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soaps-mohawk · 2 months ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 39: Life

Summary: Something begins to throb in your chest as you lay there. Something thrums deep within you, something you haven’t felt in weeks.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,343 words

Warnings: Angst, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, illness, language, slightly graphic imagery, very slight violence, rumination, lots of feels, and yes finally some comfort

A/N: Yes, it has finally arrived. The time has come. We are now in the comfort. This very much is a good place to end things for the next month. If you haven't seen my post then I'll say it here, I will be putting the fic on a brief hiatus for the month of October. I have Kyletober planned and trying to do CRCB at the same time will be too much. So this will be the last chapter for a couple weeks while I focus on other things and just give my brain a little break from CRCB. It's been eight months of just pumping out long chapters every week, or almost every week, so I need a little break to focus on other things. I'll still be writing and posting things here (and Ao3 of course) but there won't be another CRCB chapter posted until November.

But anyway, I hope you enjoy this one and the comfort starting and I'm super excited for what's coming next month (can't believe it's almost October)

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“I need you to be brave.” Christine says, staring up at him.

His heart thumps in his chest. How bad is it that not only did she summon him down here, but she’s asking him to be brave. He knows you’re sick, that you’ve fallen ill after your moment of anger earlier. She had informed them over dinner as she made some broth that you came down with a fever.

They had all been worried, sharing glances at the news. John looked like a dog that had been scolded. It was his fault, after all.

If anything happens to you, it is his fault.

Johnny swallows the lump in his throat, nodding slowly as he stares down at Christine. “I can be brave.”

Christine stares up at him for a long moment before nodding. She pushes the door open, leading him inside your room. The scent in the air is thick, tainted by the bitter scent of anxiety still lingering in the air, and the sour scent of illness. He misses the fresh scent of strawberries, he has missed it over the last few weeks. Your scent had taken on a bitter edge ever since the cameras were revealed to them. It’s only gotten stronger recently after the events that transpired.

All of their scents have been off lately.

It’s dark in the room aside from the bedside lamp. It casts a soft glow around the room, elongating the shadows in the corners. They loom threateningly, and his fingers twitch to turn on the overhead light.

You don’t like the overhead light. It’s too bright.

You always prefer softer light. Is it an omega thing, or is it just a you thing? He’s not quite sure.

How little they really understand you.

The lamp illuminates a pile of blankets on the bed, stacked one on top of each other to create a lump of soft fabric. You’re underneath that pile, he knows it. You’ve always liked blankets, always carried one with you in the barracks, eternally cold in the harsh world they existed in on base. This many blankets though? It was excessive even for you.

He approaches the bed slowly, scared at what he might find. Images of you laying in a puddle of blood, cold and stiff fills his mind. Images of a skeletal figure reduced to nothing but skin stretched over bones has his heart racing. What will he find on the other side of that pile obscuring you from his vision?

He swallows down his fear, reminding himself that he’s a soldier. He’s seen dead bodies before, he’s killed before. So why is he so scared now?

This isn’t war. It’s you.

He steps up to the side of the bed, looking down on you. You’re shivering, trembling under the blankets. Sweat beads on your forehead, skin dewy and clammy in your fever. You look more alive than the skeletal figure he had pictured in his mind, but you don’t look well.

You look near death.

“I’m worried about her.” Christine says, closing the door behind her. “She needs someone from her pack close. You’re making the most effort right now, and if anyone might get through to her, it’s you. She needs...someone.” Christine sighs. “Someone who can offer what I can’t.”

“She needs a member of her pack.” Johnny says, easily putting together what Christine was saying.

He knows what she’s asking. He’s scared. He’s not sure how you’ll react. The last people you want to see right now is your pack, including him. How will you react to having him so close?

“Exactly.” Christine says, stepping up right next to him.

Her fingers wrap around his wrist, and he lets her guide his hand to your cheek. It’s hot and clammy against his palm, a fire blazing under your skin. You let out a shuddering breath, the air fanning weakly against his wrist. Your head turns just slightly, pressing into his hand. It’s a good sign, despite the delirium you have to be stuck in. What are you imagining is happening right now? What is your brain telling you?

“Touch her, talk to her.” Christine says, releasing his wrist. He keeps his hand there, pressed against your cheek. “We need to try and get her back before this gets worse.”

Before they lose you.

She won’t say it out loud.

She doesn’t need to.

Johnny nods, turning his head to look at Christine over his shoulder. She looks exhausted, and not just because of the late hour. She’s done so much over the past few weeks watching you and caring for you. Maybe it is time one of them tries to step up and help her. You can’t avoid them forever, no matter how much you might feel like trying.

He has to try. For you.

“I know what tae do.” He says, his eyes flickering to the books stacked on your dresser, the ones Simon and John picked up.

Christine squeezes his arm. “I’m just across the living room if you need me.”

“I’ll try not to.” He says.

She stares up at him for a long moment before nodding. She understands. He doesn’t have to say much else. She leaves the door cracked and he doesn’t mind, moving away from you to look through the books on the dresser. A handful of them are new, or at least ones he’s never seen you read before. A couple are ones he knows are in your collection at the barracks. He picks one of those, some fantasy novel he’s seen you read more than once.

He looks between the bed and the chairs. He could pull one over and sit by your side.

No, Christine said it was better to touch you.

Instead he climbs onto the bed, sitting close enough he can feel the heat from your body. He cracks open the book, flipping through to the first page. He clears his throat, staring down at you for a moment before he begins to read.

Rain batters the roof, coming down hard outside. The wind is blowing, whooshing past the house, rattling the shutters. The storm blew in from the sea, dumping rain by dinner and then the wind picked up by the time they were all getting ready to settle in for the night.

It feels fitting, a storm blowing in at a time when a storm is brewing within their pack.

The storm he blew into their pack.

He lays there in bed, listening to it rage outside. It’s quiet in the house, Simon and Johnny already settled in, and so are you downstairs. Kyle is beside him, but not asleep. He’s laying awake again as they have done since their arrival. He can feel the heat of Kyle’s body against his arm as he lays on his back, Kyle on his side facing away from him.

“You just had to do it, didn’t you?” Kyle asks quietly, breaking the silence. “Can’t even go a week without trying to apologize knowing full well she won’t forgive you.”

John stays silent, having expected some kind of reprimanding for his actions. He really was selfish for what he did. Kyle is right. You won’t forgive him, no matter how many times or ways he tries to say sorry.

“You’re just making it worse.” Kyle huffs out. “You’re the last person that should try apologizing right now.”

“You’re right.” He finally says. “It was selfish of me to do that. I just wanted her to know-”

“She knows.” Kyle snaps, cutting him off. “She’s not stupid and oblivious. She knows we’re all feeling guilty, she knows how sorry we all are. She won’t let us apologize until she’s ready. Shows just how little you actually understand her, trying to do that.” Kyle pushes himself up to sit. “She doesn’t want words. She’s had words spewed at her, her whole life telling her what to do, how to feel, how to act. She want’s actions. She wants us to prove to her that we do care, that we are sorry, that we’re making an effort to make things up to her. She wants us to prove that we’re putting her first by putting her first.”

John knows he’s right. Words won’t solve a situation like this. None of them know where to start, though. How do you try and make things up to someone when you’re not even sure that person wants you to try?

“She’s sick now, because of what you did.” Kyle continues. “If anything happens to her...” He trails off, shaking his head.

“I’ll let you take the first shot.” John says. “I know. I’ve been a miserable excuse of an alpha. It’s easy when you have the confines of the military to hold everything in place. When those expectations dictate your life and how to run a pack. It’s easy, when you can exist as a pack with those set routines and structures. The facade that makes everything seem like it's working.” He shakes his head. “We never would have worked outside of those confines.”

Kyle’s head turns slightly towards him, but his gaze is still on the far wall. “No, we wouldn’t have. None of us would have chosen this in the first place.”

“Probably not.” John agrees. “Then we got an omega added, an outsider that showed us just how weak we really were.”

“We were crumbling long before that.” Kyle says. “We weren’t ready for an omega, we shouldn’t have ever had an omega.”

“I should never have been head alpha.” John says. “Being an alpha is different from being a captain. It shouldn’t have been me.”

Kyle snorts. “He would have never agreed.”

“That delay might have saved us.”

“Or it would have made things worse.” Kyle says. “Shepherd wanted us to bond with her right away so his control over us would strengthen if he had to use that power. If those bonds weren’t put into place when they were, they might have tried to force it.”

“That would have only destabilized things further.” John says. Kyle isn’t wrong. Who knows what lengths they would have gone to, to ensure what they wanted would happen. “They were watching us from the start. They knew exactly how to play all of us.”

“Simon was right all along in his suspicions.” Kyle says, laying back down on the bed. Their shoulders are touching. It feels nice, having him close again. They’ve been close for the last few days, forced together by their sleeping arrangements, but it feels different now.

“He’ll be a better alpha than I ever could be.” John says quietly, almost speaking to himself.

“I think she will come to forgive you eventually.” Kyle says, turning his head to look at John. “You just have to give her time. A lot of time. You have to figure out how to prove yourself worthy of that forgiveness.”

“I want to take her to the beach.” John says. “Once she’s recovered.”

“If she recovers.” Kyle had pieced together the worry in Christine’s voice combined with her words. They all had.

“She will.” John says. “She’s a tough little thing. She’s not going to give up just like that.”

“I hope you’re right.” Kyle says.

“I may not have the best track record with being right currently, but I’m confident in her and her strength.” John turns his head to look at Kyle in the darkness. The storm is calming outside, the wind dying down and the rain lightening. “She’s stronger than all of us combined.”

The corners of Kyle’s lips twitch. “You are right about that.”

It smells good.

There’s a rich scent in the air as you begin to wake. It smells like Christmas, like spices and citrus. Warm gingerbread and cider. Freshly squeezed orange juice on Christmas morning just like every year. It had been your favorite, though you never understood the lengths your mother went to, the early morning and the hours spent in the kitchen on Christmas slaving away to make everything perfect. Everyone got something they wanted, something they loved. You never appreciated that effort until now.

Oranges. Spices. Warmth.

You know that scent.

It’s hot in the room, sweat soaking your skin as you lay on your right side. Heat surrounds you like a cocoon, just like the scent. Warm and soft and too much. You try to wiggle out from under the blankets but you can’t move, so instead you shuffle them off. Some of them hit the floor with soft plops, the others just barely hanging on the side of the bed, trapped under your body. You’re still stuck, still hot as you lay there, a comforting weight around you. The scent floods your nose, fills your body with a pleasant feeling as you lay there, breathing through your nose. Oranges, spices, warmth.

Someone is baking a pie.

It smells good. You want to bury yourself in it, press yourself into that scent until it’s the only thing you can smell. It brings you a comfort you didn’t realize you were missing. Something fills your chest, a weight beginning to press down inside of you.

Your hair sticks to your face as you lay there, tempted to get up and see who is baking and why. There’s weight pressing down on you from the outside as well. You can’t move. You’re stuck.

The weight around you moves.

No, it’s not pie.

It’s Johnny.

That’s why you know the scent. That’s why it feels so familiar, so comforting. It’s Johnny. Johnny is pressed up against your back, his arm tossed over your waist. That’s why it’s so hot, his body putting off warmth like a heater.

You should be angry at the breach of your clearly placed barriers. You should be upset that he would come in here and just climb in bed like this. You should be pissed that one of them would try something like this after your outburst yesterday.

You shouldn’t be crying.

Not out of relief.

Oh how you missed this.

Something begins to throb in your chest as you lay there, crying quietly in Johnny’s arms. Something begins to thrum deep within you, something you haven’t felt in weeks. Life? Hope? Happiness?

You should be upset.

You can’t be.

Johnny grunts quietly behind you, his arm leaving your waist as he stretches. He’s awake now, or maybe he hadn’t been at all and had been waiting for some sign of life, some movement from you, something to try and give him a hint at what you must be feeling. He doesn’t say anything, laying still as you sniffle in the silence. No one else is up yet, despite the blue light of dawn coming in through the gap in the curtain.

“Johnny?” You whisper, even the quiet sound hurting your sore throat. You’re thirsty, desperately so, but that’s a problem for later.

“It’s me, kitten.” He says hesitantly, the pet name making a sob tear from your throat.

“Johnny,” You cry, the tears falling in a cascade. You can’t stop them. You’ve lost complete control as you lay there sobbing. “Hold me.”

He doesn’t say anything else, his arms wrapping around you and tugging you close against his chest. He locks you in his embrace, holding you tightly against his chest as you cry. It feels good. Life and energy flows through you again for the first time in weeks. That empty space in your chest begins to fill slowly, warmth blossoming in your body despite the sweat soaking you both. Johnny offers no complaints as he presses his face into your hair.

How you missed this.

How you need this.

You seem more relaxed at dinner. Despite your angry outburst the day before, and your sudden illness, you look significantly less miserable than you did your first attempt at joining them for dinner. The yelling did a number on your throat, but even now it’s nothing compared to that first day. You’re having soup again, and this time there’s a side of mash and peas next to the bowl.

You even walked to the table without the crutch.

Simon sits beside you again, all of them taking their respective seats at the table. They’ve assigned themselves these seats, even when you don’t join them for a meal. You’re at the head of the table as you were the first time, Simon and Chrstine on either side of you. Kyle and Johnny are seated next to them, and John is across the table from you. You’ve been avoiding looking at him. You haven’t even so much as glanced up at him.

Simon is watching you carefully out of the corner of his eye, trying not to make it obvious. If you’ve noticed, you haven’t shown any disapproval. He’s ready in case he has to act fast again, but you are far more steady than you were that first time. There’s no tremble to your hand as you bring the spoon up to your mouth.

The others look happier than before too. Johnny has stopped crying. Not even a sniffle from him ever since this morning when he emerged from your room. None of them had said anything about it, though they have an inkling of what had happened, judging by Christine’s lack of reaction to it. Kyle looks happier too, sitting straighter like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. It probably has, with the lightening of the mood. Whatever happened with Johnny this morning, it’s made a huge change already.

John has never been much of a religious man, but god bless Johnny for whatever magic he worked this morning.

You don’t even look feverish as you sit there, spooning soup into your mouth. A lingering low-grade fever, Christine had informed them earlier that afternoon, but significantly less concerning than things had been yesterday.

He’s glad to hear it. He’s always glad to hear Christine’s updates on how you’re doing, how well you’re healing, at least physically. The body heals easily. Mentally...there’s still a long way to go. Healing physically will help mentally, but with all the trauma, years and years of trauma, it’s going to take a long time to heal from that.

The clink of your spoon in your bowl draws him from his thoughts and he glances up at you.

“Getting full?” Christine asks as you take a sip of your water, wincing slightly as you swallow it.

“Can I have some tea?” You ask.

“Sure,” Christine says, going to push her chair back, but John is already standing.

“I’ll make some.” He says, not offering any room for argument as he turns his back on the table to head for the kettle.

You’ve been drinking more tea lately, likely to soothe your throat. He never thought he’d see the day, given your determination to stand with Johnny on the side of coffee. It’s a bit late for coffee, but he does know it wouldn’t keep you awake in the slightest. You love your sleep, as most omegas do, and nothing will get in the way of it. Not even some late evening caffeine.

He sets mugs out on a tray, deciding to make tea for everyone. At least that way it’ll make it seem less targeted at you. He’s not doing it to try and impress you or win your affections back. He just wants to help take the load off of Christine’s shoulders. She’s done so much for you, for all of them, already.

He steeps the tea before bringing the mugs to the table along with some milk and sugar. He knows at least Simon and Kyle will drink some, and he will as well. He brings the kettle over, filling the mugs with tea. All of them sit there watching him, waiting tensely for what will happen next. Will you take the mug of tea he offers? Or will you refuse. Even if you threw it in his face, it wouldn’t make him mad. It would be horribly painful, yes, but he would deserve it.

Perhaps him doing this was a mistake.

He stares at the sugar and milk as he grabs one of the mugs. Do you like sugar or milk in your tea? He’s not sure. He doesn’t even know how you take your tea. He knows you like creamer in your coffee. But how do you take your tea?

What a sad excuse of a human being he is.

You don’t look at him as he sets the mug next to your water glass. You’re still eating your soup, your hand trembling just slightly now. Your scent is tainted still, a whiff of it filling his nose. Displeasure, a hint of burning anger.

This was a mistake.

He sets the milk and sugar next to you first, letting you finish making your tea. He won’t push that boundary and risk making it wrong. It would only add fuel to the fire, make it more obvious that he knows and cares so little for you. He doesn’t even know how you take your tea.

He takes his seat again as the others help themselves to the tea, even Johnny taking a mug. Whether he’s doing it because he wants to make the moment feel less awkward, or because he genuinely wants some, John will never know.

He made a mistake in doing that.

Still, despite the awkwardness, it felt good to do that.

Maybe that’s how they get closer to you.

The little things, things that take some of the pressure off Christine. She has to be getting tired, going nonstop all day. Anything they can do to help, they should. Things seemed to go well with Johnny, so maybe the others can have some success in their attempts to gain your favor once more.

John will have to stay away for now. Distance is what you need from him.

That’s alright. He has other things he can do.

He tries to hide the small grin on his face as you pick up the mug, taking a sip of the tea.

They’re fighting.

You stand at the back door watching them throw punches. They’re solid punches, nothing held back, no pulling them. They’re all breathing heavily, two of them watching the other two fight.

Simon’s fist meets Kyle’s shoulder, Kyle’s fist going for Simon’s head but he’s too fast, ducking before he drives his shoulder into Kyle’s stomach. Kyle hits the grass, disappearing from your view.

John steps forward, pulling Simon back and speaking to him, but you can’t hear from this distance.

“Still out there?” Dr. Keller asks, stepping up beside you.

“Yep.” You say, watching as Johnny takes Kyle’s place against Simon.

“John did say it would be good for them.” Dr. Keller says, wincing as Johnny’s fist hits Simon’s ribs.

“They’re gonna start a real fight.” You say, watching as Simon starts to get more aggressive. You can tell because you’ve been in that position before. You’ve seen when that switch starts to flip, when the alpha starts to take over. He was never this aggressive with you, but perhaps even his alpha could be rational given your obvious size and strength difference.

And the fact you’re an omega.

“Well, that’s their problem.” Dr. Keller says. “As long as they keep it out there.”

“They might make you patch them up afterwards.” You say.

She lets out a snort. “There’s ice packs in the freezer and a first aid kit in the bathroom.”

You try to hide your smile as you watch John get in between Johnny and Simon, speaking to Simon again. Maybe it will be good for them to get some of that pent up energy out. They’re all used to being so active and always having something to do. Being stuck inside has to be driving them stir-crazy. Simon has been going on runs in the morning, and you know John has been going on walks every so often.

You’re starting to feel a bit stir-crazy yourself. It’s taking you back to the days shut up in the barracks, unable to go anywhere or do anything, having to entertain yourself for hours while they were gone. At least there you had space and room to move around, even when you were being trailed, one of them constantly following you around. They might not be hovering quite as obviously here, but it still feels suffocating, like you can’t truly have a moment to yourself.

“I want to go for a walk.” You say, shifting on your feet. The likelihood of you going very far is slim, at least right now.

How far you’ve fallen from your running days.

“I suppose you could go for a little walk.” Dr. Keller gives you a sideways glance. “Might be good to help get your strength back. I doubt they’d let us go without one of them, though.”

“Probably not.” You agree, knowing they won’t even let you sit out on the porch without one of them watching. If you left the house without even telling one of them, all hell would break loose and you’d be condemned to your room once more.

The thought makes you wince.

You almost wish you could go out there and throw some punches at one of them. That might make you feel a bit better. Hell, line them all up and you’ll take turns beating the crap out of all of them. Maybe that might heal some of the anger and pain still stuck inside of you.

That’s an idea for a different day, though.

It’s oddly warm out today, or at least that’s what Ashley said. Soon the weather will turn, though, and the cold rain will come. Lots of rain.

Your eyes flick between Ashley and Dr. Keller. The three of you are seated in a circle around a table outside, steaming mugs of tea in front of you. Neither of them are staring at you, instead focused on each other as Ashley speaks.

Dr. Keller has a crush.

It’s not hard to tell. Her eyes are focused on Ashley, a smile tugging at her lips. Her gaze only flicks to you when you shift and move in your seat before she’s staring at Ashley again. You can’t blame her. You can hardly bring yourself to look away from Ashely too.

It makes you almost miss Kyle.

They have the same soft brown eyes and the same bright smile. They’re both perfect, like they were chiseled out of marble and brought to life. They even laugh the same, a genuine chuckle coming right from the chest.

It makes you want to laugh, even if you have no clue what was being said.

How has Kyle been handling this? You’ve hardly paid him any mind. His connection to John puts him too close to the source of your anger and rage and pain. Johnny cries, Simon is a brick wall, John reeks of guilt and misery. Kyle...you don’t know. He’s been a blank spot, a hazy figure in the distance.

It almost makes you feel bad. You’ve completely cut him off, isolated him. Has he cried? Has he been sulking? How miserable does he feel about everything? Does he feel guilty or miserable at all? He has to. They all do.

Good. You think. They deserve it.

“You do get stuck in your head, huh?”

Your gaze snaps up, looking between Dr. Keller and Ashley. They’re both staring at you quietly, a small smile on Ashley’s face. You did get lost in your thoughts again, stuck in your ruminations as you usually do. Lately it hasn’t been a problem, as you’re alone or with Dr. Keller often. You’re supposed to be thinking and processing. It just happens at the worst times.

Simon would hate it still.

“Something specific on your mind?” Dr. Keller asks.

You probably shouldn’t say anything. How would you explain how your mind went from Dr. Keller crushing on Ashley to hoping the guys feel guilty? You’re not even sure you should reveal that you know about Dr. Keller’s crush, especially if she hasn’t said anything yet. You don’t think she has. They’re not...close in the way a couple would be, a distance still between them. Does Ashley feel the same way? It’s hard to tell since you don’t know her quite as well yet.

Maybe that can be your goal, besides healing. Something to focus on, something to distract from the constant emotions and pain. Get Ashley and Dr. Keller together.

They’d be perfect for each other.

“Not really.” You finally say, looking down at the book in your lap. You’re about halfway through it. It’s fine. Nothing to write home about.

“What do you think of the book?” Ashley asks, sensing your end to that discussion. She doesn’t push. You like that about her.

“It’s alright.” You shrug. “Kinda slow.”

“They are spending a lot of time on character development.” Dr. Keller says.

“We should keep a tally of how many times the phrase “his dark eyes” gets mentioned.” Ashley says, making you laugh.

“It’s good to hear you laugh.” Dr. Keller says, smiling at you.

“It...feels good to laugh again.” You say. “It’s nice to have something to laugh about.”

“Well then I’m going to make that my mission.” Ashley says, taking a sip of her tea. “Get you to laugh as much as possible.”

You don’t think you’ll mind that one bit.

The scream dies in your throat as you jolt awake in bed. The book that had been in your hands when you fell asleep drops to the floor with a quiet thud as you jerk up into a seated position. You’re breathing heavily, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you try and calm your racing heart. It’s beating hard like it might beat right out of your chest. You’re shaking, your hands clutching at the baggy shirt you’re wearing like you’re trying to cling to some hope that it was all a dream, that you’re awake now and this is real life.

Sweat beads on your forehead as you sit there, shaking in the darkness. You need someone. The shadows are closing in around you, your nightlight unable to keep them completely away. You need someone to fight them back. You need someone to reassure you that it was all just a dream, someone that can wipe the tears streaming down your cheeks and whisper softly to you that it’s all okay. That it’s all over.

You need Kyle.

Where is Kyle? How do you get to him without waking the others? You could go upstairs but what if they think you’re an intruder? You don’t even know which room Kyle is in. You wish you had a phone. You wish you could call him. You wish you could just telepathically reach out and tell him you need him and only him.

You’ll wake them all anyway trying to find him.

You suck a breath in, your hands still shaking as they cling to your shirt. You have to do it. It’s the only way to get them all down here, to get Kyle down here.

You take a couple deep breaths before you scream.

Within seconds the house is alive, footsteps racing across the living room towards your room as others thud from above.

The overhead light stings your eyes, forcing them closed. It’s too bright, intrusive even with your eyes pinched closed. You can still see it behind your eyelids, harsh and too artificial. Just a price you have to pay to get what you need.

Dr. Keller’s hands are soft as they peel your hands off your shirt, your fingers trembling with nothing to hold on to. They open and close, seeking out something to grip, something to give you an anchor to reality. You’re still panicking, your breaths shaky as you sit there, trembling in fear.

“You’re alright,” She tries to soothe you, brushing your sweaty hair back. “It was just a dream.”

You wish it was.

“Kyle.” The name comes out as barely a whisper, stuttering out of your trembling lips.

“What was that, sweetie?” Dr. Keller asks, leaning in closer.

“Kyle.” You whisper louder now, the name shaky in the tense silence of the room.

“Kyle,” Dr. Keller repeats, standing up straight.

Quiet, hesitant footsteps approach the bed. Your eyes are still pinched closed against the harsh overhead light. You can’t bring yourself to be brave enough to open them, to face that harsh light. It might reveal the truth, that it was all just a dream, that this is still just a dream.

It might not be Kyle approaching the bed at all.

You can’t know. You don’t want to know. You’re afraid to open your eyes.

There’s a click as the lamp is turned on. You still can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. It’s supposed to be comforting, the soft light, but it could be used against you, giving you a false sense of hope and security.

You flinch as the overhead light is turned off, still too afraid to open your eyes. Your hands have closed around the blanket pooled at your waist, gripping it so tightly your fingers are aching. It’s real. You’re touching it, you can feel the texture of it in your hands. It’s real.

It’s real.

Your breaths are shaky as you breathe in and out, trying to catch a scent. Any scent. Something to tell you that you’re really awake, that it really is Kyle standing next to the bed.

“I’m here.” A soft voice says, something hovering in the air next to you.

Kyle.

You know that voice. You’d know it anywhere.

You finally crack your eyes open, tears brimming as you turn your head to look up. Kyle is standing there awkwardly next to the bed, his hand raised as if he was reaching out to comfort you, but thought better of it. You’re glad he did. You might have spiraled into another panic if he’d touched you before you knew it was him.

You stare at his hand for a moment before you peel one of your hands away from the blanket. Your hand is shaky as you lift it, reaching out towards his own trembling fingers.

His fingers are warm and rough, just as you remember as they close around yours. You’re still shaking, a cold sweat forming on your skin as fear trickles down your spine.

What if this is a dream? What if this isn’t real?

“I’m here.” He says, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles.

You want to believe him. You really do.

You pull his hand closer, pressing your cheek against it. His skin is warm against your cheek, and like Johnny, he makes no complaints about your sweat smearing on his skin. You’ve been that close to them before, sweat mixing together, slicking skin. How far things have fallen since then.

Your tears drip onto his skin as you hold him there, just breathing him in for a moment. He smells like the sea, but with that soft, light scent underneath. You missed that scent, more than you realize you did.

You let out a quiet sound as you rub your cheek against his hand, almost like you’re trying to embed his scent under your skin.

He doesn’t say anything as you lean against his hand, tears still streaming down your face. The lamp is pushing some of the darkness away, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. You can still feel the eyes from the dark corners of the room, the shadowy figures just out of view threatening to reach out and tear you away.

A shudder runs down your spine, your fingers squeezing around Kyle’s in what has to be a painful grip.

“I’m here.” He says again, pulling you from the dark thoughts plaguing your mind. He’d know if someone was here. He’d know if anything threatening was nearby.

It’s his job.

The job.

The thing that’s kept you so separated from them, kept you at a distance. The thing that put your life in danger, that exposed them all as liars. The thing that’s left you an empty shell.

Maybe having him down here was a mistake.

But the shadows...

You tug on his hand, pulling him closer to the bed. He sinks down on the edge carefully, still a bit hesitant. You don’t blame him. It’s not like you’ve been the most welcoming of them. For good reason.

You need him right now. That need for safety and security far outweighs the conflicting emotions battling in your brain right now.

“Stay.” You say, the word tumbling out from your trembling lips.

“You’re sure?” He asks, his thumb still stroking your knuckles. You’re not sure if he even knows he’s doing it.

You nod, tugging him closer as you scoot over in bed. He lets you guide him, laying on top of the covers.

You try not to think about it too much.

It’s nice having him close. The shadows don’t seem quite as dark, the threats in them silent now that he’s here. He’ll keep you safe. He’ll protect you from the silent threats. That’s why you want him. That’s his role to play in all of this. They all have roles, they all have their places in the pack. They all have a part to play, not just for you but for each other.

They’ve been struggling.

They’re struggling because you’re struggling.

The silence is loud as you lay there listening to the hum of electricity. You’re not quite sure what to say, how to break the silence. What is there to say that you haven’t already conveyed by your silence? What is there to say beyond what you’ve conveyed in your anger? They all heard your outburst, they all know the source of your anger and what they did to cause it.

What’s left to say when you have nothing tying you together anymore except a claim and a half-broken bond? What is there to say when saying the wrong thing might fray that bond even more than it already has been?

“I’m sorry.” Kyle says, finally breaking the tense silence.

Of course he’d start with that.

You let out a huff, turning on your side to face away from him. “I know you all are. You don’t have to keep saying it.”

He lets out a sigh. He knows it. He’s not apologizing to you, for you. “Nothing can change what we did and we know that. We just...want you to know that we’ll do whatever it takes to help you and support you. We don’t want to push that boundary too far, but we’re all here if you need us.”

You let out a hum. You already know that too. That’s why Johnny came so willingly, that’s why he stayed. That’s why they all tiptoe around you and stare at you like you’re a wild animal that may strike at any moment.

Part of you wishes they wouldn’t.

Part of you wants to go back to the way things were. Part of you wants to pretend that everything is normal again, that you love them and they love you just as much. You want to go back to that comfortable, seamless flow of one around the other, the way they all moved in sync, aware of each other without even needing to look. You want to insert yourself into that flow again and let them guide you along with them. You want to trust them blindly again and know they’d catch you if you fall.

They proved they won’t though. They proved you can’t trust them to catch you. You’re on your own again, forced to catch yourself, forced to save yourself. You have to make that rope to catch yourself with.

Yet, a deeper part of you yearns for that connection. Your omega screams for it, for your alpha, for your pack. You want them back with you, you want the bonds to heal and to be stronger than they were before. You want them to do as they said and prove to you that they’ve changed, that they're putting you first.

The omega should be first. The omega should be the center. The omega should be the sun they gravitate towards, revolve around.

That’s what the book said. That book that’s sitting on your desk in the barracks. That book you read over and over, convincing yourself that it was true and they were a good pack like that book said.

They’re not.

We all make mistakes.

They’ve never had an omega before. How are they supposed to know how to have an omega in their pack if they’ve never had one before? None of them came from big packs. John is the only one who’s ever even dated an omega before. They’re just as new at this as you are.

You probably know more than them.

You spent years learning how to be an omega in a pack. You read the books and wrote the essays and did the research. You read that book.

Simon read that book too.

Yet he did nothing.

“Why did you want me?” Kyle asks softly, pulling you from your ruminations.

You turn your head to look at him, staring into those soft brown eyes. Brown eyes you’ve missed. Tears trail down your cheeks as you stare at him, wetting the paths of the ones that had slowed to a stop in your rumination.

Why did you want him and not Johnny?

Johnny was the one that came for you, that comforted you, that got you through your fever. Johnny was the one you asked to hold you, to give you that support you’ve been so desperately clawing for.

So why did you ask for Kyle?

You turn onto your back again so you’re laying side by side, your shoulder brushing his. He’s warm, and you just want to nuzzle into him and never let him go again.

Another tear slides down your face as you stare at him, at that concerned look on his face. “I need you to tell me it’s going to be okay.”

That concern morphs into understanding as he shifts slightly, reaching out for you. You let him, you let his thumb brush the tear sliding down your cheek away. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just staring at you as you lay there in the warm light of the lamp. The shadows don’t seem so close now, so threatening with him here. The things that lay in the darkness waiting for you to sleep so they can seep into your mind and stir up the horrible memories lying there in wait are at bay for now, fought off just simply by his existence in this room.

His thumb continues to brush your cheek, your skin tingling along the path it follows. “It’s going to be okay.” He says softly, quietly.

You’re not sure if he’s convincing you of that or himself, or perhaps both. You don’t know what he’s feeling, what he’s been feeling. You’ve been ignoring him, pushing him away out of fear that if you looked too closely, you’d break down. That bond will never break between the two of you, held tight with steel simply because of that claim your alpha and his alpha has on the both of you. No matter how much you hate John, that bond can’t be broken. It can’t be cut. It can’t go away. It can’t be denied. Not completely.

A small smile tugs at Kyle’s lips, a reassuring smile. His words are stronger this time, spoken with more conviction and surety, like he’s speaking it into existence, manifesting it for the future when things perhaps can be different.

When things are better.

“It’s going to be okay.” He says, cupping your cheek, staring right into your eyes as he speaks. “We’re going to be okay.”

NEXT ->

To be notified about new chapters, please follow HERE and turn on notifications

#call of duty #call of duty fic #poly 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #Johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #Kyle Garrick x reader #gaz x reader #John price x reader #captain price x reader #Simon Riley x reader #Ghost x reader #a/b/o #alpha/beta/omega #omegaverse

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pearwaldorf · 1 year ago

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I hate that you can't see a tweet thread anymore if you're not logged into Twitter (as a gesture of disrespect I refuse to call it by its rebranded name). Here is a copypasta of a thread from Dan Olson, a Canadian documentary filmmaker, expanding upon camera quality, the guilt trips Somerton used to goose his Patreon subscriptions, and how the best tools will never make up for lack of dedication or patience. I have added clarifications in [[double brackets]] where I feel it is necessary.

START OF THREAD

Okay, so, back in April I snapped at James in reply to a tweet that was linking to this video (which James has since delisted but not deleted) and I want to talk about the full context of that but I don't want to make a video, put your beatdown memes away. [[The video has since been deleted. I can see the title of the video is "Maybe the end (not an April Fool's Day thing".]]

The first bit of context is that I initially got keyed into James to fact-check his claims about indie filmmaking in Canada. As a filmmaker the entire Telos venture was immediately obvious as a juvenile fantasy dreamed up by someone with no idea how to make a movie.

Just wild claims about their plans that weren't worth debunking because they bordered Not Even Wrong. But in watching one of these pitch videos I noticed that he had a $4000 current-gen camera in the background as a prop, and that seemed both pretentious and weird.

You don't use your best camera as a prop, you use your second best camera as a prop. So being an obsessive weirdo I needed to know, and I watched his BTS stuff until I spotted his main rig, a $6000 camera with about $1000 in accessories.

Now, these in isolation are unremarkable because his Patreon at the time was bringing in ~$8000 per month, his channel was a full on Business business, and so investing in some professional equipment of that level is maybe a bit indulgent but justifiable.

What was weird is that he doesn't shoot multi-cam, doesn't shoot outdoors, doesn't shoot on location, and in a studio the two cameras kinda really step on each others' toes. Basically if you already have one and don't need a B cam there's no reason to get the other.

Again, on its own, this says nothing, it's just indicative of poor financial decisions, maybe impulsive purchasing, Gear Acquisition Syndrome. Biblical sins, but not crimes.

Paired with the constantly inflating fantasy scope of the Telos films it was clearly an expression of a very, very common bad filmmaker habit of "if I just get the right gear then my movie will basically make itself" Buying stuff because it feels like progress.

At the end of February he tweets "I want to start shooting anamorphic" and then three weeks later in March he posts the worst, out of focus, under-exposed "I just got a new lens!" video I've ever seen, showing off his trash-covered bedroom.

Based on what's available for his cameras and the lead time, that's enough time to get a Laowa Nanomorph or Sirui Saturn from B&H but not enough time to get a Great Joy from the UK or a Vazen from China. And with the flaring blah blah blah, $1300 lens.

Again, [gear acquisition syndrome] is not a crime and these lenses are budget options. Bit of a pointless impulse purchase since he only used it for the Showgirls video. But this is what he was doing just a few weeks before that above video came out: effortlessly impulse purchasing lenses.

James has (had?) a habit of regularly, aggressively driving viewers to Patreon by claiming that videos were getting demonetized. While tacky, it is something a lot of queer YouTubers have dealt with, so there's precedent there. But people were noticing he did it a lot.

Mid-March he humble brags about needing to work so hard to make 6 videos in April because he has over-booked sponsorships.

Then March 29th James posts this whole incel screed on Twitter about how sex work should be "subsidized as a mental health service."

[two image descriptions.

1. "For the majority of people sex (and human contact) can be imperative to a healthy state of mind. A kind and talented sex worker can make someone feel wanted for the first time in their life. I know sex workers who have pulled people back from suicide just by being there for them." 2. "Not only should (sex work) be legal, but it should be subsidized as a mental health service."]

He spends several days getting absolutely *roasted* for this, just dragged across the pavement and read for filth, and doubles down in the replies the whole way.

So this is the context immediately surrounding James waking up on Friday, and posts the above video and the below tweet.

[image description: "We just got the lowest Patreon payout we've gotten in well over a year. Like, a "maybe we need to rethink things" kind of amount... NOT an April Fools Day thing btw. But I don't know if we'll be making videos much longer."]

Now, this unfolds in kinda two directions. The first is that I'm convinced he was just lying about this income shock in the first place.

There's a million theoretical edge cases about what maybe happened and if maybe he just misunderstood the data or saw a glitch and panicked, maybe one of those happened, I don't believe it, I think he just lied because he was salty about getting dragged and felt owed a win.

A big tell to me is that he doesn't blame Patreon. He says he doesn't know what happened, but let's be real, Patreon screws up all the time, they're the first people anyone blames if anything confusing happens, just as a reflex action, even if it's completely not their fault.

The only reason to not blame Patreon is if you already know that it's not their fault and that any investigation on their part might reveal embarrassing details.

Instead he indirectly blames his viewers for not watching enough, not sharing enough, and not turning on auto-renew.

So regardless of the unknowable truth, this segues into the second, far more offensive direction of the messaging itself. "I don't know if we'll be making videos much longer." "Maybe the end" He explicitly framed this as an immediate existential threat to his channel.

In the video he is vague about everything, leaves a ton of hazy room for plausible deniability on how long the channel can keep going, but the messaging is "I need more patrons right this minute or my YouTube channel is over."

He repeatedly evokes all the "fun stuff" they had planned that would never see the light of day if this didn't turn around right away.

And his audience received this message loud and clear. Tons of people making far, far, far less than him left very heartfelt messages about digging a little deeper to subscribe or up their pledge or unsubscribe from other channels to move their pledge to his.

1200 new patrons in one day.

Since I simply don't believe the income shock was real in the first place that would put his post-"Maybe the end" Patreon income at around $10,000 per month. US. Add YouTube income, he's spent the last seven months making around $18,000 per month.

I have seen creators scale back their capabilities to the bone purely to keep making videos for the love of just, like, making stuff even as their funding evaporated and they needed to go back to a desk job to cover their bills.

You'd have to be so outstandingly reckless with your finances as a channel that a one month spook leads immediately to "channel over, sorry about all the fun stuff we won't get to do with you, our patrons, specifically because you, our patrons, aren't giving us enough money"

And not a spook where you then spend a couple weeks crunching numbers. Oh no. A shock so violent where less than two hours later you're weeping on camera about the channel being over.

Three weeks later he brought a brand new Sony FX6v for $8000 CAD to add to his pile of cinema cameras despite the fact that he was, but scant moments earlier, in such a precarious position that a single bad month would kill his channel.

He stole your money, and for that I'm profoundly sad and angry. That's why I snapped at him in April. I'm sorry I couldn't give you the full context then, and I'm sorry if that anger upset you.

END OF THREAD

#james somerton #dan olson #hbomberguy #jesus christ tumblr #it won't let me format things the way i want #because this website is sometimes a piece of shit

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jedi-starbird · 10 months ago

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Time Travel is my favourite trope and I think we need more fics where both Obi-Wan AND Qui-Gon time travel together because no matter when they get sent it's chaos. They're saving the galaxy and being physic flash-bangs to everyone around them.

like before Bandomeer?

The entire council is baffled to watch as Qui-Gon 'never taking a padawan again' Jinn has suddenly cut off his post-Xanatos depression tour to return to the temple and beeline to the creche with a frantic energy. His wild eyes immediately single out a fluffy, red-haired initiate.

"You." he exhales with a pointed finger, slightly ominous as he towers over the child. Said child starts vibrating with delight. "Me." he agrees, launching himself at the man. Qui-Gon drops to his knees with a thud that cannot be healthy. Obi-Wan's attempts to clamber into Qui-Gon's robes and maybe onto his shoulders is thwarted by the fact that Qui-Gon's massive hands are cupping Obi-Wan's tiny squishy cheeks. He stares at the initiate for a few minutes with an intensity that is starting to worry people.

Finally, "You're so small." Qui-Gon sounds like he might cry.

'What the fuck?' Plo Koon projects at Mace.

"I'm 9! That tends to be the case!" the child chirps back.

"You're nine." Oh. Ah. Qui-Gon's eyes are distinctively misty. He squishes the boy in a hug so hard he squeaks. Mace makes a series of gestures that imply the need for a head-scan. Depa obligingly drifts off towards the halls. Qui-Gon scoops the child up onto his hip and claims him as his padawan on the spot. The assorted council members and creche-masters burst into noise. Mace tells Depa to bring some space ibuprofen as well.

after Naboo?

Anakin is a little apprehensive of his place in both the order and Obi-Wan's life, but then one day Obi-Wan wakes up and is suddenly a lot less sad in the force?? In fact, if Anakin didn't know better he'd say he was almost giddy, but he's watched Obi-Wan try to pretend his world hasn't fallen apart for the past few months so it can't be that, right? And um, Miss Bant? He knows grief is a funny thing that affects people differently but he's pretty sure 'massive mood swing' and 'having full conversations with invisible people' is not...great? and you said to tell you if Obi-Wan got really weird in any way.

Anyway after a lot of medical exams, intense consultation with the archives, and a couple exorcisms, Anakin ends up being raised by his 'real' master and his ghost master. He is far more well adjusted emotionally and far less well adjusted for what counts as normal people behavior(not talking to thin air). When questioned on this, all he ever says is that he's talking to Qui-Gon. Isn't he...dead? Well, yes. Wait, he's a ghost? Ghosts are real? ...Well this ghost is real.

This starts a great number of existential crises among non-force sensitives and incredibly heated theological arguments amongst the Jedi. Whenever Obi-Wan is questioned on this, all he ever says is some variation of "the force got to know him for 5 seconds and kicked him back out." Mace backs him up on this even though that reasoning is technically blasphemous. Qui-Gon is having the time of his un-life. He's ascended to his final form, his sheer existence is a heresy, this is truly all he has ever aspired towards.

the Clone Wars?

The minute they get dropped back Qui-Gon immediately goes and haunts the shit out of Dooku. They have a signed terms of surrender and promise of info on the Sith Lord within the year. Only half of it is because Qui-Gon's giving Dooku complexes that are only perceptible to shrimp, the other half is because they now have a ghost spy that is not bound by the laws of physics nor spacetime.

Obi-Wan only nominally pays attention to this as he immediately goes and implements his 19 step seduction plan with Cody (he had to focus on something on Tatooine to pass the time). It fails. Spectacularly. Publicly. Ah right. Tatooine was not exactly the height of his sanity. Everyone in the GAR and temple is now riveted by High General and Councilor Obi-Wan Kenobi's attempts to go on a date with his Commander, who bats him away him like a particularly annoying stray and seems one bouquet of cactus away from committing mutiny. Anakin is worrying if it means his master knows about his secret marriage and this is some sort of really weird power play. (It is, but not in the way he thinks)

The next time Dooku goes after Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon spends a good few months appearing tear-stained at the edge of Dooku's perception and only communicating in terrible wails and discordant mutterings of 'padawan. my padawan. my little one.' 24/7.

"Wait, you're annoying Dooku into surrendering?"

"Oh no Anakin, we're crushing his psyche like a bug. :)"

#everyone feel free to use these i crave more time travel fics #the sheer power qui gon would have as a fully communicating force ghost before and during the clone wars is astounding #qui gon with baby obi wan is like inconsolable sobs cause he never saw him this small and then his life was so sad and he couldnt even hug #him on tatooine but now look at his boy!!! so small and huggable!!!!#they absolutely weaponise baby obi against others his wet cat eyes are 1000% stronger now #they drop him in dookus lap like look grandpadawan:)#if you hold the grandpadawan maybe your sith behaviour will calm down :/#anyway them together is like they throw enough bullshit into the air to blind everyone while they speedrun important changes in the back #after naboo is like everyone offering obi wan condolences and obi responding yeah im going to need them the fucker wont stay down #star wars #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #qui gon and obi wan #fic ideas #time travel shenanigans #codywan #anakin skywalker #disaster lineage #count dooku

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angelicgirlmj · 3 months ago

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simple skincare routine (+ product recommendations based of skin types)

hi angels! skincare has been a big passion of mine since i was around twelve and began to develop some hormonal skincare issues. these really made me insecure and i still struggle with my skin. but being consistent and developing my routine, working out my skin type, eating with my skin as a focus and trial and error has got me to a place where im much much happier with my skin - and id love to share some tips and products with you!! remember your skin is exposed to so much and such a delicate part of your body, treat it with the love and respect it deserves. ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

firstly: figuring out your skin type

im not exaggerating when i say the basis of a good skincare routine is knowing your skin type. it makes it easier to buy products, work out what your skin needs and how to achieve the look you want.

dermatologists agree that there are four skin types:

oily (skin produces more oils and sebum).

dry (produces less oils and sebum).

normal (produces a normal amount of oils and sebum).

combination (areas of skin which are dry and areas that are sebum heavy/oily).

so…

how do you work out your skin type?

well there are two easy at home methods!

watch and wait (requires cleanser): wash your face with a gentle cleanser and pat dry. wait for half an hour or so and observe your skin. shiny all over = oily. tight and perhaps flaky = dry. shine in t zone = likely combination. hydrated and comfortable but not too oily = normal.

blotting sheet method (requires blotting sheets and cleanser): wash face with gentle cleanser, pat dry and waist for half an hour or so. press blotting sheets to chin, cheeks, forehead etc and examine the oil left on the sheets. lots of oil = oily. almost no oil/no oil = dry. oil mostly in t zone = combination. minimal all over face = normal.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

secondly: building a routine

now youve worked out what skin type you have it’s time to build a routine! i personally have combination skin that verges more on the dry side.

my am and pm skincare routines look like this…

am: cleanser, ice face, oil face and do gentle gua sha routine, moisturiser and spf. applying facial sanitising spray regularly throughout the day.

pm: double cleanse, ice face (only if feeling puffy/sore), moisturiser, 1 - 2 spot treatments and sanitise face.

am products:

cerave hydrating cleanser.

corsx moisturiser (great for dry and spot prone skin, little goes along way).

la roche posay spf 50+.

jojoba face oil.

vital baby face spray.

pm products:

la roche posay effclar duo.

avene hydrance aqua cream.

two over the counter spot treatments.

you may need to cleanse your face more/less, use less moisturiser etc. developing your skin care routine is through trial and error, just be observant of your skin and take notes on any effects or changes a product seems to have.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

thirdly: product recommendations

here’s a list of some product recommendations! some i have personally tried (they will be starred), others are popular ones based of your skin type loved by many.

cleansers

dry: cerave hydrating cleanser ⟡

oily: la roche posay effclar duo cleanser ⟡

combination: neutrogena skin balancing purifying gel cleanser

normal: paulas choice perfectly balanced foaming cleanser.

toner

dry: laneige cream skin toner

oily: body shop tea tree toner ⟡

combination: innisfree green tea toner

normal: la roche posay toner

moisturisers

dry: corsx moisturiser ⟡

oily: glow watermelon pink juice moisturiser

combination: byoma moisturising gel cream

normal: la roche posay cicaplast baume B5+ ⟡

spf

la roche posay spf 50+

black girl sunscreen

supergoop unseen sunscreen

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

thank you for reading angels! feel free to give any skincare product recommendations or reviews. im planning on doing an in-depth personal skincare routine post soon. hopefully you enjoyed!!

love, m.

#it girl energy #becoming that girl #clean girl #girlblogging #girlhood #glow up #it girl #just girly things #pink pilates princess #skincare

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imjustreadinglmao · 5 months ago

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BLUE PART II

Paring: Azriel x reader, Lucien x platonic!reader

Series summary: After Azriel and Elain‘s courtship is revealed, their mates, Lucien and Y/N, are left to deal with the consequences. While fighting against Koschei and for Prythian‘s freedom, Y/N has to navigate her emotions and learn how to live with the heartbreak of a one sided mating bond. But what happens when secrets are revealed and everything turns out differently than they thought?

Warnings: unrequited love, death, detailed descriptions of fights and blood, angst, characters being idiots

A/N: my last azrielxreader post won’t appear in the tags so reblogs are very much appreciated.

Word count: 3.3k

It’s a beautiful, crisp spring morning. The sun is shining, birds are singing, and the wind carries the lovely scent of freshly baked pies. I sigh at the prospect of leaving this peaceful place and trading it for the Autumn Court.

As I push the heavy oak doors of the River House open, I can feel anxiety coursing through my veins. After fleeing Autumn seventy-three years ago, I didn’t expect to return there so soon, even if only temporarily. It was difficult for me to leave. I couldn’t risk telling anyone about my plans, so I never had the chance to say goodbye.

Knowing my father, he had probably been more concerned about how me leaving would affect his standing with the High Lord and the other noble families. But my mother and sister… I would give a lot to see them again.

All those years, I have missed the familiarity of my home court, the traditions, and the celebrations I cherished so much as a child.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I step into the foyer. Rhysand, Amren, Azriel, and Lucien are already there, waiting for me.

Except for Lucien and me, who are wearing traditional Autumn Court attire, everyone else is dressed in midnight black.

Lucien looks up as I enter, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You look… convincing,” he says.

I let out a breathy laugh at that. The last time he saw me in Autumn colors was at a ball my family hosted, which ended with me puking my guts out, most of it landing on Lucien’s shoes.

Judging by the face he is making, he hasn’t forgotten either.

Azriel, standing beside him, nods in agreement. “It suits you,” he says quietly, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary.

His shadows peek over his shoulder as if they want to take a look too.

I try to ignore the flutter of emotions his words stir within me. Instead, I focus on the mission ahead, on the role I must play. The safety of Prythian depends on our success, and I can’t afford to let myself get distracted.

Rhysand steps forward, a mischievous smile on his face. “I have to say, you both pull off Autumn Court fashion far better than I expected. Maybe we should visit the Autumn Court more often.”

Amren, her eyes assessing our disguises, retorts, “If you spent as much time on strategy as you do on fashion critiques, we’d have won the war by now.”

I have to cover my mouth to not laugh out loud and accidentally anger the century-old creature that’s lurking beneath that Fae body.

Rhys just rolls his eyes, clearly undeterred by her sharp tone. “I’ll have you know that looking good is part of the strategy.”

With one last look at me, he stretches out his hand and asks, “Ready?”

I nod, take his hand, and let him winnow me away.

———————————————————

Arriving at the southern border of the Autumn Court, I am immediately struck by the beauty of the landscape. The trees here are taller than I remember, their leaves a riot of red, orange, and gold, perpetually caught in the peak of autumn. The air carries the earthy scent of fallen leaves and the smoke of distant fires burning in hearths.

As we step onto the moss-covered ground, bittersweet memories flood my mind. I find myself thinking of the simpler days of my youth, the carefree ones.

I feel dark talons gently scraping at the shields in my mind and lwt Rhys in. So lost in the beautiful nature, I barely realize him wishing us good luck and winnowing back to Velaris.

Right after Rhys leaves, Azriel begins to scout the area for any magical traps or shields set by Koschei, leaving us to wait for his return. As the minutes stretch into an hour, my anxiety starts to build.

I pace restlessly, my mind conjuring all sorts of terrible scenarios.

Lucien tries to reassure me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“He’ll be fine,” Lucien says softly. “Azriel knows what he’s doing.”

But his words do little to calm me.

“How can you be so sure? He could be injured… or worse. We don’t know what Koschei is capable of!” I snap.

I begin to ramble, listing every possible way Azriel could have gotten hurt. “What if he’s caught in a trap? What if there’s a magical barrier he can’t break?”

Just thinking about him being in trouble makes me want to vomit. “That’s it. He’s taken long enough. I’m going to find him and—”

Amren steps in, her voice cutting through my panic. “Enough. Get your shit together. We don’t have time for this.”

Her bluntness shocks me into silence, and I sulk, feeling chastised.

But Amren isn’t finished. “Oh, quit acting like a child. Maybe if you told him about your feelings and the mating bond, you wouldn’t be so anxious, girl.”

My mouth drops open and I look to Lucien, his face also morphed into shock. When I look back to Amren, she just lifts an eyebrow.

“How do you know about the bond?”

Amren lets out a long sigh. “Only someone stupid wouldn’t have picked up on that. And Azriel being the stupidest of all.”

She rolls her eyes and starts picking at her nails. “We all suspected it. For a while we thought it snapped for Azriel too. The way he followed you around like a love sick fool, we were sure of it. But I guess it didn’t.”

I don’t say anything else after that, my mind not coming up with a response.

——————————————————

Another hour passes, and my worry only deepens. I can’t stop imagining Azriel injured or trapped, his shadows unable to find a way back to us. Every rustle of the leaves makes me jump, hoping it’s him returning.

Lucien tries to keep me distracted, but my thoughts are a whirl of dread. He tells me stories of his own missions, but I can’t focus on his words. My mind is entirely on Azriel.

Finally, just as the sun reaches its peak, Azriel returns. He looks slightly worse for wear, his clothes torn in some places and his face smeared with dirt, but otherwise unharmed. He notices the tension immediately, his eyes narrowing in concern.

“What happened?” Azriel asks, looking between us.

I step toward him, my relief overwhelming. “Are you okay? What took you so long?”

Azriel nods, his expression serious. “There were more traps than I anticipated. It took a while to disable them all, but the path should be clear now.”

Amren crosses her arms. “Good. We don’t have time for any more delays.”

Lucien places a hand on my shoulder again, this time with a reassuring squeeze. “See? I told you he’d be fine.”

I manage a weak smile, still shaken by the fear that gripped me. Azriel’s eyes soften as he looks at me.

“We should move quickly,” Azriel says, breaking the moment. “It won’t be long till they notice that their shields and traps were destroyed. Amren and I will accompany you to the Forrest House, then we’ll separate and follow the original plan. It’s too dangerous otherwise. We can’t risk you.”

Lucien nods and gestures for me to go first. “Let’s get moving then. The sooner we’re done here, the better.”

We begin to move deeper into the forest, leading to Beron’s residence. The beauty of the surroundings contrasts sharply with the danger I know lurks nearby.

As we walk, I steal glances at Azriel, wondering how he can be so calm and collected all the time.

Gods, I nearly lost my mind over him doing his job. I am a hypocrite for snapping at him the other day. Yes, I am mad at him for courting Elain, but I also can’t expect him to be loyal to me when he doesn’t even know that we’re mates.

How different things would be if it had just snapped for him the second it did for me...

It happened three years ago. Unbeknownst to us, we were just celebrating the last winter solstice without Rhys when it snapped into place.

One moment I was admiring him from afar, the next I was connected to him for the rest of my immortal life.

He had still been in love with Mor back then, so I chose not to say anything. A huge mistake, because soon after, Elain came into the picture.

Truthfully, I never thought they were anything more than friends until I overheard Rhysand ordering Azriel to stay away from her. It wasn’t until then that I realized I had lost him forever. He wasn’t going to stay away from her, so I accepted my fate and kept silent.

———————————————————

After five hours of hiking through bushes, stepping in rabbit holes, and nearly getting killed by a boar, I can feel the exhaustion creeping into my bones.

“Can we please take a break? My legs are going to fall off,” I ask.

Amren smirks, not breaking her stride. “And here I thought you were tougher than this.”

Only Rhysand’s plea to behave and work together holds me back from strangling her. Gods, she really is a cranky hag.

Lucien chuckles softly and turns to me. “We’re only a few minutes away. Hang in there.”

I groan but press on. As we finally crest a hill, the sight of Beron’s castle comes into view, exactly as I remembered it. The imposing structure looms against the deep orange sky, its dark stone walls lined with creeping ivy. Tall, narrow windows glint in the dawning light.

“It’s just like I remember,” I whisper, a mixture of awe and dread washing over me.

Lucien glances at me, his expression unreadable. “Let’s get ready. We need to find a way to get in there.” He points to the entrance of the castle, where nobles are lined up to enter the masquerade ball hosted by the High Lord himself.

We slip through the dense forest that surrounds the castle, our movements silent and precise. Azriel scouts ahead, his shadows cloaking him in near invisibility. After what feels like an eternity, we find a secluded spot to prepare for our infiltration.

“Here,” Amren hands both Lucien and me a stack of clothes. “These are your disguises. You will pose as Lord and Lady Hawthorn. The late Lord Hawthorn died three months ago. You are recently married with no offspring or heir yet. This is your first outing as Lord and Lady. Some might recognize your name, though they should not look twice your way. Be discreet and don’t draw attention.”

“What about the real Lord and Lady Hawthorn? What if they decide to turn up and out us as imposters?” I ask.

Azriel shifts on his feet and answers a bit sheepishly, “Don’t worry, they have already been dealt with.”

My brows furrow in confusion. “What do you—” realization dawns over me. “Oh… oh, okay. I guess that makes this a lot easier.”

I grab the clothes Amren gave me and head for the nearest bush to change. When I look back, Azriel has his head tilted sideways and smiles at me.

The dress I change into is a deep burgundy, adorned with delicate golden embroidery.

The fabric is soft and luxurious and fits me like a second skin. The mask is made of similar fabric, with intricate golden lace around the edge of it.

As I step out from behind the bush, my eyes find Azriel’s immediately.

His eyes, usually so guarded, widen slightly as they take in my appearance, his gaze lingering on the details of my dress and the way it clings to my form.

“You look… stunning,” he murmurs, his voice low and sincere.

I feel a blush rise to my cheeks and look away, focusing on Lucien. Lucien is similarly attired, his outfit complementing mine with its dark tones and subtle elegance.

He grins at me. “Shall we, Lady Hawthorn?”

I bark out a laugh. “We shall, Lord Hawthorn.”

———————————————————

Getting inside the Forrest House was easier than expected. We just walked right up to the entrance, stated our names, handed them our fake invites, and were ushered in.

As we step into the grand ballroom, the sheer opulence of the scene takes my breath away.

Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, casting a warm glow over the sea of elegantly dressed nobles. Musicians play softly in one corner, their melodies mingling with the murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses.

At the far end of the room, atop a raised dais, sits Beron, his cold gaze sweeping over the crowd. To his right stands Eris. Our eyes meet briefly, and I give a subtle nod, which he returns.

Lucien and I mingle with the guests, keeping our eyes and ears open, waiting for Eris to give us our signal.

As Beron rises from his throne, a hush falls over the grand ballroom. The guests turn their attention to him. He begins to address the crowd, his voice echoing through the vast space.

“Welcome, esteemed guests, to this celebration of our enduring legacy and power,” Beron proclaims, his tone laced with self-satisfaction.

Just as he is about to continue, the heavy doors of the ballroom burst open. A squadron of Eris’s soldiers rushes in, their armor clanking loudly. The crowd parts like a tide, murmurs of confusion and fear rippling through the room.

Beron’s confident façade falters, replaced by one of anger and panic. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands, his voice rising in pitch as he glares at the soldiers.

Eris steps forward, his demeanor calm and resolute. “Father,” he begins, his voice carrying a chilling edge, “it is time. Your reign has been marked by tyranny and cruelty, and I will no longer stand by and watch my people suffer under your rule.”

Beron’s eyes narrow, a sneer curling his lips. “You think you can overthrow me, Eris? It takes more than a few soldiers to claim this throne.”

Eris begins to smile. “Oh, I know. A noble to swear me in and an heir to secure the lineage, right? Well, here they are.” He gestures to Lucien and me.

My eyes widen as I whisper-shout in Lucien’s ear, “He cannot be serious? THIS is his plan?!”

Lucien replies, equally as quiet. “I have learned a long time ago not to question my brother’s way of handling things.”

“You are truly deluded, Eris.” Beron laughs, a harsh, mocking sound. “They won’t accept a random noble as your heir.”

Eris stands his ground, his gaze unwavering. “But they will. Take off your masks,” he says to Lucien and me.

And so we do. Nobles everywhere are gawking at us. Some eyes fixed on me, most on Lucien.

Beron steps down from the dais. “What a surprise. The lost son finally returns home.” He turns his gaze to me. “And you, you’re Lord Yarrow’s daughter, no?”

I don’t answer. Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could. I’m rooted in place, not taking my eyes off Beron.

Beron turns to Eris again. “Well, it seems you really are full of surprises. But you’re forgetting one important thing. You would have to kilI me to claim the throne. And you’ve always been weak, Eris. You’re not strong enough, but you shall try.”

In that moment, I realize what Eris was doing. He was provoking his father into accepting his challenge, and Beron just did exactly that.

“I’ve had a long time to prepare.”

And with that, all hell breaks loose.

———————————————————

Chaos erupts as Beron and Eris clash, their swords flashing in the bright light of the ballroom. Beron's strikes are powerful, but Eris is swift and precise, his fire magic flaring up with every swing.

Lucien and I are quickly surrounded by Beron's soldiers. The nobles' screams fill the air as they flee the room in terror. I manage to grab a blade as the first soldier aims right for my neck.

My heart races as I parry another soldier's blow, my muscles straining with each clash of steel. Lucien fights beside me, his own fire magic scorching the air around us, incinerating our enemies with fiery blasts.

The ballroom is a whirlwind of chaos.

As we cut through the soldiers, our eyes are locked on the fight between Eris and Beron. We try to reach them, but more and more of Beron’s soldiers are streaming in.

Eris and his father fight with brutal intensity, their swords ringing out as they meet. Eris dodges and strikes with a precision that keeps Beron on his toes, but his experience gives him the upper hand, forcing Eris back step by step.

Just as Lucien and I are within seconds of reaching Eris and Beron, the ballroom doors burst open again. Five of Koschei's soldiers, dark magic radiating from them, storm in. They immediately begin slaughtering nobles, women, and children alike. Their dark magic tears through Eris's soldiers as if they were paper.

Lucien and I have no choice but to turn away from Eris and Beron and face Koschei’s magic wielders.

I take several hits to the gut, and a sword slices across my cheek, but I fight on, managing to take down one of the dark soldiers. Lucien, with his fire magic, kills two more, but before the third soldier is turned into ash, he drives a sword straight through Lucien’s chest.

Lucien collapses to his knees, blood pouring from the wound. I rush to his side, my heart pounding in my chest. Lucien's eyes flutter, and he tries to speak, but I stop him. "Save your energy," I beg.

He begins to close his eyes, the loss of blood making him weaker and weaker. "Lucien, stay with me!" I cry, trying to stem the flow of blood with my hands.

I have to get him to a healer fast; otherwise, he will bleed out. So I do the only thing I can think of.

Desperate, I tug on the bond with Azriel, praying that he will sense my distress.

A moment later, Azriel bursts into the room, Amren in tow. Azriel’s eyes widen with panic as he spots me and Lucien. He rushes to us, dropping to his knees beside Lucien.

"Azriel, you have to winnow him back to Velaris," I plead. "Find Madja , now!"

Azriel looks torn. "I can't leave you," he says, his voice tight with fear. “I— not like this. Not with you being my—”

"Amren is here, I’ll be fine," I insist, glancing at Amren, who is finishing off the last two of Koschei’s soldiers. "Please, Azriel! I can’t watch him die. I am begging you, just go, please!"

Azriel nods reluctantly, wrapping his arms around Lucien. With a final, desperate look at me, he winnows away, leaving me behind in the chaos.

With Azriel and Lucien gone, I feel a pang of anxiety, but I have no time to dwell on it. I turn back to the fight, watching as Eris and the High Lord continue their deadly duel.

Around me, the battle rages on. I join Amren, who is ruthlessly dispatching the remaining dark soldiers with a ferocity that belies her small stature.

Together, we fight our way through the chaos, our movements synchronized from years of fighting side by side.

We are fighting for what feels like hours. My arms ache from dealing blow after blow, and my eyes are getting blurry from the lack of sleep.

I steal a glance at Eris and Beron, watching as they exchange hits. Eris manages to land a few blows, but Beron shrugs them off.

The two of them are evenly matched, but the High Lord’s power coursing through Beron's veins gives him a slight edge.

Suddenly, Beron lunges forward, his sword aimed at Eris's heart. Eris barely manages to block the strike, their blades locking together. Fire erupts between them, and for a moment, it looks like Eris might be overpowered.

But Eris digs deep, summoning a burst of strength. He pushes Beron back, their swords disengaging with a loud clang. Eris's flames burn brighter, and he steps forward, pressing the attack.

The next moment, everything is quiet. No swords clashing, no screaming, just utter quiet.

As the flames subside, there, in the middle of the ballroom, not moving, is Beron.

The High Lord of the Autumn Court is dead.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #a court of thorns and roses #lucien x reader #azriel x you #writers on tumblr #eris acotar #rhysand #amren acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar x reader #azriel imagine

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empty-movement · 11 months ago

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Welcome to Something Eternal: A Website Forum in 2023 wtf lmao

It's 2023, and a single belligerent rich guy destroyed one of the primary focal points of uh...global communication. Tumblr is, shockingly, kinda thriving despite the abuse it gets from its owners, but that I will call the iconic refusal of Tumblr users to let Tumblr get in the way of their using Tumblr. Reddit killed its API, removing the functionality of mobile apps that made it remotely readable (rip rif.) Discord, our current primary hangout, has made countless strange choices lately that indicate it has reached the summit of its usability and functionality, and can only decline from here as changes get made to prepare for shareholders. (NOTE: WROTE THIS POST BEFORE THEIR MOBILE "REDESIGN" LMAO)

The enshittification is intense, and it's coming from every direction. Social media platforms that felt like permanent institutions are instead slowly going to let fall fallow incredible amounts of history, works of art, thought, and fandoms. It kinda sucks!

A couple years ago, I posted about a new plan with a new domain, to focus on the archiving of media content, as I saw that to be the fatal weakness of the current ways the internet and fandoms work. Much has happened since to convince me to alter the direction of those efforts, though not abandon them entirely.

Long story short? We are launching a fucking website forum. In 2023.

If you remember In the Rose Garden, much about Something Eternal will be familiar. But this has been a year in the making, and in many ways it's far more ambitious than IRG was. We have put money on this. The forum is running on the same software major IT and technology businesses use, because I don't want the software to age out of usability within five years. It has an attached gallery system for me to post content to, including the Chiho Saito art collection. It has a profile post system that everyone already on the forum has decided is kinda like mini Twitter? But it is, fundamentally, a website forum, owned and run and moderated by us. We are not web devs. But we have run a website on pure spite and headbutting code for over twenty years, and we have over a decade of experience maintaining social spaces online, both on the OG forum, and on our Discord. Better skilled people with far more time than we have can and will build incredible alternatives to what is collapsing around us. But they're not in the room right now. We are. And you know what? Maybe it's time to return to a clunkier, slower moving, more conversation focused platform.

You're not joining a social media platform with the full polish of dozens of devs and automated moderation. Things might break, and I might need time to fix them. The emojis and such are still a work in progress. Because e-mails no longer route in reasonable normal ways, the sign-up process instead happens within the software, and has to be approved by mods. Design and structure elements may change. Etc. The point being, that the forum isn't finished, but it is at a place where I feel like I can present it to people, and it's people I need to help direct what functions and things will be in this space. You all will shape its norms, its traditions, its options...choices I could try to make now, but really...they're for us to create as a group! But the important stuff? That's there. Now let's drive this baby off the damn lot already!

Come! Join us!!

PS. As always, TERFs and Nazis need not apply.

#revolutionary girl utena #shoujo kakumei utena #rgu #sku #empty movement #utena meta #fandom stuff #fandoms #expect a somewhat spicy atmosphere #empty movement has always had deep something awful roots #and i expect the migration back to a forum will bring with it some of that more spicy attitude #also lol henry kissinger is dead god that rules

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korkorali · 2 months ago

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The Misogyny of It All

So a lot of Della Duck Discourse is rehashed all the time, points are made again and again, but one thing that I almost never see people defend -and conversely, see people attack all the time- is The Line.

You know what I'm talking about. The Line from Glomtales.

"Your plans, your schemes, they only lead to bad things for your family. If you want to be a part of this family, you've gotta stop."

That one.

Now, what exactly Della was trying to get across with that line is a whole other can of worms that deserves its own post (basically she -and also the writers- horribly failed her Speech check).

What we're going over here is how that mimics a certain line from the last season, said by a parental figure to a child, that gets so much less flack. That, in fact, often gets paraded around as 'an interesting twist on a character.'

"You are not family!"

I have never seen people attack this line with the same amount of vitriol as they attack Della's, which is funny when they're the exact same line.

Actually, not even that- Scrooge's is worse.

It's more direct, it's literally yelled at Webby, it doesn't even attempt to address the issue Scrooge had (Webby blaming him for what happened to Della) and instead just straight-up attacks her as a person.

Now, to be fully honest- I like this line! I do genuinely think it's an interesting route for Scrooge to take, and is quite realistic to the grumpy old bastard. It's just funny that nobody ever comes to Webby's defense the same way they do for Louie.

Because the thing is- between Webby and Louie, one of these two has genuine, canonical issues with feeling like they're not a part of the family, like they're an outsider amongst those they love the most, like they don't belong.

And it's not Louie.

It is a consistent part of Webby's characterization that she feels like she doesn't belong. This gets touched on in all three seasons (and honestly, it could be argued that it gets worse after this moment).

Conversely, that just is not a part of Louie's canonical characterization. Even in the first episode of season 2, the one where Louie gets the closest to an 'I don't belong in this family' moment, it's less 'I don't belong here' and more 'fuck me I am terrible at adventuring'. And! It gets resolved in that episode!

(Of course, there is absolutely something to be said for how it's resolved- specifically by Scrooge encouraging him to be a scheming little bastard, which then thusly becomes the thing that threatens his family the most. Which would, logically, be a pretty big blow to his self-esteem. This isn't what I'm here to discuss right now but it is genuinely interesting.)

Louie never really shows an issue with feeling like he doesn't belong in his family. He shows a disconnect with his family at times, but in canon that never really evolves into a full-blown feeling of displacement. It does get close in Glomtales, but never quite reaches it.

So it's 'interesting' (read: not interesting) that Scrooge's fuckup here gets brushed away pretty easily. A lot of the time the line just straight-up isn't addressed, and when it is, often times it's about how "Oh he apologized to Webby offscreen, obviously."

Which.

Not he did not.

I mean, let me be clear: I don't mind it when that's the answer. It works for me to just brush it away if it's not meant to be the focus...

But Scrooge almost certainly didn't apologize for it.

As 'New Gods on the Block!' Showed us, Scrooge is downright awful at realizing when his actions have hurt people.

More likely than not, Scrooge would just assume that everything is fine and would avoid bringing it up at all costs because he'd feel awkward about it. Because he is, very importantly, not good at talking about things he doesn't want to talk about.

So why is it that Louie is always the one feeling like he doesn't belong? Why is it Della who is always a terrible parent for what she's said? Why are Webby's feelings of disconnect never really given the same gravity as Louie's? Why is Scrooge's blunder let off the hook super easily?

It just feels silly to me.

And, well.

Kinda like the fact that, since Scrooge is a guy and Webby's a girl, and Della is a woman and Louie's a boy, has something to do with it.

I'll happily give the benefit of the doubt and assume it's not deliberate, but quite frankly it is a double standard.

I think that people would be less upset with the Della Duck Discourse if Scrooge was held in a similarly critical position over what he's said and done. If it was acknowledged that Della isn't uniquely awful in what she says and does, and that a lot of the others have fucked up in extremely similar ways.

(I mean for fuck's sake, everybody goes on and on about how Della left her kids for ten years -which, for the record, wasn't what she wanted to do- but nobody ever criticizes Donald for taking the kids away from their family and never talking to them about Della- which is something he actively and deliberately chose to do)

TL;DR: The fact that Della gets intensely criticized for what she's said and done, but Donald and Scrooge are conversely celebrated as 'interesting' and 'complex' for what they've said and done, even when it brings harm to the kids, is a blatant double-standard. And if you don't think that this double-standard is bad or wrong for existing (or even that it Doesn't Actually Exist), instead of immediately claiming that it's a non-issue, maybe try to look inward and figure out why you really think that is.

#ducktales #dt17 #della duck #honestly if any of the triplets have a 'I don't belong here' complex it's dewey #like that's his whole season 1 arc #the fact that he feels like he doesn't quite belong in his family #and isn't sure if he WANTS to belong #which everyone instead makes Louie's arc #which is actually more 'I want to be rich because being poor sucked ass'#there's more depth to it than that but that's the gist of it

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the-boy-meets-evil · 7 months ago

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not according to plan | hjs (teaser)

summary: your ex-fiance is getting married and everyone you know is going to be there. when he calls to ask if you're coming, you accidentally mention a boyfriend. which would be fine, if you weren't very single. thankfully your best friend comes through with the perfect solution when he sets you up with a friend of his.

pairing: joshua x f.reader genre: fake dating, strangers to ?? | fluff, slight angst, smut rating: explicit (in the full fic), minors DNI word count: ~1.1k in this teaser (full fic ~22k) notes: johnny suh as the ex (sorry!), also includes other idols not in seventeen solely as face claims, there's a heavy focus on the fake dating, mentions of food & drink, warnings to be added to the final fic fic post date: friday, april 26th (full fic here)

a/n: i started this legit months ago as kind of a joke, talking about it with @shuadotcom but it's finally done (and a lot longer than i anticipated).

thank you to: @wonwussy & @kwanisms who read over this for me (too long ago), and to @cheolism @wooahaeproductions @hannieween, & sj for all the brainstorming help along the way. tagging: @aaniag @gyuminusone @crepecakeu

if you'd like to be tagged in this fic (or any of my fics), comment, click here for my tag list, or send an ask 💕

You still think this is a terrible idea, yet agree to meet Jeonghan’s friend, Joshua, anyway. Apparently, he’s somewhat new to the area, doesn’t know many people, and is incredibly easy to be around. There’s no mention of why Jeonghan thinks he might be willing to pretend to be your boyfriend. A part of you wonders if your friend even told him, but he’s not that cruel. So, whatever the case, Joshua must at least have some idea of what he’s walking into.

Several days pass between the nightmare of a call from Johnny and you actually meeting Joshua, which only adds to your anxiety about whether or not this is going to work. Johnny is asking for a name for the seating chart and for dinner selections. Your mom wants to know when they’ll be able to meet this new boyfriend before the wedding (because “meeting him for the first time at a wedding is gauche” and we wouldn’t want that). Your sister is convinced that he doesn’t actually exist since you haven’t posted him on social media. That you can at least answer to say that not everyone posts their entire life online like she does. It doesn’t seem to allay her suspicions, though.

Then, there’s the fact that you’re actually meeting Joshua for the first time at dinner. All you wanted was to go for coffee, yet he insisted. You couldn’t exactly press the point. Not when you’re planning to ask this stranger to pretend to date you just so that you can avoid the embarrassment at your ex’s wedding. On top of that, because Jeonghan really is a demon at his core, you don’t know what Joshua looks like. Don’t know who to look for. Which leads to you doing the only sensible thing and showing up 5 minutes late for dinner, hoping that he’ll already be at the table when you get there.

It works.

When you give the reservation name at the host stand, you’re immediately led back to a table. Without even thinking about it, you smooth your hands down the front of your dress, looking for a small amount of comfort in this situation. It’s not even that you struggle around new people, this is just…well, it’s a lot. It’s out of anyone’s comfort zone. Whatever you’re expecting, it’s not the man sitting at the table the host leads you to. He nearly stops you in your tracks.

His black hair is perfectly styled down to the pieces on one side that come down over his forehead. The black dress shirt he wears is open at least one button too many, but he makes the exposed chest look work in a way models would envy. Even though his pants are black as well, he makes it look classic and effortless, rather than too dark. That’s all without even acknowledging the soft smile on his face. This man would break a thousand hearts without even saying a damn word. While you’re appreciating him, you miss the way his eyes rake over you appreciatively. Miss the way his eyes trace your curves and the way the dress clings to you.

In one fluid motion, he’s standing up to greet you, a gentle kiss placed on your cheek. Is it weird if your knees are a little weak? Well, even if it is, there’s nothing you can do. You’re completely captivated.

“You must be Joshua,” you say. Brilliant, you think. That’s obvious.

“It’s nice to meet you. Jeonghan had nothing but good things to say,” he answers with another smile as he pulls your seat out for you.

“I feel like he hardly told me about you,” you respond. Joshua raises a perfect eyebrow at that.

“Then why did you agree to go out with me?” Joshua asks.

“Go out with…is this a date?” The question comes tumbling out.

Joshua’s eyes widen in genuine confusion. “Is it not?”

“What, exactly, did Jeonghan say to you?”

A lot and nothing at all, it turns out. Joshua tells you about how he’s somewhat new to the area, which you knew. About how he met Jeonghan through work, kind of. They work in the same building doing very different things and happened to run into each other getting coffee a handful of times before Jeonghan introduced himself. The two had hung out several times, something Jeonghan had not really mentioned, and gotten to know each other over drinks more than once. The very first time, Jeonghan had mentioned you and Joshua admits immediately being intrigued without pressing for more information.

In any case, Jeonghan talked about you pretty freely, a fact that’s hardly surprising. Before Joshua texted you, Jeonghan had mentioned, in what Joshua calls an offhand way, that you were sick of dating the same people. According to Joshua, through Jeonghan, you were looking to possibly be set up. (Read: Jeonghan thinks he’s crafty and isn’t going to come out and tell this man what you’re really looking for. Typical Jeonghan, honestly. You know that “offhand comment” was anything but. And you had the audacity to think Jeonghan would have to tell Joshua what he’s getting into. Rookie move.)

Now you’re in a bit of an awkward situation because this man is honestly gorgeous, one of the prettiest humans you’ve ever met. And, already, he seems like he might be sweet with a pretty good sense of humor. It’s just…well, you’re absolutely not looking for a relationship and this is the last person you want to get involved in your mess. Thankfully, you get a moment to catch your breath when someone comes by to take a drink order and suggest an appetizer. It’s just enough time for you to talk yourself into telling Joshua the real story.

To his credit, he only looks mildly surprised as you outline your whole situation, inform him that yes, Jeonghan does know all of this, and clarify why you didn’t actually realize it was a date. It’s hard to miss the way his eyes seem to sparkle a bit when you also admit that he’s absolutely stunning in a way that hurts your feelings. Easier to miss is the way his face barely falls when you say that you’re not actually looking for something right now. Interesting.

“So that’s the whole thing and now that I’ve embarrassed myself in front of you, I’m sure you’ll understand if we never see each other after tonight,” you finish.

“How am I supposed to go to a wedding as your boyfriend in a matter of weeks if we don’t see each other after tonight?” Joshua wonders.

let me know if you want to be tagged when i post the full fic next week 💕 (and what you think so far)

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st-eve-barnes · 10 months ago

Text

Bad Girl

(modern Aemond x fem Reader)

Summary: Aemond gets a little (sexually) frustrated with his shy girlfriend. Based on this post: "Hold her down by the throat and put her vibrator on the max setting. That'll fix her, I promise."

You can all thank @arcielee for inspiring me to write this! So it came out a little different than I initially planned but I hope it's still okay ;) This was written quickly so I apologize for any mistakes, English is not my first language and all that. Enjoy!

Word count: +2800

Warning: 18+ for explicit content and language. Teasing, dirty talk, mild degradation/praise, masturbation (fem), soft dom Aemond, shy reader. Use of sex toy & orgasm denial. Choking, multiple orgasms and p in v sex.

***

All my fics are also on AO3 If you love my writing you can Buy me a KoFi or feed me with a lovely comment ;)

***

Aemond tried his best to focus on the words on the page in front of him. He wanted to finish this chapter but your hand on his thigh was starting to distract him.

You were both lying on your bed, him reading his book while you absentmindedly scrolled through Netflix while checking your phone. It had been over an hour now and you still hadn’t picked anything to watch.

You were distracted as well, Aemond had noticed it the moment he’d walked in but as usual you chose to stay quiet and not let him know what was on your mind.

But he knew you inside and out now, after 6 months of dating. You were a closed book and it took a lot of patience and the right kind of attention to get you to open up to him. Tonight was no different.

Looking at your blank facial expression one could never tell but the way your hand kept clinging to his leg, Aemond knew everything he needed to know. You were just as horny as he was right now.

“Do you want me to pick something?” he asked, not looking up from his book but his lips curling into a little amused smile.

“Oh, no, why?” you asked, waking up from your thoughts.

“Because clearly you are never going to,” he pointed out.

You sighed,”I’m sorry, I just…I don’t really feel like watching anything.”

“Then why didn’t you just say that?”

“I didn’t want to annoy you,” you sighed, turning off the tv.

It took only a few seconds for Aemond to snap his book shut and look up at you.

“What did I tell you just last night? You can never annoy me, sweet girl,” he placed his book on the nightstand and turned his attention to you,”Okay, here's what's going to happen…we’re going to set up a few ground rules, just between us.”

You looked at him with intrigued eyes.

“You need to tell me what goes on in that pretty little head of yours,” he spoke softly,”I can’t read your mind, love.”

“You might wanna be grateful for that,” you joked, putting a smile on his face but it disappeared quickly when his one good eye met yours.

“Rule number one,” he then stated,”You don’t put yourself down, ever.”

Your eyes softened at his request and you smiled while nodding your head,”I’ll work on that.”

“Oh, you will,” he confirmed and you were taken aback by the hard tone in his voice.

“Okay,” you nodded.

“Rule number two,” Aemond continued,”You need to talk to me, about what you feel, and what you want, whatever it is. I don’t want to have to guess it.”

You nodded but sighed quietly,”Aem, you know I…I have a hard time opening up.”

“Not with me,” he insisted,”I don’t want you to feel that way with me.”

His eye stayed locked on yours, his gaze intense, as if he was trying to stare deep into your soul. ”You know you never have to feel that way with me, right?”he then added softly.

You smiled, reassured,”I know.

“Good,” he nodded,”Then let’s try this, shall we? Tell me what you want right now.”

You couldn’t help but blush, your words already stuck in your throat.

“Come on, don’t be shy, sweetheart,” Aemond encouraged you,”Your hand’s been on my thigh the entire time, what is it? Do you want to cuddle?”

You knew he was teasing you but you still couldn’t bring yourself to say the actual words.”No, I don’t want to cuddle,” you confessed instead.

“Then, what do you want?” Aemond covered your small hand with his much larger one, his thumb caressing your skin,”Don’t make me drag it out of you, sweet girl, you know I will.”

His threat was making your heart beat faster and your skin was burning up under his soft touch.

“I want…,”you bit your lip, willing yourself to just say the words but failing again. “I want you,” you eventually let out.

Aemond clicked his tongue in disappointment”You want me? Want me to what?”

“Aemond,” you whined.

He took his hand off you, making you want to whine some more but the serious look in his eye stopped you.

“I think it’s time to tell you about rule number three then,” he stated.

“Rule number three? What’s rule number three?”

“Girls who don’t comply with the first two rules will get punished.”

Your heart was definitely beating loudly in your chest now. “Aem,” you whispered, shaking your head with a shy smile.

Before you could even think of saying anything else he had you pinned down to the bed, straddling your legs and leaning over you, his face mere inches away from yours.

“Oh, you think I’m joking?” he asked.

“No, I…I don’t…”

He nuzzled your cheek, his breath warm against your skin while his long hair tickled your neck, putting goosebumps all over you.

“I won't ask again,” he whispered firmly,"Tell me what you want."

“I want you to fuck me,” you finally blurted out, putting a satisfied grin on his face as he leaned back to look at you.

“There’s my girl,” he smiled,”That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

You bit your lip. Aemond's hands were softly caressing your waist and you could feel the weight of him on you, his cock pressing against your inner thigh through his sweatpants. You couldn’t help yourself from trying to move against him but he was quick to grab your wrists and pin them down on the bed next to you.

“Nuh-uh,” he teased,”Keep still.”

“Aem,” you breathed,”Please.”

“No, no, that took you way too long, sweetheart,” he pointed out,”If I give you what you want right away how will you learn your lesson, hmm?”

His hands moved back to your waist, slowly pushing up your shirt, fingers brushing against your skin. A smirk played on his beautiful face when he discovered you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Look at you being all slutty for me,” he grinned, pushing your shirt up all the way and exposing your tits fully to him. You couldn’t hold back your moans when he started kissing your stomach. His mouth was so soft, his kisses featherlight, teasing, making you shiver all over.

When he finally worked his way up to your tits his tongue curled around your nipple, making you squirm underneath him. You kept your hands on the bed, digging into the sheets now. You were afraid if you touched him he'd stop what he was doing to you and you would break if he did.

“Aemond,” you breathed,”Please…please…baby.”

You could hear him laugh as he licked your other nipple,”Oh, no, you don’t get to be impatient now, sweetheart. You made me wait for over an hour while you kept browsing that stupid Netflix menu. Rubbing my thigh like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing to me.”

He moved up higher to kiss your neck.”You’re going to do exactly as I say now. And maybe when you do, I’ll fuck you afterwards. Maybe. Do you understand?”

You nodded.

“Use your goddamn words, sweetheart,” he growled, grinding his erection against your panties.

“Fuck, yes, I understand,” you moaned.

“Good,” he grinned,”Good girl, you’re gonna be such a good girl for me, aren’t you? Say it.”

Your voice came out as nothing more than a pathetic whimper,”I’ll be…a good girl…for you.”

Aemond moaned loudly and pushed his cock up against your soaked panties, letting you feel every inch of him but then he pulled back, an evil smirk on his lips.

He leaned over to your side of the bed and opened your nightstand.

“What are you…?" your eyes widened when he pulled out one of your toys.

“Just the one I was looking for,” he grinned.

“Aemond,” you warned him but it only encouraged him.

“Show me,” he whispered, putting the toy in your hand and moving back a little to give you room,”Show me how you use it on yourself.”

“Are you serious?” you breathed.

“Dead serious,” he placed his hand on your thigh, tracing his fingers towards the edge of your panties,”You’re not getting my cock tonight, love, or my fingers, this is all you get. So get yourself off while I watch.”

You just stared at him in disbelief for a moment.

Aemond was licking his lips while he looked down at your panties and then he leaned in to place his lips on your ear,”I can see how wet you are from up here, my sweet girl, those panties are fucking soaked right through. You need to come really bad, don’t you? So fucking do it.”

You finally managed to shut off your brain and looked at the toy in your hand. Of course he had chosen one of your favorites, not an actual vibrator but your pink clit stimulator, the one that always got the job done.

But it was a little different with him watching you.

You slipped the toy in between your legs and into your panties and clicked it on, the sudden vibration enough to make you let out a quiet whimper.

Aemond didn’t take his eye off you, his one leg still wrapped over yours, now spreading you open, watching as you started bucking your hips against the vibrations. Your breathing was picking up quickly, your cheeks flushed and your other free hand was clutching the sheets, desperate to hold onto something.

Watching you like this was turning Aemond on beyond reason and he was dying for some sort of relief himself. But he held back, only focusing on you and your pleasure. He wanted to see you fall apart so badly, to see you finally letting go of that control and give in. But another part of him also wanted to snatch that toy from your hand right before you could succumb, letting you feel some of his frustration.

But he showed mercy on you, watching as your legs started to shake and your back arched off the bed when your orgasm rushed through you.

His mercy was short lived though and before you could ride it out the toy was pulled from your hand, making you look up at him with a disappointed whine.

“My turn,” he grinned.

He pulled your panties down in one swift motion and then the toy was on you again. You almost wanted to back away at the sudden sensation on your now sensitive clit but Aemond held you in your place.

“Look up at me, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. He waited until your eyes met his before he turned the toy down to the lowest setting. “You alright?” he checked.

You nodded,”Yeah, I’m alright.”

He cupped your cheek with one hand, thumb brushing your lips ever so briefly.”You look so beautiful like this,” he whispered,”Surrendering to me so easily. God, it's everything....you’re so perfect.”

You smiled and felt tears sting in your eyes, his sudden softness combined with the aftermath of your release making you feel emotional.“Can I touch you now?” you begged.

Aemond nodded instantly,”Of course you can, my sweet girl.”

He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips and your arms finally wrapped around him, caressing his neck and his hair and holding him close to you. Aemond reciprocated your hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck for a moment and breathing you in. But then he leaned back, that teasing smile back on his lips.

“Okay, where were we?” he asked and he laughed when you looked at him,”Oh, you didn’t think I was done, didn’t you?”

“Aem,” you shook your head,”Just fuck me.”

“Oh no, I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet, sweetheart,” he insisted and he turned your toy up a notch. He didn’t move it, just held it against your clit, teasing you with it.

“That feel good, baby?” he purred,"Oh, I bet it does, your poor little clit must be so sensitive right now, hmm?"

His lips moved down to softly kiss your neck. The combination of his warm, wet mouth on your skin and the vibration between your legs was quickly building up your need for another release.

This time Aemond showed no mercy, pulling the toy away as soon as you got too close, making you grip his arm in frustration at your lost climax.

“Fuck...please,” you whined.

“You’re so pretty when you beg,” he smiled, kissing the spot right below your ear,”Do it again. I want to hear you beg for it, use your words this time.”

He placed the toy back on your clit and back on the lowest setting, enough to tease you but not get you off.

His tongue traced patterns on your neck and collarbone and then he gently sucked your skin while upping the setting, higher and higher until he felt your legs starting to shake and he pulled away again, smirking against your neck as you cried in frustration.

He repeated the same process a couple of times, making you whimper and moan beneath him, tears running down your face now. Your hands were tangled into his hair and clawing at his back, underneath his shirt.

“Come on, sweetheart, tell me what I want to hear,” he breathed into your ear.

Aemond’s voice was rough and you could hear it in his breathing, he was turned on just as much as you were. When you looked down you could see him palming himself through his pants, desperate for some friction.

“Please let me come,” you begged, finally finding your words,”I need to come so bad, Aem, please, baby.”

“Yeah? You want it?” he teased, licking into your mouth. You pulled him into a deep kiss, grinding your hips against your toy, which was now completely soaked in your arousal.

Aemond turned up the settings, one by one, pushing you closer and closer to that edge, moving it over your clit so perfectly you could feel your orgasm so close within reach.

"Tell me you want my cock," he breathed into the kiss,"I need to hear you say it, sweetheart...fucking say it, please."

All reason had left your mind and you finally gave into your most primal needs, and words.

“I want your cock,” you whimpered,”Please, Aemond…I need your cock, please…I need it inside of me so bad, need to feel you.”

“Oh, you do?” he grunted, moving his own hips against the mattress in his own desperation but he was not going to give in yet,”I don’t know if you deserve my cock, sweetheart.”

“I do, I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Yeah? You’ll tell me what you want next time? Before I have to drag it out of you?”

“I will,” you whimpered,”I promise I will.”

“Well, we’ll have to see about that next time, won’t we? For now you’ll just have to take what I give you.”

He turned your toy up even higher, it was almost on the maximum setting and your legs were shaking in anticipation already.

“Fuck,” you moaned.

“Will you take what I give you and accept your punishment?” he breathed against your lips.

You nodded,”Yes, yes I will.”

“Good girl,” he smirked and he watched your reaction when he clicked the button and pushed your toy to it maximum,”Show me how desperate you are for me, sweetheart, ride your toy like you would ride my cock.”

He placed himself over you again, pinning you down on the bed, his cock rock hard and pressing into your inner thigh. As you bucked into your favorite toy Aemond started rutting against you, his breath heavy in your ear.

“Come on, my pretty little slut,” he growled into your ear while his hand made its way around your neck, gripping it tight,”Fall apart for me, I want to hear you…see you…feel you. Come for me, sweetheart...come for me, right fucking now.”

Your legs finally gave out and you came with a silent cry, clinging to his back and biting down on his shoulder. You didn't get any time to recover because Aemond pulled down his pants and in one desperate move sank his leaking cock deep into your pulsing heat. You climaxed again right away and it only took Aemond a couple of hard thrusts to follow suit, filling you up and collapsing on top of you with a quiet whimper.

You both lay in silence afterwards, letting your breathing calm down and enjoying the warmth of his body close to yours.

You couldn’t help but smile after a while. “I thought I wasn’t getting your cock tonight?” you then teased,"What happened with that?"

He looked up at you, blushing and biting his lip and then he gently nuzzled your neck, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder,”You make me weak, what can I say? Besides...I couldn't bear it any longer, I’ve wanted to fuck you as soon as you walked in tonight.”

“So did I,” you confessed.

Aemond gave you a surprised, warm smile,”Next time you tell me that right away so we don’t have to waste time pretending to find shit to watch on Netflix.”

You nodded,”I will, I promise.”

“Good,” he whispered,”I wouldn’t wanna have to punish you again for being such a bad girl.”

You hesitated for only a moment before you looked back at him and bit your lip,”What if I want to be your bad girl?”

You watched Aemond swallow hard, his hold on your waist tightening and his pupil growing darker.

“What if I liked being punished?” you added in a whisper, a smile forming on your lips at seeing Aemond squirm like that for once.

”Yeah?” he breathed,”You…you liked that?”

"Very much," you nodded and you giggled when he pushed you back down on the bed, his lips finding yours in a deep, desperate kiss. You could feel his cock pressing against your thigh, he was hard again.

His mouth moved to your ear, whispering heavily while his hand reached for your nightstand again,”Let's see what other toys you have in there, shall we, my beautiful bad girl?”

#aemond x reader #modern aemond #aemond smut #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #ewan mitchell fanfic #aemond imagine #aemond x fem!reader

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thelov3lybookworm · 23 days ago

Text

What did you say?

Summary: He needs to stop saying thank you.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1047

Warnings: none, unless you can say tooth rotting fluff and domestic cass x reader counts?

A/n: this is just adorable i loved writing this so much🥹🥹🥹

cassian is just so pookie and i love him sm 😭 someone get me a cassian please as a birthday git 😭

anyways, ENJOY🥹

(p.s: this is like the one fic i didnt discuss with berry my love becos i changed the plan for cass's fic like 5 days before posting and wrote this thang in basically a few hours lol i forgot to yap my bad sorry 😔)

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Being a five hundred year old fae, not many thing’s excited Y/n. But there were also a lot of things that did excite Y/n, and one of them was watching her husband fumble around trying to make her smile.

That morning, Y/n had woken up with a raging headache, the pounding in her head beating her brain like a wardrum. Add to the mix her hormones were all over the place at not finding herself waking up in the comforting embrace of her giant teddy bear.

She had been in a pissy mood all morning when Cassian returned home after his training session with the valkyries that lasted longer than usual.

Y/n had been glaring down at her plate of fried eggs that were not as runny as she liked, having lost touch with cooking them for herself because Cassian insisted on making her breakfast everyday when he walked in through the door to their marital home.

Of course, he did not realise that she was in a very bad mood and tried to joke around, trying to get her spirits to lift as usually that seemed to work.

"Looks like someone woke on the wrong side of the bed today, huh?"

Y/n turned sharply to glare at her husband who did not even have the decency to apologise for not being there for her when she woke with the headache that still refused to leave before making fun of her. The fucking audacity.

She had only glared at him for a long moment before turning and leaving to their bedroom, but that moment was enough for Cassian to catch onto the fact that she was mad mad.

It also allowed Y/n a glimpse of panic flashing in his eyes, for which she had felt guilty but she knew she needed time to calm down before talking to him.

And now, it was evening, and the puppy eyes Cassian watched Y/n with were making her heart melt.

How could someone be this adorable?

He’d been at it the whole day. Bringing her her favourite pastries from a nearby bakery, running her a hot bath and slipping a note into the bedroom from under the door, making her dinner. When she had come down after a relaxing bath, he had even offered her a back massage.

His voice had been so light, but she heard the softness, the caution in it.

And Y/n had almost agreed to that massage that sounded so heavenly, but watching her husband be sad over her behaviour that morning ate her alive, and agreeing to let him cater to all her wants without realising that she was not mad at him felt like she was using him.

It had almost been an hour since he had offered, and since they’d had dinner and moved to the living room. She had tried to make conversation with him, but he seemed lost in his own mind, offering her short responses before his eyes turned distant again.

Y/n did not need that bond between her and her husband to know that he was trying to figure out what he’d done wrong.

"Cass?"

He blinked, then looked away from her, his ears darkening before he met her gaze again. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare."

Y/n raised a brow. "And so what if you did?" his brows furrowed, so Y/n hastened to add in case he thought she was still mad. "I’m your wife, your mate. You can look however much you want."

"I… yeah."

Y/n sighed, then stood from the couch and walked over to the oversized armchair adjacent to the fireplace that Cassian occupied and settled down in his lap, trying to focus on formulating a coherent sentence and not on the way his warm hands immediately wrapped around her waist.

He watched her quietly, his eyes slightly wide.

Though those beautiful eyes fluttered shut when Y/n leaned in and kissed him.

It was not a full on kiss, if she had to be honest. It was just a tiny peck, even that faint brush of their lips sending pleasant warmth shooting through her veins.

"Thank you-" Y/n paused, watching her husband blurt out the two words with her brows tugging together.

"What- what did you say?"

He blinked, blood climbing up his neck. "I… thank you?"

Y/n could not help it anymore. She threw her head back and laughed, unable to control the shaking of her body.

"Cass, are you thanking me for kissing you?"

"Yeah? You were mad at me-"

"I wasn’t."

He blinked again, then leaned back in the armchair. "What do you mean- why were you upset in the morning then?"

Y/n sighed, dropping her head into the junction between his shoulder and neck. "I had a raging headache when I woke up, and then I wanted to cuddle with you but you were gone. I was just upset at that."

He exhaled, raising his hands to run through Y/n’s unbound hair. "I’m sorry love, I had to go. You know the blood rite is coming soon, and a lot more priestesses and illyrian women want to partake this year. Az’s been running himself ragged, and Gwyn’s been so worried for him."

Y/n pulled back to meet his eyes. "Don’t apologise for being you, Cass. I know you love to help and train, and I am not mad when I am blessed with the most amazing husband in all of prythian."

Cassian’s eyes turned glassy at that, and he softly kissed her forehead.

"Thank you-"

Y/n groaned, standing up again.

"I swear to the mother if you say that one more time I’m going to bite you."

HIs expression morphed into a serious one, smile fading, and Y/n was once again reminded of his position in the night court. He looked more like his scheming general self that her sweet, adorable husband who pouted everytime Y/n did not give him five more minutes of cuddles.

"Y/n… thank you."

Y/n burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter as she watched him leap out of his preferred seat and bolted up the stairs to their bedroom.

"Oh you cunning ass!"

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Permanent Taglist: @berryzxx @sarawritestories @milswrites @throneofsmut

@daycourtofficial @sweetorangeblossom @secret-third-thing

Acotar Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

@cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1

@hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21

@mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @lady-of-tearshed @starsinyourseyes

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @byyalady

@lilah-asteria @girlswithimagination @garden-of-runar @girlswithimagination

@sunnyspycat @artists-ally @milswrites @kingdomofstarrynights

@berryzxx @buttermilktea11 @loving-and-dreaming @yucanbmylxdy

@mellowmusings

Cassian Taglist: @moonlwghts @samslittlespoon @nickishadow139

#cassian #cassian x you #cassian x reader #acosf #cassian acotar #cassian acosf #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #acotar fanfic #acotar fluff #acotar series #acotar writing #night court #General of night court #lord of bloodshed #mating bond #sarah j maas #acotar headcanon

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eddiessluttywaist · 8 months ago

Text

the boy is mine (eddiessluttywaist's edition)

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES.

summary: romantic night at the trailer, based off of this prompt!

pairing: bf!eddie x gf!reader

word count: 1, 944 words

content/warnings: MDNI, fluff, kissing, lots of touchy feels, a lil smutty?

a/n: creds to whoever owns and posted those ^ photos! they’re not mine, i just made the collage! also would like to credit @carolmunson for this prompt and @mrsjellymunson for tagging me! I haven’t written for eddie in so long, and this was a great way to get back into it <3 thank you! hope you enjoy my contribution <3

You basked in the scent of Eddie’s bedding, how he was ingrained into each and every fiber. Every motion, every shift of the sheets, you could smell him. He had foolishly left you to your own devices in his bedroom (which was surprising since the last time he did that, you almost dared touch his Sweetheart) so you indulged.

You curled up in the sprawling mess of blankets and sheets then grabbed the small throw pillow you had embroidered for him and buried your face in it. It was a delicate, pretty, little thing that stood out in his room even with its DnD theme, but he loved it. He loved that you made it, that you put so much effort into it just for him, so he slept with it every night. Unfamiliar with the concept of purely decorative pillows, he didn’t realize most people tucked such things off to the side before getting into bed each night. So, it smelled like cigarettes, convenience store aftershave, and his shampoo. The scent filled you with dizzying affection, only pulling it away from your face to then hug it to your chest as he walked back into his room.

“I ran out of, like, nice cups. This okay?” he asked as he blew into one of the mugs and then used the bottom of his shirt to wipe it down. He was planning on cleaning those cartoon-themed cups properly for some absurdly fancy hot chocolate you had brought back from your family vacation. He was even planning on making another case for not wasting it on him, but, of course, his attention strayed easily when you were in his bed.

When his gaze finally fell on you, a lazy smile quirked up one side of his mouth. The handles of the mugs hung off the curl of his fingers which rested against his hips now as he took in the sight of you. He tilted his head to put it at the same angle as yours, his favorite pillow in your arms. You were an unbelievably endearing sight. The love that filled him was fluttery and overwhelming.

“And who said you could hold my favorite pillow?” He teased, sauntering over to the bed.

“I made it,” you scoffed with a smile.

He hums lazily in response, that crooked grin still hanging around as he shoved at the clutter on his bedside table. He picked up a small notebook, brow furrowed as he observed it only to haphazardly toss it towards his dresser to make more room. It was that or your tub of Betty Crocker, and he knew better.

You stared at his forearms, drinking in the movement of the musculature underneath. The warmth of his bedside lamp made it even better to watch the lines and curves of his tattoos beneath its comforting, golden light. How could something so simple be so beautiful? Your focus then trailed to the perfect structure of his hands as the mugs slid down his fingers. The ceramic cups clinked against the surface of the old table.

“I think as the creator, I have some right to hold it too,” you continued to make your case while he crawled into bed with you, giving you that subtle mischievous look he always got when he was toying with you.

His strong arms wrapped around you to secure you closer to him.

“I worked very hard on it, y’know.”

Eddie let out an “Is that right?” kind of sound, the texture of his jeans scratching against the bedding. He pulled you into him with such a desperate need to squish you as close as possible as if he thought you might be leaving soon. Those brown curls tickled your jaw while he nuzzled the side of your neck, audibly breathing you in.

“And it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to embroider all that Dungeons and—”

He finally pulled back to cut you off, smushing his face against yours in a way that made you giggle. Eddie’s kisses were always lazy and sloppy this late at night, but you loved them that way. His lips were warm albeit a bit rough from all the anxious biting that he abused them with. A pleased hum left him and vibrated deep in his throat, his large hands encasing the sides of your face and his fingers tangling in your hair. His rings would probably tug a strand or two when he pulled them away, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.

The way your body relaxed reassured him, and he slid his arms down to pull you in again so your stomach could be flat against his own. Then, he let out a small chuckle when he had to separate from you to pluck the throw pillow out from between you. Eddie placed it elsewhere with emphasized tenderness while you stared at those ruddy lips that you missed already.

“Pillow was in the way,” he murmured in a low tone, kissing you back as you pulled him in for a few more pecks.

“And here I was thinking you were starting to love it more than me.”

“Aw, now don’t be like that. You know that’s not true,” Eddie drawled, grinning over that unconvincing little pout you gave him.

He sat back on his legs to move the bedding out of his way, then pulled you forward by your thighs which he readily settled in between. There was nothing he wanted more than to be thoroughly pressed against you. It wasn’t even about sex, at least not always. He just loved the feeling of you being so close to him. The softness of your stomach against his taut abdomen. The plushness of your chest pressed against the flat planes of his own. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the way your bodies fit together too, but he’d melt into you if he could.

Eddie was the type to lean into you while you were walking together, ending up so close that his wallet chain would keep bumping against you. He always sought out your hand to hold or your shoulders for him to drape his arm across (which of course always ended up with him folding you into him so your face would press against a Hellfire symbol or band name, and he could settle his chin on the top of your head).

“I don’t think I believe you.”

You crossed your arms, failing to keep up with your façade, especially with that smile and those dimples.

“Well then, my dramatic lil lady,” He spoke with that same theatrical cadence that he used during campaigns, his brow furrowed with determination. You groaned over the incoming mawkishness, rolling your gaze up to the ceiling and smiling to the point that the apples of your cheeks ached.

“I suppose I must convince you.”

His hand settled on the side of your neck, thumb brushing against the center of your throat as he dipped down for another kiss.

“You’re so corny,” you laughed against his lips.

“And you… taste like vanilla,” he sighed, laughing with you after.

“Mm, well, that is the work of Ms. Betty Crocker,” you smiled up at him, gently tapping his nose. “Speaking of…”

Eddie groaned, mentally cursing himself for even bringing it up as you squirmed out from underneath him to grab the container from behind the abandoned mugs. He watched you intently while you sucked a scoop of frosting off your finger. When you met his gaze, he gave you a cheeky grin that he failed to conceal by biting his lip and then wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“You’re a child,” you snorted, reaching out to tap some frosting onto the tip of his nose.

“And you’re devastating,” he countered in a voice so sickeningly saccharine with love that you wiped the frosting right back off. He caught your hand and sucked the sugar from the pad of your thumb before you could fully pull back.

“Who knew the local bad boy could be such a softie,” you teased softly, scooping some more frosting to feed it to him. Eddie playfully bit down just enough to make you laugh.

“I believe you mean ‘the local freak.’”

“Mm, tomato, tomahto,” you shrugged, lapping up some more frosting off your finger. His rich umber eyes seemed to glitter in the dull lighting, his pupils dilating. You looked up at him through your lashes when you felt his stare.

“We’re gonna have a problem if you keep doing that,” Eddie’s voice was rough even as he smiled over you.

“What?” you laughed, full of faux innocence. He just smirked. “No, what?”

“You know what.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you shrug, going to scoop some more frosting out when he snags the tub from you.

“Wh— hey!”

You already missed his warmth when he sank back onto folded legs, dipping his forefinger into the tub.

“You’re gonna get your rings all sticky,”

You blushed when that made him cackle, but you at least got the comfort of his body again as he hunched over you. His smile was tangible against the side of your neck, his hair tickling you again.

“Not the only thing that—”

“Eddie, shu-u-ush,” you laughed, and he flattened himself on top of you again, leaving tacky, sugary kisses on your neck while you pried the vanilla frosting from his hand. He gave up on keeping it from you, happy to have a free hand again to seek out your waist with.

Holding the container with one hand, you arched your other arm over him to scoop just one more—you swore just one more! —fingertip of frosting, but he was pulling back before you could even dip into it.

“Gimme that—”

“So rude taking things from me today,” you tutted, watching with a pout as he fed himself some of your treat.

“Have to have you all to myself,” he mimicked some toxic-alpha-dude-type bravado, but he couldn’t even get through it without chuckling at the end.

Eddie prodded at the dwindling supply of Betty Crocker’s then tossed the container back onto his bedside table. But you reached out to catch his wrist and brought his index finger to your mouth before he could bring it to his own.

He groaned, leaning onto one elbow while he gawked at you. His full lips parted at the sight of you, his thumb brushing against your cheek as you sucked on his finger. Damn.

“You never play fair.”

“And you like that,” you stated proudly once he slid his finger back out of your mouth.

“Course I do,” he grunted, sliding the pad of his thumb over your lower lip. “May have taken a few attempts to graduate, but I’m not that dumb.”

Your following giggle was breathy and fleeting as you sunk into the tension filling the room. You took in the growing heat in his gaze that tracked his thumb while it hooked your bottom lip. He mimicked opening his own mouth as you did so without even being asked, making him smile and drag his tongue over his lip. He slid his pointer finger down your tongue again, letting it trail down until he was holding your chin between his curled finger and thumb. Keeping your chin down and lips parted, he leaned in. The kiss was firmer—more determined—and desperate. He was putting every ounce of his desire into you, and this time you were the one melting. You felt like you were sinking deeper into that old mattress, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him with you.

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