Kallias asked, the first of which he'd spoken since Tamlin arrived, “Why are you here, Tamlin?” Tamlin went to go on about his sob story, and you wanted to scoff as you listened to his poor twisting of the actual events of what happened. As he spoke, you realised that this was no meeting, no this was a careful shredding of Feyre's dignity, and you were not going to sit back and watch.

“Be careful how you speak about my High Lady,” Azriel said, his voice like cold death. Your heart melted as Azriel finally showed that fierce protectiveness in him, protectiveness over his family. Surprise flashed in Tamlin’s eyes — then vanished. Vanished, swallowed by pure fury as he realised what that tattoo coating Feyre's hand was for. “It was not enough to sit at my side, was it?” A hateful smile curled his lips. “You once asked me if you’d be my High Lady, and when I said no ...” A low laugh echoed from him and it chilled your spine. “Perhaps I underestimated you. Why serve in my court, when you could rule in his?”

“Well, why be trapped and locked away when she can spread her wings and fly? Why don’t you tell all of them how you locked her in that house, refused to let her out even when she told you she felt like she was drowning!” You snapped. Tamlin then muttered, “Why don’t you ask your brother how he was being so happy, after all, he did serve Amarantha in many ways,” Tamlin deadpanned.

Rhys let out a dark laugh, “Well played Tamlin. You're learning.” You wanted to say more but a Rhys ordered you to stop with a quick message to your head, it echoed up and down your mental shields and you could not refuse his wishes, for this came from the High Lord, not you brother. Having no choice, you sat up straight as your eyes remained trained on Tamlin, silently contemplating just how much you'd like to watch him scream.

Tamlin turned to Kallias, as he spat out every word, “You asked why I’m here? I might ask the same of you.” He jerked his chin at the High Lord of Winter, at Viviane — the few other members of their retinue who had remained silent. “You mean to tell me that after Under the Mountain, you can stomach working with him?” You stared at Vivian, one of your closest friends, confused, and for the first time she only looked at her mate as something in both of them seemed to dim, “We came here to decide that for ourselves.”

Rhys said to them softly, “I had no involvement is that. None.” Kallias's flared like blur flames, “And what about the fact that you sat next to that throne when the order was given.” You paled as you realised what Kallias was talking about. The massacre of the children in the Winter Court.

“She wanted to kill you Kallias. I convinced her not to but if I pushed any further she told me that she had full control over the curse on my sister, I tried as much as I can but you have to understand that I have family too,” Kallias softens for a moment, as he looked at you apologetically.

“Forgive me, it was…insensitive. I did not mean to bring up the suffering that you endured,” You simply sat still, unable to move. You felt a polite knock on your mental shields as Rhys tried to check on you. You just looked down, clearing your throat as you blinked back tears.

Rhys’s mouth tightened. “There is not one day that passes when I don’t remember it,” he said to Kallias, to Viviane. To their companions. “Not one day.” You look up, breathing in as you mask your sadness, nodding to your brother's sentence. There was so much more truth to that than anyone could imagine, Rhys tore himself apart about their deaths, blamed himself everyday.

“Remembering,” Kallias said, “doesn’t bring them back, does it?” “No,” Rhys said plainly. “No, it doesn’t. And I am now fighting to make sure it never happens again.” Viviane glanced between her husband and Rhys. “I was not present Under the Mountain. But I would hear, High Lord, how you tried to — stop her.” Pain tightened her face. She, too, had been unable to prevent it while she guarded her small slice of the territory you wanted to grasp her hand and squeeze it tight, assure her that she had done her best. Rhys said nothing.

Beron snorted. “Finally speechless, Rhysand?” You glared harshly at Beron in which he grinned back like a wolf. Eris shot you a warning look and you rolled your eyes, perhaps you could deliever an early birthday present to Eris and murder Beron right here right now. Feyre placed her hand on Rhys's as she breathed the words that you knew he needed to hear, “I believe you.”

“Says the woman,” Beron countered, “who gave an innocent girl’s name in her stead — for Amarantha to butcher as well.” You snorted as you bit back the insult that would have rolled off your tongue on any other occasion: Says the coward who beats his wife and kids.

Rhysand and Kallias began to reason with each other, the rest listening intently. Kallias asked questioned and Rhysand gave answers, truthful, real answers. No more masks, no more lies, you were showing your hands, and they were tied. That’s when Rhysand mentioned that Amarantha had held him captive and you really perked up as you sat forward and listened, would he tell them?

That was when Vivian asked the question, “Where did she confine you,” Your breathed hitched, bracing yourself for the terrible truth that would be revealed here, to be criticised and speculated, not in front of a warm fireplace with expensive wine like it should have been. “Her bedroom,” Rhys said. Your family didn't hide their sadness, their utter grief at what Rhys had kept from them.

“Stories and words,” Tamlin drawled, “Is there any proof?” “Proof!?” You choked out, standing from your seat, hand slamming against the table as you readied yourself to tear Beron and new one. “No,” Rhys cut in, reaching an arm out to block you. “But I swear it, on my mate's life,” You slowly sat as Rhys rested his hand again on Feyre's.

Tamlin rolled his eyes but his smugness was short-lived as Kallias pinned Tamlin with a hard stare. “Why are you here, Tamlin?” Tamlin clenched his jaw as he gritted out, “I am here to help you fight against Hybern.” “Bullshit,” Mor and Cassian echoed and you nearly choked on laughter. Tamlin glowered as you settled back into your chair, offering him a small smile.

“You will forgive us,” Thesan interrupted gracefully, “if we are doubtful. And hesitant to share any plans.” “Even when I have information on Hybern’s movements?” Now, you had to give Tamlin where credit was due. That was a pretty good move, but this was chess, and he had long lost his king. Making a mental not on how, Tarquin, besides being the youngest High Lord, watched and listened, you decided that perhaps, he understood that there was some advantage lay in letting them battle it out themselves.

Tamlin smiled at Feyre. “Why do you think I invited them to the house? Into my lands?” He let out a low snarl, and you froze as Tamlin turned and spoke to all of you, “I once told you I would fight against tyranny, against that sort of evil. Did you think you were enough to turn me from that?” His teeth shone white as bone. “It was so easy for you to call me a monster, despite all I did for you, for your family.” A sneer toward Nesta, who was frowning with distaste. “Yet you witnessed all that he did Under the Mountain, and still spread your legs for him. Fitting, I suppose. He whored for Amarantha for decades. Why shouldn’t you be his whore in return?”

“Watch your mouth,” Mor snapped. You wanted to rip his throat right then and there. Tamlin ignored her wholly and waved a hand toward Rhysand’s wings. “I sometimes forget— what you are. Have the masks come off now, or is this another ploy?”

“You’re beginning to become tedious, Tamlin,” Helion said, propping his head on a hand. “Take your lovers’ spat elsewhere and let the rest of us discuss this war.”

“You know what enough!” You finally stood, fully, wings flaring as you banged your fist on the table, sneering at the seven, fully grown males who were all more childish than you were as an actual child. “If you are against Hybern, prove it. Show us something tangible. No beating around the bush, no insults and arguments, we do not have all day so enough is enough! You can mock us all you want, twist the bloody story, but show that you will at least fight for Prythian,” Tamlin quickly shut up as a stack of papers appeared. “Charts,” He said, “All of Hybern's plans, armies, ammunitions, caches of faebane…Everything carefully gleaned these months.”

“And who's to say the information isn't to mislead us,” Helion went on. Happy that you had finally sped up the conversation, you sat back down again. You listened as they droned on with more insults, more arguments, more discussions.

You know when you finally buckle down and get serious, I find that I can really believe that you are only just 40 years younger than me. You nearly yelped at the voice in your head, but as your head shot up Eris grinned. You rolled your eyes. When I made that bargain with you to form that connection, I didn’t make it so you could abuse the link.

How dare you! Such serious allegations? I would never dare misuse such a sacred link between the two of us!!! You rolled your eyes. However, as you noticed how they still argued and insulted each other, you couldn’t help the feeling of melancholy that took over you. What’s wrong, little flame?

It’s just- I wish we could all get along, all learn to look at each other’s perspective, see that we can work together to fight because we all have something to lose, but- You winced as Tamlin spat out that he didn’t want spoiled goods returned to him and had his ability to speak ripped away. A part of you wished that they would see that the Night Court wasn’t so different from the rest.

There was no smile on Rhysand’s face, not a glint of that irreverent amusement as he rested his head against the back of his chair. “The gasping-fish look is a good one for you, Tamlin.” Maybe, you should have been laughing. It just hurt, to see everyone at the table start stealing glances at you in pity or disgust, and as you felt ill to the stomach, you were surprised when the link between you and Eris began to warm, comforting, making your lips curl upwards.

“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand said blandly to them all, “consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.” Only Beron was stupid enough to scoff. Eris was just angling his body in his chair—blocking the path to his mother. “Yet here I am,” Rhysand went on, not deigning to give Beron a glance of acknowledgment. “Here we all are.”

This was when you noticed a small shadow curling around you foot, you turned your head slightly to Az to see him give you a small reassuring smile, one that said that he would always be there for you. Your heart fluttered and warmed once more. you turned back around to keep him from seeing the blood rise to your cheeks, stealing a glance at Eris who now looked, angry. You brushed it off, but when you tried to speak to him through your mental link, your realised he had blocked you out. Odd.

That was when Tarquin cleared his throat. You waited for the words that would have truly doomed you, and he had good reason to. You remembered that you all had gone to his court and deceived him, stolen from him like thieves.

But Tarquin said to Feyre, to your brother, “Despite Varian’s unsanctioned warning ...” A glare at his cousin, who didn’t so much as look sorry about it, “You were the only ones who came to help. The only ones. And yet you asked for nothing in return. Why?” Rhys’s voice was a bit hoarse as he asked, “Isn’t that what friends do?” A subtle, quiet offer. Tarquin took him in. Then Feyre. And the others. “I rescind the blood rubies. Let there be no debts between us.”

“Don’t expect Amren to return hers,” Cassian muttered. “She’s grown attached to it.” You could have sworn a smile tugged on Varian’s mouth. However, your brother turned to Tamlin, “I believe you, that you will fight for Prythian,” Kallias looked like he wanted to disagree, so did Helion. That was when Rhysand loosened his grasp on Tamlin, a low snarl rippling out of him.

“War is upon us, I have no interest in wasting energy arguing amongst ourselves,” Rhysand spoked sombrely. But Beron said, “You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed.” A wry look. “Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?” Even Tamlin looked toward you all toward Feyre. “Helping to guard our city,” was all she said. Not a lie, not entirely.

Eris snorted and surveyed Nesta, who stared back at him with steel in her face. “Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.” Shooting him a warning look, you knocked against his mental shields. What the hell was he doing!?

But Mor replied smoothly, “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.” Eris’s mouth curled into a smile at the words, the careful game of pretending that they had not seen each other in years. “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.”

ERIS VANSERRA WHAT IN THE MOTHER ARE YOU DOING!? you practically screamed down that bridge.

One moment, Azriel had been seated. The next, he’d blasted through Eris’s shield and tackled him backwards, wood shattering beneath them. “Shit,” You swore as you were instantly there, and was met with a blue wall.

Azriel squeezed, Eris thrashing beneath him. No physical brawling, there had been a rule against that, but Azriel, with his shadows… “Enough, Azriel,” Rhys ordered. Perhaps those shadows that now slid and eddied around the shadow singer hid him from the wrath of the binding magic. The others made no move to interfere, as if wondering the same.

Azriel dug his knee—and all his weight—into Eris’s gut. He was silent, utterly silent as he ripped the air from Eris’s body. Beron’s flames struck the blue shield, over and over, but the fire skittered off and fizzled out on the water. Any that escaped were torn to shreds by shadows. Your head eddied out as you approached the two males gently.

Placing a full palm on the shield, you whispered against the shield of blue light, “Azriel, come back to me,” Azriel stopped. As Azriel turned to you slowly, you froze at the rage. Now, I could see the memories that still haunted him. Haunted all of us. Mor was pale, shaking in her chair as Feyre pulled her in for a hug.

“Please, sit,” You motioned to the chair that Nesta had placed next to yours, and as Azriel’s eyes slid from Eris, the shadow singer whispered something that made him blanch. The shield finally dropped, and shadows lighted as Azriel stepped towards you and grasped your outreached hand. However, his eyes remained on Mor, and you couldn’t lie and say that your heart didn’t break just a little.

Beron struck—only for his fire to bounce off a hard barrier of my own. I lifted my gaze to the High Lord of Autumn. “That’s twice now we’ve handed you your asses. I’d think you’d be sick of the humiliation.”

Helion laughed. And you took the opportunity to shoot Eris a hard look. He had explaining to do and he was delusional if he thought that he was going to get away with that particular stunt.

Pouring a glass of wine, you handed it to him before making the bottle vanish, it was some of Rhys’s finest which you had stolen, and Azriel gracefully accepted it. Every raised brows at, curious on how the Lady could help the spy master. “He is my family,” You said firmly, turning to Eris, “And if you insult my friend again I won’t stop him next time,” Eris nodded.

I’m sorry, I went to far. He said against the bridge but you sighed. I’ll deal with you later, Eris.

Mor was staring and staring at Azriel, who refused to look at her now, who refused to do anything but give Eris that death-gaze. Eris, wisely, averted his eyes. And said, “Apologies, Morrigan.” His father actually gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settled himself once more. That was a start, you just wished that once it was revealed that Eris was secretly your friend the whole thing wouldn’t blow up in your face with your family.

Thesan rubbed his temples. “This does not bode well.” But Helion smirked at his retinue, crossing an ankle over a knee and flashing those powerful, sleek thighs. “Looks like you owe me ten gold marks.” It seemed like you weren’t the only ones who’d placed bets. Even if not one of Helion’s entourage answered his mocking smile with one of their own.

Helion waved a hand, and the stacks of papers Tamlin had compiled drifted over to him on a phantom wind. With a snap of his fingers — scar-flecked from swordplay — other stacks appeared before every chair in the room. Including your own.

“Replicas,” he said without looking up as he leafed through the documents. He had tried to teach you this spell before, you had failed, utterly, but given that at the time you were only 9 it was on him for trying to teach you any magic at all. You had accidentally duplicated a whole couch, which appeared in the space of a huge bookcase, which was then knocked over, books scattered everywhere.

As you all proceeded with the meeting, you began berating Eris over the mental bridge, you went off on him, making sure to still be reasonable, but eventually it turned into how you were stressed and you hated life itself, he winced when you scolded him at first but as you continued to talk about yourself his face morphed into concern, well, not reall, but you could see in his eyes. Azriel happily sipped his wine as you both played footsie under the table, hopping that any sudden movements wouldn’t be noticed.

You weren’t really paying attention anymore, but did as Eris suddenly spoke. “Father.” Beron lifted a brow. “You have something to add?” Eris didn’t flinch, but he seemed to choose his words very, very carefully. “I have seen the effects of faebane.” He nodded toward me. “It truly renders us unable to tap our power. If it’s wielded against us in war or beyond it—”

“If it is, we shall face it. I will not risk my people or family in testing out a theory.”

“It is no theory,” Nuan said, that mechanical hand clicking and whirring as it curled into a fist. “I would not stand here unless it had been proved without a doubt.” A female of pride and hard work. Eris said, “I will take it.”

You whipped your head around, eyes flashing with worry. This way, you don’t need to be concerned over allies, I can convince my father of this working, little flame. You sighed. There’s no stopping you is there? He smirked. Consider it a self-punishment, little flame.

Beron studied his own son with a scrutiny that made me pray to the mother that Eris would not get himself beaten once more. You had had enough of him coming to you in the forest with scars. It hurt every time to see him that way. But Beron also said, “No you will not. Though I’m sure your brothers will be sorry to hear it.” Indeed, the others seemed rather put-out that their first barrier to the throne wasn’t about to risk his life in testing the tinker’s solution

I am so taking it secretly. You blincked at him. No you will not, are you crazy!? You almost yelled. Nope, but you are taking it, so I’m taking it.

As Tamlin ‘explained’ — more like all out complained — about his situation. Beron tried to say that he had no room for the running villagers. That was when Vivian piped up once more.

“Right,” Viviane said, “because everyone’s too busy polishing every jewel in that trove of yours.” Beron threw her a glare that had Kallias tensing. “Wives were invited as a courtesy, not as consultants.”

Viviane’s sapphire eyes flared as if struck by lightning. “If this war goes poorly, we’ll be bleeding out right alongside you, so I think we damn well get a say in things.” “Hybern will do far worse things than kill you,” Beron counted coolly. “A young, pretty thing like you especially.” Kallias’s snarl rippled the water in the reflection pool, echoed by you and Mor’s own growl.

Beron smiled a bit. “Only three of us were present for the last war.” A nod to Rhys and Helion, whose face darkened. “One does not easily forget what Hybern and the Loyalists did to captured females in their war-camps. What they reserved for High Fae females who either fought for the humans or had families who did.” He put a heavy hand on his wife’s too-thin arm. “Her two sisters bought her time to run when Hybern’s forces ambushed their lands. The two ladies did not walk out of that war-camp again.” You shuddered at the memory. You had only been born after the first war, but I remembered the horrors that were described.

When your father died you had been barely 10 years old. And even then he never failed to tell you that if you had been alive during the first war, men would see you as someone to use and discard as a form of warning. Your stomach churned to think about it, but you stopped short when Azriel’s hand came into contact with yours, holding it gently. His soothing presence helped you relax into your chair.

Eventually it descended into the arguments again. You refused to pay attention. Everyone was giving you a headache and it was all overwhelming. You watched silently as Feyre tried to kill Beron, watched even as others yelled and screamed, even as Eris began to tell you to help down that mental bridge. You just couldn’t.

It wasn’t until Nesta stood and spoke her piece was the meeting finally over, Eris tossing a look over his shoulder as he saw your empty expression. He mentally told you that he would send you a letter. But you couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

Not now anyways.

But as I stared at Eris, into his warm amber eyes, as I felt myself squeeze the scarred hand that intertwined with mine, my heart warmed and my blood went cold as I realised….cauldron help me, I was in love with the shadow singer and the High Lord’s son.

Well shit.

~*~*~*~*~

A/N: I feel like this was partially self-indulgent. The first few parts of this series is very self indulgent :D. I hope you all liked it though, I really did work hard....worked very hard. Worked so hard dreaming about Azriel and Eris fighting over me :)

taglist: @positivewitch @bubybubsters @a-frog-with-a-laptop @artof-aristocracy

[hannahssimblr]

A sliver of light hovers above the horizon. A glow, hardly even there, rests atop the sea as waves drag rounded pebbles along the shore with a soft shh. I can’t sleep. I crawled out of bed after three and walked straight to the water's edge without shoes, to find the sand cool and white beneath the glow of the quarter moon. I sit watching the sun graze the bottom of the sky like paint bleeding onto tissue. 

Sleep evades me sometimes for reasons I cannot explain. Insomnia arrives like this. It's like all those intense feelings and urges in my body. I can't verbalise them. I sit in boxer shorts and a hoodie on this final spit of beach before the coast turns to a cliff, and try to think of some poignant reason for my lack of sleep, only to come up with everything. There are a million reasons why. All the time, all at once, but then why only sometimes? And why tonight in particular?

Sometime around four, I change into a pair of shorts and run the length of the beach as the sun rises, pushing myself until sweat rolls from my body and there is fire in my lungs. I return to my end of the beach on shaky legs and take my clothes off, all of them, because the beach house is quiet and nobody is watching. Then I wade into the sea and float there with the waves lapping under my chin until the early birds sing and my hands and feet go numb. 

After a shower I collapse on my bed and sleep until close to midday, when I wake up to an empty house, starving, and with no food in the fridge. There is a message on my phone from Jen. 

Good morning lazy bones  Gone to the tennis court and then we’ll be on the beach, probably  See you around later? 

I forage the cupboards for something, but by the looks of it, the last of the food has been ravaged by the others, leaving nothing behind but crumbs and dirty plates, stacked up in the sink as usual. Someone should clean that eventually. 

When I locate my wallet among the random books and electronics heaped on the kitchen table, I zip open the coin pocket to find just a twenty-cent piece and a few useless coppers. I used the last of the money on my debit card at the petrol station yesterday. I know because I tried to buy some snacks and the only thing I could afford was cherry cola Tic Tacs which were rationed out between the three of us. I swear under my breath and call my dad. 

He’s already pissed off when he picks up. 

“Jude, what is it? I’m in the middle of something.”

“I need more money.”

“Already? What are you doing down there? I bet you’re putting it all into those stupid arcade machines, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m eighteen years old. I’m not doing that.” I’m also banned from the arcade, which he should know after the interminable speech he gave me about decorum and respect in the aftermath. 

“I put five hundred euros on that card.”

“Yeah, I dunno, I used it.”

“It was supposed to last the entire summer.”

I sigh, “It didn’t.” As he’s ranting in my right ear, I begin to wonder what I really did do with all the money. I suppose there was all of the alcohol, the takeaways, the junk food, that PlayStation game I bought, and the earphones for my iPod since I was careless with my old ones on the beach. Oh yeah, and I bought those running shoes too. I suppose that wasn’t a necessary purchase, I just wanted them.

Yesterday I bought everything for Jen and Evie, all of their tickets, food and drinks… I have a vague, passing thought that I might not be very good at managing money and that maybe I should have done accounting or something at school like my mom suggested instead of randomly choosing geography. I’m also aware that it’s completely fine. Once Christopher has finished going on about it he’ll simply send more. We just have to go through this charade first.

I wait for a gap in his mad diatribe and say casually, “So can you send me some?”

There’s a clatter in the background and I imagine him tossing his little weighty engraved silver pen across his desk. He grits his teeth, “What do you need?”

“I dunno, another few hundred. I want to book tickets to this festival in August, too, I think they’re, like, two-fifty, so.”

“A festival?” He really doesn't need to act like we’re discussing satanic rituals, but I continue as though I'm talking to a normal man. 

“Yeah, I want to enjoy my last summer in Ireland and all that.”

He makes some flabbergasted sound in response, which is obviously stupid because he has all the money in the world, and this whole thing is an exercise in control and power.

“So, a thousand?” I venture, resting my phone on my shoulder so I can pick some dirt out from under my nails. 

“Yes. Later.”

“No, I need it now, there’s no food in the house and I’m hungry.”

He taps furiously on the keyboard of his computer, “Fine.”

“Hm?”

“Fine. I said fine. I’m transferring it.”

“Thanks.”

The line goes dead. 

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