#joyous day right here
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morp · 2 months ago
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Yk what. Theres a unique kind of struggle w paranoid people living together
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acourtofquestions · 30 days ago
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KINGDOM OF ASH (by SJM)
Chapter 48
THE FAMILY REUINION🥹😆😭🫶& MY SOULLL
But when they reached Princess Hasar's battle tent, when they had all gathered around a map of Anielle, they had only a few minutes of discussion before they were interrupted. By the person Chaol least expected to walk through the flaps.
A moment later, Chaol was glad he was sitting down.
Nesryn breathed, "Holy gods."
Chaol was inclined to agree as Aelin Galathynius, Rowan Whitethorn, and several others entered the tent.
They were mud-splattered, the Queen of Terrasen's braided hair far longer than Chaol had last seen. And her eyes ... Not the soft, yet fiery gaze. But something older. Wearier.
Chaol shot to his feet. "I thought you were in Terrasen," he blurted. All the reports had confirmed it. Yet here she stood, no army in sight.
Three Fae males-towering warriors as broad and muscled as Rowan—had entered, along with a delicate, dark-haired human woman.
But Aelin was only staring at him. Staring and staring at him.
No one spoke as tears began sliding down her face. Not at his being here, Chaol realized as he took up his cane and limped toward Aelin.
But at him. Standing. Walking.
The young queen let out a broken laugh of joy and flung her arms around his neck. Pain lanced down his spine at the impact, but Chaol held her right back, every question fading from his tongue.
Aelin was shaking as she pulled away. "I knew you would," she breathed, gazing down his body, to his feet, then up again. "I knew you'd do it."
"Not alone," he said thickly. Chaol swallowed, releasing Aelin to extend an arm behind him. To the woman he knew stood there, a hand over the locket at her neck.
Perhaps Aelin would not remember, perhaps their encounter years ago had meant nothing to her at all, but Chaol drew Yrene forward. "Aelin, allow me to introduce"
"Yrene Towers," the queen breathed as his wife stepped to his side.
The two women stared at each other.
Yrene's mouth quivered as she opened the silver locket and pulled out a piece of paper. Hands trembling, she extended it to the queen. Aelin's own hands shook as she accepted the scrap.
"Thank you," Yrene whispered.
Chaol supposed it was all that really needed to be said.
Aelin unfolded the paper, reading the note she'd written, seeing the lines from the hundreds of foldings and rereadings these past few years.
"I went to the Torre," Yrene said, her voice cracking. "I took the money you gave me, and went to the Torre. And I became the heir apparent to the Healer on High. And now I have come back, to do what I can. I taught every healer I could the lessons you showed me that night, about self-defense. I didn't waste it-not a coin you gave me, or a moment of the time, the life you bought me." Tears were rolling and rolling down Yrene's face. "I didn't waste any of it."
Aelin closed her eyes, smiling through her own tears, and when she opened them, she took Yrene's shaking hands. "Now it is my turn to thank you." But Aelin's gaze fell upon the wedding band on Yrene's finger, and when she glanced to Chaol, he grinned.
"No longer Yrene Towers," Chaol said softly, "but Yrene Westfall."
Aelin let out one of those choked, joyous laughs, and Rowan stepped up to her side.
Yrene's head tilted back to take in the warrior's full height, her eyes widening-not only at Rowan's size, but at the pointed ears, the slightly elongated canines and tattoo. Aelin said, "Then let me introduce you, Lady Westfall, to my own husband, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius."
For that was indeed a wedding band on the queen's finger, the emerald mud-splattered but bright. On Rowan's own hand, a gold-and-ruby ring gleamed.
"My mate," Aelin added, fluttering her lashes at the Fae male. Rowan rolled his eyes, yet couldn't entirely contain his smile as he inclined his head to Yrene.
Yrene bowed, but Aelin snorted. "None of that, please. It'll go right to his immortal head." Her grin softened as Yrene blushed, and Aelin held up the scrap of paper. "May I keep this?" She eyed Yrene's locket. "Or does it go in there?"
Yrene folded the queen's fingers around the paper. "It is yours, as it always was. A piece of your bravery that helped me find my own."
Aelin shook her head, as if to dismiss the claim.
But Yrene squeezed Aelin's closed hand. "It gave me courage, the words you wrote. Every mile I traveled, every long hour I studied and worked, it gave me courage. I thank you for that, too."
Aelin swallowed hard, and Chaol took that as excuse enough to sit again, his back giving a grateful tinge. He said to the queen, "There is another person responsible for this army being here." He gestured to Nesryn, the woman already smiling at the queen. "The rukhin you see, the army gathered, is as much because of Nesryn as it is because of me."
A spark lit Aelin's eyes, and both women met halfway in a tight embrace. "I want to hear the entire story," Aelin said. "Every word of it." Nesryn's subdued smile widened. "So you shall. But later." Aelin clapped her on the shoulder and turned to the two royals still by the desk. Tall and regal, but as mud-splattered as the queen.
Chaol blurted, "Dorian?"
Rowan answered, "Not with us." He glanced to the royals.
"They know everything," Nesryn said
"He's with Manon," Aelin said simply.
Chaol wasn't entirely sure whether to be relieved. "Hunting for something important."
The keys. Holy gods.
Aelin nodded. Later. He'd think on where Dorian might now be later. Aelin nodded again. The full story would come then too.
Nesryn said, "May I present Princess Hasar and Prince Sartaq."
Aelin bowed—low. "You have my eternal gratitude," Aelin said, and the voice that came out of her was indeed that of a queen. Any shock Sartaq and Hasar had shown upon the queen bowing so low was hidden as they bowed back, the portrait of courtly grace.
"My father," Sartaq said, "remained in the khaganate to oversee our lands, along with our siblings Duva and Arghun. But my brother Kashin sails with the rest of the army. He was not two weeks behind us when we left."
Aelin glanced to Chaol, and he nodded.
Something glittered in her eyes at the confirmation, but the queen jerked her chin at Hasar. "Did you get my letter?"
The letter that Aelin had sent months ago, begging for aid and promising only a better world in return. Hasar picked at her nails. "Perhaps. I get far too many letters from fellow princesses these days to possibly remember or answer all of them."
Aelin smirked, as if the two of them spoke a language no one else could understand, a special code between two equally arrogant and proud women. But she motioned to her companions, who stepped forward. "Allow me to introduce my friends. Lord Gavriel, of Doranelle." A nod toward the tawny-eyed and golden-haired warrior who bowed.
Tattoos covered his neck, his hands, but his every motion was graceful. "My uncle, of sorts," Aelin added with a smirk at Gavriel. At Chaol's narrowed brows, she explained, "He's Aedion's father."
"Well, that explains a few things," Nesryn muttered.
The hair, the broad-planed face ... yes, it was the same. But where Aedion was fire, Gavriel seemed to be stone. Indeed, his eyes were solemn as he said, "Aedion is my pride." Emotion rippled over Aelin's face, but she gestured to the dark-haired male. Not someone Chaol ever wanted to tangle with, he decided as he surveyed the granite-hewn features, the black eyes and unsmiling mouth.
"Lorcan Salvaterre, formerly of Doranelle, and now a blood-sworn member of my court." As if that weren't a shock enough, Aelin winked at the imposing male. Lorcan scowled. "We're still in the adjustment period," she loudly whispered, and Yrene chuckled.
Lorcan Salvaterre. Chaol hadn't met the male this spring in Rifthold, but he'd heard all about him. That he'd been Maeve's most trusted commander, her most loyal and fierce warrior.
That he'd wanted to kill Aelin, hated Aelin.
How this had come about, why she was not in Terrasen with her army ... "You, too, have a tale to tell," Chaol said.
"Indeed I do." Aelin's eyes guttered, and Rowan put a hand on her lower back. Bad— something terrible had occurred. Chaol scanned Aelin for any hint of it. He stopped when he noticed the smoothness of the skin at her neck. The lack of scars. The missing scars on her hands, her palms. "Later," Aelin said softly. She straightened her shoulders, and another golden-haired male came forward. Beautiful. That was the only way to describe him. "Fenrys ... You know, I don't actually know your family name."
Fenrys threw a roguish wink at the queen.
"Moonbeam."
"It is not," Aelin hissed, choking on a laugh.
Fenrys laid a hand on his heart. "I am blood-sworn to you. Would I lie?"
Another blood-sworn Fae male in her court.
Across the tent, Sartaq cursed in his own tongue. As if he'd heard of Lorcan, and Gavriel, and Fenrys.
Aelin gave Fenrys a vulgar gesture that set Hasar chuckling, and faced the royals. "They're barely housebroken. Hardly fit for your fine company." Even Sartaq smiled at that. But it was to the small, delicate woman that Aelin now gestured. "And the only civilized member of my court, Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth." Perranth. Chaol had combed through the family trees of Terrasen just this winter, had seen the lists of so many royal households crossed out, victim to the conquest ten years ago.
Elide's name had been among them.
Another Terrasen royal who had managed to evade Adarlan's butchers.
The pretty young woman took a limping step forward, and bobbed a curtsy to the royals. Her boots concealed any sign of the source of the injury, but Yrene's attention shot right to her leg. Her ankle. "It's an honor to meet all of you," Elide said, her voice low and steady. Her dark eyes swept over them, cunning and clear. Like she could see beneath their skin and bones, to the souls beneath.
Aelin wiped her hands. "Well, that's over and done with," she announced, and strode to the desk and map. "Shall we discuss where you all plan to march once we beat the living shit out of this army?"
#NO SPOILERS PLEASE (though warning for the chapter in post & tags) this is my first read along with me & more reacts in tags etc#Chaorene Rowaelin Elorcan MOONBEAM this chapter has EVERYTHING so it needed its own post mark-if only it had Dorian than it would be PERFECT#A PROPER MAASVERSE REUINION-FULL CIRCLE-& me squealing in wivern happy in sappy like🥹 crying giggling & kicking my feet in excitement#Aelin Sardothien&HER CADRE/Court; her calling them all that — MOONBEAM finally lol how has this not come up or Lorcan tease or Rowan cheerin#she really nails these scenes-break my heart make my day-like QoS but ow&healingX100-my bbs are happy-TAB REFS-THE DYNAMICS-the wives meet!#Ivory horsehair for times of peace; the Ebony for times of war. — significance in tiny details-It was holy-the gold couch lol-SHES PREGGERS#To sit down even for a few minutes would be a blessed relief. — the difference from TOD - lol only Hasar could get interior design rn#to be the first piece of furniture in the home he'd build for his wife. For the child she carried.—shewastheoneheleastexpectedtoseeomg#holding hands even in blood-the ruler but wished to know-close to disaster-flood?that’s bad for fire/maybe she can steam-HOLY GODS INDEED#a moment later Chaol was glad he was sitting-as Aelin Galathynius Rowan Whitethorn and several others entered. Mud splattered. Too long hair#And her eyes ... Not the soft yet fiery gaze. But something older. Wearier.-the young queens gaze again-but a queen nonetheless-HE STOOD#Not at his being here as he took up his cane and limped toward Aelin But him Standing Walking-my soul needed this back-the core tale trio#The young queen let out a broken laugh of joy-broken but still joy-and flung her arms around his neck-the fact she wanted to hug him—#the ache & healing they both felt-but Chaol held her right back every question fading from his tongue.-Fire lance?-she’s shaking again#The way she gives him belief-then there she is-she remembered-her core-no one does anything alone-to say I’m happy for you & mean it vibes#hand over the locket-Yrene Towers the queen breathed as his wife stepped 2 his side The women stared at eachother-YRENE WESTFALL-notCelaena#I knew youd do it-goes both ways-Thank you-those words in this book-it was all that really needed to be said-smiling through tears#Aelin closed her eyes smiling through her own tears and when she opened them she took Yrene's shaking hands-choked joyous laughs-MY SOUL#Rowan stepped up to her side-Aelin said Lady Westfall my husband Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius-the my wife we deserved#emerald mud-splattered but bright-she sure got those emeralds dropping hints literally in EoS-pine green-Nesryn Aelin friendship core#My mate Aelin added fluttering her lashes Rowan rolled his eyes yet couldn't entirely contain his smile-next quote why I luv books/TOG#May I keep this?She eyed the locket.Or does it go in there?Its yours as it always was.A piece of ur bravery that helped me find my own#It gave me courage the words you wrote. Every mile I traveled every long hour I studied and worked it gave me courage. I thank you#A spark lit Aelins eyes&both women met halfway in a tight embrace I want to hear the entire story Aelin said Every word of it#They know everything-Ok WELL MANON lol-The keys Holy gods-the story would come then too-true queen-she bowed for them#the voice that came out of her was indeed that of a queen-THEY BOWED BACK-the portrait of courtly grace lol-the letter worked well#Aelin smirked as if the2of them spoke a language no one else could understand 2equally arrogant&proud women-hell yes I needed them#My friends-uncleLOL-my pride-AelinswinkLorcylol-how had this come about?-guttered-Rowan put a hand on her lower back Bad#gestureHasar😂-only civilized Lady Elides name had been crossed out-the1sthat escaped-CunningClear-she could see beneath to the soul#I am sworn2uWould I lie-cursedAs if he'd heard of LorcanGavrielFenrys-where to march once we beat the living shit out of this army-Vher
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jinkiezzsstuff · 9 months ago
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Hello! Can I plz request Alastor x Doe! Reader where he meets Charlie's best friend who's the reader and becomes possessive over her, maybe his instincts tell him to mark the reader as his mate. The reader is a white doe. :)
Yessss i love this idea teehee i maybe got carried away and also i unintentionally made this sort gender neutral and a teeny tiny speck of smut, i hope that’s okay if not it’s at the very end so it’s skipable, hopefully i did your idea justice and hope you enjoy!! thank you so much for this xx
At first sight
PART TWO PART THREE
Word count: 3.5K
Warnings: SMUT 18+, doe reader only describes white ears tail and pink nose rest is ambiguous, possibly corny ahh dialogue, love at first sight kinda trope, angel/hellborn reader, slightly OOC Al y’know smut love, reader cooks, biting & briefly blood, penetrative sex, reader makes deal with al to give themselves to him, swearing, NOT PROOFREAD I think that’s it lmk if i missed anything!!
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Charlie ran manically around the hotel, fixing various things and studying the entire building under a microscope to ensure it looked its best. Zipping her way to the lobby, she caught the gaze of Angel Dust, who was in the middle of sucking down a frozen popsicle.
“Be nice today! Look your best, oh oh! No porn on the TV!” Charlie shouted rushed and frazzled as she came up beside Angel to fluff out the couch cushions. Husk watched silently ears zeroed in on the conversation unwillingly, focusing mainly on Angel. “Geez toots, what’s got your feathers in a bunch?”
Angel smiled amused by Charlies odd demeanour. “My best friend since, like, forever is coming here today! To see the hotel!” Charlie exclaimed lurching forward to grip Angels shoulders. Smirking at her Angel continued to suck on the popsicle. “So what, is this broad special or something?”
Charlie leaned back pulling her hands down her face, an exasperated groan crawling out from her throat. “Yes! Her mother was friends with my mom when they first came to hell, her mom ended up falling for a hell spawn and we born around the same time,” Charlie explained ringing her hands while pacing.
“She’s my best friend we grew up together, i’m worried she won’t like what i’m doing here.” Charlie finally confessed with a sigh, her body deflating as she herself came to terms with the fact she was afraid. Vaggie lingering in the background finally approached Charlie sticking her hand out to message her arm comfortingly. “I’m sure it’ll be fine toots! Plus she’s a born sinner! Ain’t no way anything here’s gonna be shocking her.”
Despite her worry she could admit Angel Dust was right, AND you’re her best friend there’s no way you’d be unnecessarily cruel to her dreams, you were always supportive and imaginative along with her. Smiling down at Angel, Charlie then plopped down beside him, resting her hooves after hours of hecticily running around. “You’re right Angel, thank you.” Angel hummed out an arrogant ‘you’re welcome’ while Vaggie circled the couch leaning over the back of it.
“So how long has it been since you’ve seen them?” Vaggie asked poking Charlie’s cheek. Looking away she counted on her fingers before turning to look at Vaggie. “Four years, they stayed with me while I tried getting over the absence of my mom; they live in wrath though and eventually went back.” Clapping her hands Charlie stood from the couch her brief moment of hoof rest over, the three sinners watching as she muttered to herself about everyone being on their best behaviour while walking off, clearly the talk only did a little to hush her nerves.
~
Standing outside the hotel doors your ears twitched at the sounds coming from beyond it, it’s clear as day that Charlie was instructing people to behave, be nice, and- not show you porn? Suddenly the door opened startling you slightly but that quickly wore off when you were greeted by the joyous face of your best friend Charlie. Tugging you into a bear hug, Charlie squealed about how excited she was, you naturally fell into her giving her a warm tight hug right back.
“I am so glad you’re here! I’m so happy to see you!” Charlie exclaimed pulling back and examining you. You hadnt seemed to change much to Charlie, the white tail you had wagged behind you happily, your equally platinum ears relaxed occasionally twitching at the sounds around you, your pink deer like nose that was perfectly contrasted with your skin colour.
It was clear you were half an angel, and Charlie lemented, when you two were younger, that she was jealous you had a more animalisitc appearance in comparison to her, but you reminded her that it didn’t matter because she was still as gorgeous as ever. “I’m so glad to be here! I was starting to think you’d never end up inviting me.” You laugh warmly.
Charlie beckoned you inside linking your arms together, the two of you walked inside. Vaggie was punctuated and ready to great you as you came further into the room. “Hi, I’m Vaggie-“ Vaggie was cut off promptly by Charlie who excitedly pulled her into a bear hug, cheek to cheek. “My girlfriend!” Charlie finished with a shout.
Your ivory tail flicked behind you happily as you grinned. “Holy shit! You’ve got a girlfriend? Damn we really need to catch up! Its so nice to meet you Vaggie.” You smile shaking her hand as she stuck it out, Vaggie only nodded smiling seemingly quite reserved.
After some rushed introduction of those around the room including Husk, Angel, Nifty, and Sir Pentious, Charlie took you to your room to settle in. Closing the door behind the two of you Charlie watched as you laid your suit cases down by the bed, unzipping them and pulling out your clothing. “Sooo,” Charlie trailed hands tucked behind her back as she wandered around the vacant room.
“You remember Alastor right? The radio demon?” Charlie questioned, sounding suspicious. Looking up from your folded laundry you quirked a brow fearing where this might be heading. “Yes… i do.” You say slowly, fixing your posture waiting for her to turn to you, but she seemed rather interested in the wallpaper. “Well… y’know… this hotel takes a lot…. and when i first started…” Charlie trailed off gazing out the open window, stepping towards her you carefully placed a hand on her shoulder.
Looking at you she knew there was no sense in keeping such a prominent part of the reason this hotel was possible secret. “Alastors here, he helped since the start. He hasn’t asked for anything in return and he’s already fought for us!” Charlie spat the words out so fast you barely had time to comprehend. You and her were raised around each other meaning you had the same interactions with many of the princes’, sins, and hellborn, but human overlords were always were more…. well they weren’t used to power and immortality so they often over did it, Alastor was no different from what you were aware of.
“Are you sure having him is a good idea? Does your dad know?” Charlie nodded confirming her dad did know. “Yeah he doesn’t know who Al is, and to be fair none of us did! I promise he’s not that bad. Give him a chance?” You hummed looking away as she looked to you, you didn’t want to upset her by the discomfort that would be evident in your eyes. You didn’t enjoy brawls and fights, and you fear the demon would initiate that.
“Well i suppose i could trust him if you do, but i am skeptical; you’re always seeing the light in demons, even when it’s not there.” You laughed out recalling some things of the past that ended poorly because of a Charlie’s trust in certain sinners. And though at times foolish it was still an admirable trait and you aspired to be as kind hearted as she could be. “Where’s the guy anyways?” You asked after a short moment of pondering.
Charlie shrugged looking as if she was trying to recount the day. “Well he did say he had a meeting with Rosie,” She muttered quietly, although you didn’t know who Rosie was, you didn’t bother questioning it instead you pat Charlie on the shoulder, telling her that you’d like to get some rest, and you’d worry about Alastor later.
And so you spent a bit of time unpacking your things and settling down, you always preferred to be more in touch with the animalistic parts of yourself so your belongings held a lot of earthy aesthetics to them. Sitting on your bed, stripped of the hotels sheets and remade with your own, you opened your laptop and began typing.
You had forgotten about Alastor for the most part but you remember Charlie brining it up as he began his tyranny after his death. Charlie had always been pretty involved with her people, mainly focusing her energy on human sinner so you weren’t surprised that she knew of him, you were however surprised she was so willing to let him in when he massacred her people.
After a few minutes of light research about the demon, you established with how long he was gone perhaps he would be willing to change however you’d keep up your guards just to be sure.
~
Humming to himself Alastor got ready for the day, though he rarely slept he did occasionally get into evening outfits if he was staying in. He fixed his hair, ensuring not a hair was out of place and with a finally dust of his sleeves, he materialized his microphone and trotted his way out of his room.
A new scent hit him the minute he got to the staircase, the reaction was instantaneous, his ears perked, his tail stiffened thank the hellions no one was around to witness his discomfort, because it was evident. Fixing his posture, and his smile, he pretended nothing was up and continued his way downstairs. He greeted Husk as usual, and like usual Husk only grunted at the demon.
Making his way into the kitchen Alastor was stunted in place by the sight in front of him. There you stood deer tail wagging, singing along to music as you mixed a bowl of who knows what together. Alastor observed you quietly as ever, and definitely not checking you out because that would be rude- however your tail was very much distracting.
Clearing his throat the static spitting out behind his voice, you jumped slightly at the sound of him, looking over your shoulder to where he stood at the kitchen entry. The two of you simply stared at each other for a moment, the song in the background seemingly quieter than before, as if the two of you were in your own little zone.
Alastor couldn’t describe the gravitational pull he had toward you, he would’ve been a fool to deny your beauty, but he’d never had issue admitting when a demon or person was beautiful, it didn’t matter to him, so he couldn’t grasp why you seemed to have an immediate effect on him.
You too felt similarly gawking at the sight of him, i mean you’d never seen pictures of him, only art or depictions, which really didn’t do him any good. You were honestly a little embarrassed, you thought he was incredibly handsome, contrary to your beliefs prior to this moment, and you felt a little silly to suddenly feel like going back on your apprehension about him simply because of how attractive he was.
Deciding to finally break the intense yearning gaze the two of you held, Alastor perked up stepping close to you swinging his hand out to shake. “Alastor darling, pleasure to meet you, quite the pleasure.” Going unnoticed by you, Alastor’s voice involuntarily dropped lower, making it come out more sultry than he’d ever done during an introduction. Of course Alastor was aware it wasn’t his normal voice and wondered why the hell he decided to modify his tone to come out as seductive as it did; was it just by nature?
“I’m YN, Charlie’s best friend. I don’t know if you knew i was staying but i am, surprise! Heh,” You say a little nervously sticking out your hand but quickly retracting it, as it was covered in dough. “I’m making bread and breakfast, do you like french toast?” You finish finally gaining the courage to meet his gaze properly.
His eyes were lidded, and he looked down at you only with his eyes keeping his head forward, which made you feel some type of way. He had such a big presence, height aside, that would make anybody on the receiving end of his heated gaze, shrink. “I suppose i wouldn’t mind a little bite to eat, tell me little doe, how do you make such a meal?”
Of course Alastor knew what french toast was, but he’d much prefer to play stupid so he could listen to you speak, and have you look up at him so deliciously. “Well, i’m making some homemade no yeast bread, and then i’m gonna do the egg and frying, normally i mix some cinnamon and honey in, but i might not since i don’t know what you guys like. A lot of people put syrup, but i can’t stand it; too sticky.” You explained mixing all of your ingredients, turning to him you smiled.
“Would you mind greasing the pan for me, please?” Alastor nearly purred at you with how you requested his help he would’ve bent himself backwards if it meant you’d ask him like that again. The way these emotions hit him in the gut; the undeniable feeling of desire he was trying to fight against was incredibly intense and oddly, he liked it. “Of course my dear, whatever you wish, i shall see to.” With the snap of his fingers his hair had been pulled back, suit jacket gone, leaving him in only his white button up, and a pink apron.
Shamessly your eyes roamed his figure watching as he began to grease the pan with his hand. His eyes still lidded and smile relaxed. You enjoyed how he stood tall and relaxed, and it was only now when you caught a peek of his red tail that you realized; “You’re a deer?”
Alastor paused momentarily, eyes lazily difting toward you. He didn’t mind that you saw his tail, and he was a little surprised you lacked to notice he was a deer. “What did you think i was sweetheart?” Alastor exclaimed his entertainment persona peeking through as he did. You peeled your eyes away feeling a little bad for staring at him, instead you focused on placing the bread into the bow greased pan before responding. “Maybe a fox, but to be honest i didn’t think too much about it.”
Alastor hummed in agreement, watching as you placed the bread in to the oven. There weren’t many does Alastor has seen, many bucks but does were more of a rarity. The two of you made breakfast, bantering about things here and there and getting to know one another.
“What’s earth like?” You asked watching him prepare dough for beignets which he insisted you tried as it was a lousiana breakfast staple- but also because he wanted to have you to himself just a bit longer, and show off his cooking skills. “What do you mean dear?” Alastor questioned brows furrowed slightly, but his inquiry came soft with no judgement. “I’m not human, moms an angel, dad was one of the few hell borns that kinda just popped up, we don’t know where he went to though, anyways i’ve never seen the earth.”
Now that, was news to him. He suspected you were something special based off the tugging feeling he had toward you, but being a literal angel wasn’t something he would’ve bet on, but should’ve guessed on. Without a worry in his mind, Alastor happily told you about his home in new orleans, what it was like being a radio host, how in got into voodoo, how he new some cajun french, as well as his mother.
Leaning on the counter head rested on his hand, looking at you dreamily while the beignets fried. “My mother was an angel, she was my biggest supporter at the time, the reason i kept pushing. I have the upmost respect for mothers like mine.” You, as equally lost in the dream like bliss Alastors presence brought you, smiled at his story’s ogling at the man who spoke so highly of his mom. “That’s the sweetest Alastor, I wish i could’ve met the woman who made you into such a gentlemen.” You flirt subtly gently patting his arm.
Alastor hummed a lovesick smile on his face his tail wagging happily behind him as the two of you continued to yap. Tails syncing with the way they swayed unnoticed by you two as you lost yourselves in eachother, also going unnoticed was Charlie giddy as could be, in the background jumping up and down. Slipping away to Vaggie, Charlie gripped her like she was her life line. “YN and Alastor are totally going to get together! Ahh!” Charlie squealed shaking a limp Vaggie back and forth.
~
“Mhm Alastor please please please,” You chant wrapped tightly around the demons waist, as he pressed you up against your dresser. After a full day of being alongside Alastor the tension snapped between you two, although it took a few things to get there. First Angel hitting on you right after breakfast, it made Alastor seethe the symbols and static materializing as he watched Angel hit on you. It made Alastor realize such a sweet doe like you must be marked, can’t have other buck or demon filth thinking they can just put there hands on you.
The second thing that egged him on was when the two of you went for a stroll together, and while in a store witnessed a demon repeatedly harass you while you simply tried to pick out a dress! Alastor apologized for the blood shed, but he professed he needed to obliterate that demon to protect you and that would be the only time he would ever put you in a position to see such things. Which made your heart flutter, you felt the desire to have him protect you, it’s not like you couldn’t do it yourself but it made you weak in the knees to have a demon like Alastor jumped to protect you.
Thrusting into you needily, Alastor growled like a mad man his hand climbing up your body to grab your cheeks gently fixing your gaze up to him. “You’re mine,” Static laced his tone as he hissed out at you, pushing his body flush to yours. Moaning like a whiny porn star, you nodded in your head in a daze. “My mate,” He muttered again breathing deeply as he clenched his teeth.
Reaching your hands up to grab his antlers that sprout, you couldn’t help the way your body shook and the way you lewdly moaned. You felt so electrified and couldn’t contain the pleasure Alastor was making you feel. “Please Al, I love it so good,” You whined against his lips, his smile closed and strained as his lips brushed against yours, your breath tickling him as you whined.
Smashing your lips together Alastor picked up the pace feeling like a wild animal. He wanted you, forever, he wanted you to be his one and only, his only doe. Making himself hornier with the thought of having you all to himself his static crackled loudly as he thought up something mischievous. Pulling back from your heated kiss, you whined begging him to kiss you, touch you and fuck you, smiling at you in your disheveled state, a green huge suddenly engulfed the room.
The two of you lit up like neon as symbolize shined in the background. “Give yourself to me little doe, be my mate for entirety and the world is yours, anything you or your friends want i will give you. I can’t let such a thing like you go, i need you.” Alastor statically said, it sounded quite ominous but you were too horny to pick up on that, you could only pay attention to the need you had between your legs and in your heart. Alastor wanted you to be his forever, linked to you for eternity. Perhaps it was the fact that you were both deer that you two had this simultaneous connection, but regardless you couldn’t care you just wanted him back as much as he wanted you.
Thrusting yourself upward into him, you gripped his hand, while clenching down on him at the same time. “Yes, always i’m yours only; it’s a deal.” You moaned. Growling demonically Alastors green disputes like electricity, escaping this room and flowing through the hotel like wave. Feeling his heart bloom Alastors ears clipped back as he jackhammered into you, the dresser slamming against the wall while you squealed a little giggle bubbling out from how needy he became. That giddiness left as a violent hot mass washed over you, screaming out a moan you clutched Alastor, singing out his name through moans of appreciation as he coaxed you with praises through your orgasm.
It shook your body, and soon after Alastor came to a halt inside you, biting down hard on your neck. You moaned his name, not even feeling pain as he sunk his teeth into you down to the gum. After a few moments of licking up your blood he pulled away gazing into your fucked out eyes. As you were about to tell Alastor that you needed to figure out why you were both so suddenly connected, Charlie bolted in.
“YOU MADE A DEA- FUCK IM SORRY!” Within the span of two seconds Charlie had two separate panic attacks, one because she saw the green deal making light shoot through the hotel while you were alone with Al, and the second right after she closed to door from seeing the two of you intertwined at the hips.
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pellucid-constellations · 11 months ago
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Of Oblivious Minds (3)
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Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: You're positive Azriel is in love with Elain. It seems so obvious. But Cassian is laughing at you and suddenly nothing makes quite so much sense anymore.
Word count: 2.3k
Warnings: Azriel's POV (it's a warning here), angst
a/n: I am blown away by all of you and your support!! I really love writing for this fandom omg. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy ♡ Let me know what you think!! I'll get the next update up soon!
Part 1, Part 2, Part 4
~~
Azriel was losing his ever-loving mind. 
A few weeks ago, everything was fine. Not optimal, but fine. 
He knew his mate, and that was more than could be said for most of Prythian. But even more than that, he could love her from afar. He could make small remarks and catch the smiles they would elicit. He could send his shadows after her on her walks home, protecting her even though she had the entire Inner Circle looking out for her wellbeing. He could buy the ridiculously expensive pastries she loved and stock the kitchens with them, listening for the small gasps she let out each time she found them.
He could talk to you, listen to you, love you in his small ways, even if it wasn’t the ways in which he longed for. 
Because it wasn’t the right time yet. You hadn’t felt the bond for yourself. 
So, yes—admittedly, Azriel had not been in the most optimal position with you. But it was leaps and bounds better than the purgatory you were subjecting him to now. 
He mulled over his current reality as he sat opposite to you at the dining table. He had had to snag the seat from Mor, ripping the chair from her hand in an uncharacteristic show of aggression, and you hadn’t so much as looked up from your plate. He would’ve rather fought for the seats beside you, but Rhys and Cassian had been sitting before he even entered the room. So now he fought for your eyes and was too far away to offer any lingering, accidental touches. 
Not that you would reciprocate either. 
You were avoiding him, and Azriel was at his wit's end trying to decipher why. 
His shadows had relayed dismal reports, only whispering the words sad and alone and contemplative into his ears each morning. He could have guessed as much, if the display of emotions he had tried to comfort you through all those days ago told him anything. 
But Gods, did they really tell him nothing, because you hadn’t spoken to him since. 
“—that is certainly something to consider. Y/n, would you be open to the job?” 
“Hm?” you hummed, and Azriel watched as your eyes flickered over to Rhys in one abrupt movement. “Sorry, what?” 
Rhys raised a brow lined with humor, and Azriel realized he hadn’t been listening to the conversation either. “Helion has extended an invitation to the Night Court—for diplomatic relations and all. It’s mostly a weekend stay for show, but he has quite an extensive library. Feyre and I went last time so it would only be fair if—” 
“Yes,” you nodded, the most emotion Azriel had seen on your face in days blooming into a joyous array. “Of course, I would love to go. Are you kidding?” 
Rhys chuckled. “I figured. Helion has been quite eager to get you to come as well. Seemed like the perfect time.” 
Azriel didn’t miss the way the High Lord’s eyes shone with something other than mirth as he looked closer at the scholar… as he inspected your facade the same way Azriel had been for the past week. 
“When can I leave?” 
Something in Azriel scratched to a halt. “She’s to go alone?” 
Feyre offered the spymaster a soft smile from the other side of the table. “If she wishes. Helion’s invitation was open-ended.” 
“Take the vacation, I say,” Mor piped in, wine glass raised in a solitary toast. 
“Or… you could take me,” Cassian grinned beside you, jostling you in a playful grip. 
You sent a scoff his way. “Aren’t you banned?” 
“No, actually. I’m banned from Summer Court, which is completely unrelated.” 
A short laugh trickled from your lips. It wasn’t a full one, not like the ones Azriel was so used to—the ones he basked in—but it was a laugh, nonetheless.
He felt the way his eyes seemed to follow the crescendo of it, his blinks in time with the sweet sound. 
He committed it to memory. 
“Right, well let’s keep you away from neighboring courts as much as possible so we can avoid a repeat of that, okay?” 
Something like a grin fought at the side of Azriel’s mouth at your quip. 
Cassian prattled on. Something about unjust rules or ridiculous high lords—Azriel wasn’t paying attention. He was too caught up in you and the way you were so close to meeting his gaze. 
“Perhaps she shouldn’t go alone,” Azriel spoke up, interrupting his brother’s spiel. You still didn’t look at him, instead turning to catch Rhys’s response. 
“Azriel, I can assure you this is a safe visit,” Rhys offered. He knew. Everyone seemed to know but you. “It’s hardly even business. It’s more of a vacation. I’ve been shoving century-old relics in her face for the past few months. She deserves time to herself, don’t you think?” 
His High Lord was speaking in code. A terrible, frustrating code that really meant, “give her some distance.” 
Azriel had had enough of distance. 
He nodded his head all the same. 
And then, despite all odds, you looked at him. 
You looked at him and it was as if the air had been knocked from his lungs. As if he had been wrung out and stretched thin and every bone in his body forced him to sit up straighter. You were looking at him and Azriel couldn’t conceptualize the way the spectrum in his chest moved so quickly from utter relief to the brink of desolation. 
Because you looked at him as if you were broken. A sad—such a sad—smile graced your face, one he had never had the displeasure of seeing before, and he wanted to wipe it away. He wanted to kiss it from your face with soft touches and reassuring whispers and that was startling for Azriel because he usually kept his overwhelming urge to kiss you at bay. 
“I’ll bring you back a souvenir,” is all you said. Such simple words to accompany an expression that sent him reeling. 
“Thank you,” he replied, with the most sincerity he could muster. 
And then he held your gaze as it became downcast. He craned his neck to catch every last second of your eyes as they turned back down to the table.
It was hours later that Azriel found himself in the townhouse, boots creating an indent in the office carpet. Rhys sat just feet away from him, leaning back against the desk, waiting for the Shadowsinger to erupt. 
“I would like for you to position your spies further into Autumn. I know you have a few that have integrated into the court, but I need more intel on Eris and his plans.” 
“Of course.” 
“You can take out any currently residing in Day. Just for the next week or so. With y/n going, she can report any happenings.” 
A muscle in Azriel’s jaw jumped. “Would that be wise?” 
Rhys stared back at his brother, expression giving nothing away. “Why wouldn’t it be? Do you not trust y/n’s word?” 
Azriel’s wings were taut against his back. In truth, he hadn’t felt relaxed in days. With you leaving, that tension would surely pull him into thin compliance. 
“Obviously I trust her word, Rhysand.” 
“Rhysand? What have I done to earn your grievance?” the High Lord asked, crossing his arms over his chest, still the perfect picture of calm. 
Azriel was a juxtaposition before him as he clenched his hands and replied, “You already know.” 
“Do I know? I’m not sure you’ve been clear or honest with anyone. Y/n especially.” 
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 
Rhys bent at the elbow and rubbed a restless hand across his jaw. Azriel ignored the movement in favor of holding eye contact with the High Lord. Azriel was being stubborn, he knew that, but there was no other way to be. 
He needed to be consistent and reliable. He needed to be a pillar for his family to lean on, and you were part of that. He wasn’t going to take that away from you—to be selfish and call upon a mating bond you hadn't even been made aware of yet. 
He wasn’t going to squander your friendship in the hopes of something more. 
There was a chance, no matter how much the prospect pained him to consider, that you wouldn’t want the bond. You had never hinted at wanting more with the spymaster, so there was no telling how you might react to the cauldron blessing you with a union. You could reject it, and with it would go your friendship. 
Just the thought sent ice through Azriel’s veins. 
Truth be told, he had never shown you many signs either. When the bond snapped months ago, it had taken time for Azriel to come to terms with the truth. He had ruminated on it amidst many sleepless nights, watched you from a new perspective over many dinners, and contemplated the path that had led him to you. 
And then he had regretted. Cauldron had he regretted. 
The feeling still lingered, a reminder of each woman he had taken to his bed before you. All of the fae that had meant nothing, and even the ones that had boarded on something, he wished he could do away with.
Because you had been privy to them all. He knew you had witnessed a few late-night trysts, and even worse, that you had watched him pine after Mor for a century. It all seemed so frivolous now; it all paled in comparison to you. 
And the absolute worst part of it all is that he knew. 
He knew how easy it would be to fall in love with you from the start, so he pretended not to notice. 
He threw himself into impractical longing and meaningless lovers and he pretended that it didn’t hurt to look at you. 
The bond had only cemented his foolishness. 
He hardly had a chance with you by the time it snapped. 
“Late night then, Az?” 
You had teased him over breakfast just days before the bond had snapped for him, a small smile on your face as you lounged at the table early in the morning. At the time, Azriel had bit the inside of his cheek and reeled in his snarkiness. He had avoided your gaze, avoided the robe that barely covered your nightgown, and made himself toast in silence. He had already coaxed the blonde fae out of his bed, and he hadn’t needed a reminder of the woman he had been imagining all throughout the night. 
Because that had been something else he opted to ignore—that he pictured you, imagined you, at all times. 
It snapped three days later. He had been accompanying you through Velaris. “Shopping for fun,” you had said, “and I hate to go alone.”
The only thing Azriel had taken home that day was a gaping hole in his chest and the knowledge that lying to himself had brought him nothing but pain. 
The months following were different. 
Everything was different. 
But for you, he had come to the grim realization, nothing was different at all. He was still Azriel, your friend Azriel, who was secretive and private and cared from afar. You still pictured him as a man who chose his lovers based on convenience and quick practicality even though he hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since your emotions began flowing through his chest. 
Gods, your emotions. They were so positive, so addicting, he could sit back and live his days through you until the end of time. You had so much unrestricted joy coursing through you—so much curiosity and delight. Part of Azriel dreaded the day you did recognize the bond; it would dim the connection to you.
That day in the library had been the first time the bond had chafed against his lungs. He had felt the earthquake beneath his feet and thought nothing of it, but then your fear punctured his being and he had run so fast his wings ached. 
And then you started having nightmares, ones he couldn’t fix, and Azriel began to feel like he was losing you. Like the bond was withering and eroding within him and you along with it. 
“How long, Azriel?” Rhys’s voice cut through the air with a harshness. 
The shadowsinger breathed through his nose, jaw tight. 
“Tell me. Tell me how long you’re going to keep this up for.” 
“You don’t understand, Rhys,” came Azriel’s low reply. “None of you do.” 
The High Lord scoffed. “Right, because I had it so easy with Feyre. Az, mates are complicated—” 
“Don’t,” Azriel breathed. A dangerous shakiness accompanied the word.
“Explain it to me. Help me to understand how—” 
“There was nothing for you to lose!” The rise of the shadowsinger’s voice sent Rhys into silence. “There was nothing! You hadn’t known Feyre for three centuries—hadn’t known what it was like to see her cry over worthless males or laugh until she was doubled over. You didn’t have time to memorize the sound of her voice or understand how it felt to lose that small piece of her. Because she won’t even talk to me anymore and—” 
Azriel cut himself off, moving for the first time since he entered office. He paced, the motion of his feet doing little to dispel the tension from the air or from his body. Azriel tugged a hand through his hair, his shadows following the aggressive pull and weaving through the strands. 
“How long?” Rhys asked again, but this time, Azriel knew that he was asking a different question. One that even he himself had avoided answering. 
The shadowsinger paused. His next words were tainted and his voice cracked. 
“I think forever.”
Part 4
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allophonicmess · 4 months ago
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Too Sweet
Logan Howlett x fem!Reader
Act 1
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Remember that inspo I posed the other day? I coudn't let it go and decided to write a three part fic based on it.
Warnings: spoilers for Deadpool& Wolverine, descriptions of a panic attack, angst, implicaded age gap
word count 2k
No beta and English isn't my first language
there will be fluff later on but sadness first:
Too Sweet
Logan felt a great mix of emotions since he had followed that red-ass clown Wade into this universe. Most of it was anger, confusion, rage… But In that moment as he was sat on the black beat-up couch among Wade’s friends… He was overwhelmed.
Not by sensory overload, although that casserole that blind Al had made did stink up the place with garlic-
He was overwhelmed by the feeling of happiness, joy and companionship of the people around him. He hadn’t felt that way in ages if he ever did at all. He never felt that way with his team before everything happened.
He liked them, sure. But this company of weirdos shared a Kinmenship he never got to experience.
“Hey, Peanut! Are you angrily staring off into space to allow for good exposition?” Wade had plopped down on the couch right next to him. His jeans-clad thigh rubbed right up to his. At this point, Logan had given up on trying to keep him out of his personal space.
The older man frowned and stared at Wade next to him. His beer was getting warm but he didn’t feel like giving up his spot on the couch.
“The fuck are you talking about?” He huffed, taking another sip of his beer. But Wade just clicked his tongue, scooting even closer to Wolverine.
“Aww, you know what I mean! You are big and gruff and don’t talk that much… It’s kinda hard to capture you in writing you know. There are only so many words in the English language to describe your grunting and-“
“Are you done?” Logan sighed, finishing his drink. He was starting to regret coming with Wade. Getting drunk in some shit hole of a bar sounded better than listening to Wade's babbling.
“See! That’s what I mean. Sigh is nice, sure but it doesn’t quite capture the nature of those beautiful noses you make, big boy.” Wade petted Logan's thigh, which the older man quickly pulled away as he stood up abruptly.
“Jesus fucking- Can’t you annoy someone else? You got all of these muppets to talk to. Stop bothering me god damn it.” Logan placed the empty bottle down on the couch table. He scanned the room, looking for someone else that Wade could annoy to death. His eyes landed on the brunette… Vanessa… He knew that something had been going on between Wade and her. He never told him the details but from the pining look Wade gave her and the sad as fuck sighs he made, it was clear that the motherfucker wasn’t over her.
“Go and talk to the girl for god's sake. She might be the only one here to appreciate it.” He grinned at Wade, enjoying how his stupid grin faltered even for just a second. He leaned down on Wade's level, whispering to him in an overly joyous manner. “It might even get you laid.”
They stared at each other for a hot minute. Both men tying to provoke the other into action. But Logan was getting bored so he pushed “I might try if you don’t have the balls-“
“Fine!” It came out way too loud. Wade got up quickly trying to keep up his jolly attitude. “Fine, I will. But not because you said so.”
“Or threatened you.”
“You didn’t threaten me.”
“Sure, if you need to believe that” Logan got back onto the couch, now stretching out lazily across it. He closed his eyes, pretending to snooze.
There was no witty comeback, which surprised Logan. But it only came to show that Wade was serious for once.
Logan would never tell but he warmed up to Deadpool. He respected the man, despite his annoying and borderline brain-rotting bad humour. But he had principles. He cared for those around him, loved them dearly and would do anything to protect them. He did in fact. Logan spread out on his worn leather sofa is proof of it. He hated to admit it but Wade was the better man of the two. He didn’t let those he loves down, running away like the drunk asshole Logan is. Wade would have come to help her, would have-
The obnoxiously loud ringing of Wade’s apartment doorbell ripped Logan out of his self-deprecating talk. He blinked against the bright ceiling light and watched as Wade sighed softly. He had just started his conversation with Vanessa and it seemed to be quite a good talk from the looks of it. He seemed frustrated to be ripped away from it. Wade nodded softly, towards Vanessa, excusing himself but he was stopped by Colossus.
“No please Wade, I get it. You seem to be engaged in an interesting conversation.” The 7’5’’ metal man said, touching Wade by the shoulder to turn him back towards to woman. Logan huffed, he wasn’t the only one trying to get Wade laid.
The giant stomped towards the door, turning the doorknob that looked comically small in his silver hand to let the latecomer in.
“Hi! I’m so sorry for being late. I still had to finish some work. It’s the end of the semester, you know how it is.” A sweet voice called from outside.
Then two things happened at the same time. It was like a push and pull.
Ellie, Yukio, even that odd taxi driver… they all turned towards the door in excitement. Smiling and wooing at the woman that just entered the apartment with a cake carrier tucked under her arms.
Logan on the other hand? He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He sat there, staring as Colossus pulled her into a big hug, lifting her off the ground before taking the container off her hands to allow the others to greet her. She was smiling, laughing at some joke Ellie had cracked at her.
She looked younger. Maybe she was, who knows how time worked in this universe. Or it was the lack of stress she had to face, no heartbreak, no constant rejection from a bastard that couldn’t see that the best thing was right in front of him.
“Ah, there you are! We were starting to miss you!” Wade pulled her into a tight hug. He seemed to be content. And the older man cursed himself for even caring about it.
She hadn’t noticed him yet, or so he hoped. Maybe she didn’t know him. It would be for the best.
“Yeah, I already told Piotr, I had to finish some lesson planning at the academy before the school year is over.” She replied as she greeted Vanessa and the rest of the group.
“Oh right. You are the only one that actually knows what she’s doing at that school.” Wade joked, earning a playful remark from Colossus.
So she also studied at a human university before starting at the school, Logan noted. He was still stuck on the couch, feeling unable to move as he kept staring at her.
“You know her?” The sudden comment coming from right next to him made Logan flinch.
“Whoa, relax man. I just noticed you staring at her for like 5 min straight. And you don’t seem too happy about her being here.” Ellie stood next to him, casually watching the scene just as he did.
“None of your fucking business.” Logan managed to spit out. While he did get startled, the interruption helped him to finally feel able to move again. And it happened just at the right moment. He needed to get the fuck out of there.
Ellie just huffed, watching Logan get up on shaky legs. It could just be from the constant level of alcohol in Logan’s blood, making his knees weak, or the age. But she suspected that there was more.
Yet Logan’s attempt at a quiet escape was hindered by Piotr, calling him to come to the kitchen to introduce the two.
“Come to kitchen! I want you to meet my good friend Y/N. She also works at the school. You will like her”, the man sounds proud. He should be.
Logan ignored him, pushing his way through the small crowd with shaky steps. Why was he sweating for god's sake?
“Logan!”
“No” He called, breathing was getting harder again.
“Logan!”
“I’m good! I’m-“ He finally reached the door, rattling the doorknob and cursing that his fucking fingers got shaky. Everything was too loud and too hot and too-
“Wade, it’s fine. He doesn’t have to.“ She tried to stop the two men next to her from calling the man over. He was clearly in distress and it hurt her to watch him fumble on his way out. There were only so many people that were scared of her outside the battlefield.
She had met “their” Logan, but only briefly at some anniversary event. They had simply mismatched their time at the school. He left shortly after Y/N started working and they hadn’t met much. She wondered what the other her must have done to him to cause such a reaction.
Finally. Fucking finally. The door opened and Logan simply burst into the hallway, rushing down the steps to feel the air rush back into his lungs. A fucking embarrassment. That is what he was. The Wolverine scared shitless by a woman that doesn’t even know him.
But the other one did and it killed her.
“Logan, what in the ever-loving- fuck was that?” Wade had run after him. He just couldn’t leave it alone, could he?
“Fuck off.” Logan breathed weakly. He felt tears prickling in his eyes and it made him hate himself just a little bit more.
“You just running off? Scared of a girl?” Wade kept pushing, following Logan as he walked down the familiar street towards his bar of choice. That being the cheapest and quietest he could find in the city.
“Scared you can’t get one off? I don’t wanna make predictions but man, I think she is into the dark brooding type” he kept pushing “ Or you know what? If I can’t get Vanessa laid I might try with her, I mean she is quite-“
That made Logan snap. Turning around and impaling Wade against the closest wall. Both sets of claws out and push into the other man's torso. He only groaned in return.
“Don’t you fucking dare! Don’t you fucking-“
“Okay, okay, whoa ow… man-“ Wade coughed, lifting his hands in surrender. “ I was only joking man. Unfair. Fuck. I am unarmed-urgh”
Logan retracted the claws letting Wade drop to the floor. He knew the man was joking, he should. But it was all too fucking much too soon. He wouldn’t let it happen again. And how to best prevent the inevitable heartbreak? Don’t even let her get close, to begin with. She didn’t deserve it. She never did in the first place and he would do anything in his power to stop it from happening to her.
“So, you are just leaving me hanging? It’s your party too, you know.” Wade got up, inspecting the bloody holes that stained his new shirt. He cursed softy.  “Damn, it was brand new. Ruining a perfectly good shirt for the exposition”
“Don’t wait for me,” Logan said, turning away from Deadpool. A cheap bottle of whisky was waiting for him to calm his nerves and forget about that fucking stunt. He won’t see her again, not even talk to her or talk about her. It’s for the best. She would agree if she knew,  Logan was sure of it.
New requets for being added to the list via comments on the Masterlist post, please. That helps me to keep things organized :)
Do comment here for feedback and spreading some love ❤️
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f1amour · 2 months ago
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✧˚ · . 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔
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pairing: oscar piastri x reader
word count: 2.7k
warnings: clingy oscar & reader, oral (m receiving), lil quickie, unprotected sex — 18+ only minors do not interact please.
authors note: was meant to write a small little blurb but quickly turned into a full fic for yesterday’s winner <3 not spelled checked so it might be a little messy.
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───────────────────────── oscar had just gotten out of his car after winning the azerbaijan grand prix his second win of the sesson. his only thought was you. especially after not being there for his first win in hungary due to your work but now here you were ready to celebrate his second win
quickly getting off his car he goes straight to you embracing you in a sweaty, breathless hug “i’m so proud of you. you fucking killed it out there, osc.” oscar quickly removes his head gear not paying mind to the cameras and many eyes watching the two of you. his mind focused on your teary eyes, “what’s wrong, baby?”
he takes your face in his hands wiping away a tear “it's nothing, it's just… I wasn’t able to be here for your first win and we know how that all went down. seeing you win like this, it’s so overwhelming. i’m so happy for you.” oscar smiles with understanding flooding his face, and he pulls you into another tight hug, “you’re here now, that’s what matters. and i’m glad you’re here. i missed you.”
despite the presence of the cameras and the crowd around the both of you, oscar is completely focused on you, his heart filled with joyous excitement. without a care in the world, he captures your lips in a passionate kiss. he preferred pda in private or with family and friends not in front of dozens of camera and hundreds of strangers. but he was caught up in the moment of being there with you.
he mumbles against your lips, “i love you so much.” you wraps your arms around his neck, holding on tightly to him. your heart races in your chest, your emotions a jumble of pride, joy, and love all at once. you kiss him back, your lips molding against his in a passionate, affectionate display.
the cameras continue to click and flash around you, but in that moment, you don't care who's watching. all that matters is each other.
oscar deepens the kiss, his hands threading through your hair. the sound of applause and cheers from the crowd around you slowly registers in his ears, but he ignores it, too caught up in the moment with you. he finally breaks away from your lips, resting his forehead against yours and panting slightly. “i’ve been waiting all day to do that.”
you smile at him your hands tangled in his hair, “i could tell.” oscar grins, noticing the crowd of his team and his mom waiting to congratulate him. he gives you a smirk, knowing that you’re feeling a bit embarrassed after your private moment was inadvertently captured on camera. he squeezes your hand. "looks like i have some fans waiting for me." you blush, trying to compose yourself. "right, yes, go on. they're waiting for you. i’ll be here."
oscar nods and gives you one more quick kiss on the cheek before reluctantly letting go of your hand and walking over to his team and his mom. they all pat him on the back, congratulating him. oscar pretends to be annoyed at his teammates' teasing, but he's secretly loving the attention. "hey, i can't help it if i have a lovely girlfriend who just happens to be distracting."
oscar gives you a final smile before he's ushered away by his team. he glances back at you one more time before disappearing from view, his heart full and his mind already anticipating your reunion later.
as oscar looks down at the crowd, his eyes immediately find you standing front and center. despite the sea of strangers around you, you stick out to him. and next to you, he notices his mom, both of you watching him with pride etched on your faces. his heart swelling with joy, knowing that the two most important women in his life are there, supporting him, just makes the win that much sweeter.
you watch as oscar and the rest of them spray each other with champagne, laughing and enjoying the moment. but what you are really fixated on is the way his hair looks at that moment - tousled and slightly damp from the spray, clinging slightly to his forehead. it’s a sight that makes you heart skip a beat and a heat rise within you
you takes a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. but you can't help but imagine running your fingers through his hair, feeling the damp strands against your skin. the thought sends a shiver down your spine, and you have to remind yourself to maintain a casual, composed exterior.
you couldn't wait any longer. as soon as oscar walked into his drivers room and closed the door behind him, you pounced. you pull him towards you and capture his lips in a hungry, desperate kiss.
oscar was taken by surprise, but he quickly recovered and returned the kiss with just as much fervor. his hand came up to cup your face, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. your hands roamed his body, slipping under his shirt to feel the heat of his skin. you backed him up against the wall, pressing yourself against him as the kiss deepened.
oscar's mind was a haze of desire, his body responding to your touch. his hands found their way under your skirt, his fingers tracing a path along your bare skin.
oscar's breath hitches as your hand descends from his chest to his cock. the feeling of your touch ignites a fire within him, and he finds himself leaning into your touch subconsciously. his body and mind are at war, his desire for you fighting against his sense of responsibility and professionalism. he swallows hard, his voice hoarse as he speaks. "we...we shouldn't... i have the press conference in 15 minutes."
you get down on your knees and look up at him, your eyes darkened with desire and a hint of mischief. you smile, seeing the effect you are having on him. “just 15 minutes, oscar," you say, your voice sultry and seductive. "no one will notice if you're a few minutes late. and if you're quick, you can still make it in time." you slowly start to push his race suit down, your fingers working meticulously as you look up at him, awaiting his response.
“gotta be quick.” he mumbles. you grin, pleased with his response. you fingers finish tugging his race suit down. “i’ll be quick" you promise, your voice low and sultry.
oscar's breath hitches in his throat as you transition from your hands to your mouth, your touch suddenly more intense and intimate. he lifts his head from the wall, his eyes watching you with a mixture of pleasure and amazement. "oh...god..." he moans softly, his fingers involuntarily grasping your hair, tangling in the strands as he tries to maintain control. "that feels... incredible."
you continue, your movements skillful and purposeful. you respond to his sounds and movements, your touch and pace increasing or decreasing to match his responses. oscar's grip on your hair tightens, his breaths coming in short gasps and his body tensing with each movement of your mouth. "baby...i…i don't think...i can hold on for much longer..."
you can feel his body tensing beneath your touch, and you know he's close to the edge. with a final, skillful movement, you bring him to the brink, his body shuddering and his breaths coming in sharp gasps, “fuck y/n...oh god...i can't..." he manages to gasp out, his fingers clenching tightly in your hair.
just as oscar's body is about to reach its peak, there's a knock on the door, followed by a voice calling out, "oscar, we need you in the press room now." the sudden interruption jolts you both out of their moment, reality crashing back in, and oscar curses under his breath. the press conference. how could he forget?
“five more minutes. please baby?” oscar groans in frustration, his body still reeling from the near-release. but the knock on the door reminds him of his impending responsibilities. he looks down at you, his voice still husky with desire. “we don't have 5 minutes," he says, reluctantly pulling away from you. "i have to go. they're waiting for me."
still on your knees you look up at him with a pout on your face, “don’t you want to finish inside me?” giving him a teasing smile, you knew he couldn’t resist. oscar freezes at your words, “y/n... we can't... i have to go..." he says, his voice coming out strained and hoarse
you get off your knees and sit on his bed sighing dramatically, “fine i’ll take care of myself then.” oscar's eyes widen at her suggestion, a pang of jealousy and possessiveness running through him at the thought of you touching yourself instead of him. he clenches his fists, his jaw clenching as he tries to control his desires. he takes a step towards you, his voice gravelly. "please don't." oscar swallows, the sight of you on the bed, the thought of you taking care of yourself instead of him nearly drives him over the edge.
he steps closer to you, his voice low and intense. "don’t...i…i can't stand the thought of you... without me." you gives him a playful smile, a challenge in your eyes. you point to the door, still sitting on the bed, and say, "you know what you have to do. go tell them you need five minutes."
oscar hesitates for a moment, his mind racing as he looks at you, but the fire in his eyes tells you that he's given in. oscar strides to the door, his mind racing with excitement. he opens it slowly, peeking his head out, and sees his press officer standing in the hallway, looking impatient.
he addresses them with a calm smile, masking the intense emotions swirling inside him. "hey, i need five minutes. you mind giving me a bit more time?" his press officer looks at him, raising an eyebrow. "five minutes? we’re already running late, oscar." but oscar remains steadfast, his expression not betraying the desperation he feels inside. "yes, five minutes. it's important. i promise i'll be quick."
they glance at their watch, clearly impatient, “alright five minutes, but don't take too long." oscar nods, his heart racing with anticipation. "thanks. i won't be long."
oscar closes the door quickly, a mixture of relief and excitement coursing through him. he turns to you, his eyes darkened with desire. "five minutes is all i got. let's not waste any time." you lay playfully on the bed, your eyes twinkling with a mixture of innocence and seductive. you giggle and say, “what are you waiting for? fuck me already, oscar."
oscar reaches the bed, his eyes locked onto yours. he quickly takes off his shoes and crawls onto the bed, hovering over you. he leans down, his lips gently brushing against your neck as he huskily whispers, "i’ve been waiting all week for this."
oscar's lips continue their descent, moving down to your collarbone, planting soft, hungry kisses along the way. his hands eagerly roam your body, tracing the curves of your hips and thighs as he positions himself between your legs. “you have no idea how much i’ve missed this," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.
you moan and nod, reminding him that he needs to be quick and fast. you spreads your legs wider, anticipating his next move. "yes, honey...please," you whisper, your voice filled with need. "be quick and fast."
oscar doesn't need any more encouragement. he can't resist any longer, and he quickly responds to your plea. without hesitation, oscar positions himself between your legs, his body aligned perfectly against yours. he looks into yours eyes, his own darkened with a mixture of desire and control. “i’ve got you." he whispers, his voice low and reassuring.
he doesn't waste any time, oscar captures your lips in a searing kiss, muffling your moans as he sinks deep inside you in one smooth, fluid motion. “god you’re so fucking tight, you feel so good sweetheart, so good.” oscar praises as you squeaked as his thumb found your clit working it in tight circles. the angle of this position made it so he hit your g-spot with each thrust.
oscar's movements are quick, determined, and focused, his body responding to your every gasp and sound. he keeps a steady pace, his hands gripping your hips as he slams into you deep and hard, each stroke filling you completely.
“fuck…fuck yes, right there. i’m gonna come, osc!”the sound of your voice, your pleading cries, and the tugging on his hair sent a jolt of pleasure through oscar's body. he’s hanging on by a thread, holding himself back but barely.
"i’m right there with you...baby," he grunts, his voice strained with the effort to maintain control.
your walls fluttered around oscar’s cock. “that’s it, baby. come all over my fucking cock,” the second those words left oscar’s mouth was when your orgasm washed over you.
oscar’s hips stuttered as he came soon after, his head falling into the crook of your neck as he bit down on your shoulder. oscar continues to hold you close, his body still trembling as he tries to catch his breath. he presses his forehead against yours, his eyes locking onto you.
"i don't know what i’d do without you," he whispers, his voice ragged and sincere. "you drive me absolutely crazy." you cuddle closer, your body still buzzing with pleasure and satisfaction. you smile up at him, your fingers gently tracing circles on his back. "and you drive me crazy," you reply, your voice soft and loving. "but in the best possible way."
oscar smiles, his eyes filled with affection and contentment. he gently brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch gentle. "i could lie here with you forever," he says softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "but unfortunately, we don't have time for that." oscar reluctantly pulls away from you, his body yearning to stay close. however , he has to get dressed and return to the press conference.
you can see it in his eyes. oscar wants nothing more than to stay with you in that room, away from the pressures and demands of the outside world. but you both know that's not an option right now.
you give him a sympathetic smile, understanding his struggle. "you should go. they’re probably already wondering what's taking you so long."
oscar nods, reluctantly accepting that he has to leave. he takes a final moment to look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and desire. "i really don't want to go," he admits, his voice laced with regret. “but duty calls."
you smile, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "see you later, my winner," you say softly. "you better save some energy for me later tonight."
oscar groans again, his thoughts still on you and your stolen moment together. before he can even respond, his press officer grabs him by the arm as soon as he opens the door and begins to pull him away.
"alright, come on, oscar. we’re already late," the press officer sighs, sounding slightly annoyed. "you can't just disappear like that when you are needed for the press conference."
oscar sighs, knowing the press officer is right. he allows himself to be dragged away, his mind still preoccupied with you but trying to focus on the press conference. “yeah, I know, i’m sorry," he apologizes, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "i got held up."
oscar sits between george and charles, both wearing knowing smiles on their faces. some of the reporters present, particularly the keen-eyed ones, notice the lipstick marks and the mark on his neck. they exchange glances among themselves, puzzled and amused by oscar's appearance.
oscar, oblivious to his disheveled state, smiles and wait to be asked a few questions. little does he know that he's providing quite the gossip material for his fellow drivers and the media.
oscar can feel the weight of the eyes upon him, and he chuckles nervously. he glances around, sensing the subtle giggles and whispers among the reporters. “is there something on my face?" he asks jokingly, trying to maintain a light-hearted tone. the irony of his question is not lost on him, considering the noticeable lipstick smudges on his cheeks and neck.
948 notes · View notes
signedkoko · 10 months ago
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Signed with Love - Hazbin Cast
What is this? - A valentines gift to my lovely readers! Its valentines/love letters from your favourites 🖤
Characters - Adam | Alastor | Charlie | Cherri | Husk | Lucifer | Lute | Pentious | Vaggie
Series Parts Overlords & SIns - Here! Helluva Cast - Here!
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Sup bitch,
Looking for a valentine, cupid told me ur my soulmate, so how about you be mine?
You know I love teasing ya babe, but really, I got a reso for that restaurant you love, I'd tell you what to wear but the less the better.
Lova ya hot stuff
ORIGINAL DICKMASTER
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Salutations my lovely doe!
Another opportunity to show my dear just how much I love them, what more could I ask?
I'd offer my cooking, but I know you don't have quite the palette for venison. Instead, I've prepared a private dinner, catered to by a lovely cafe a good friend of mine runs.
I'll be there to get you at half past two,
A.
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Hiii ❣
I hope you don't mind me asking but I REALLY wanted to be the one to ask if you'd be my valentine?
I haven't decided what we should do yet, I was thinking rock climbing, or how about a fancy dinner? Ahh I have so many ideas! We can talk about it later!
Thinking of you always,
Charlie (Morningstar, Princess of Hell, Manager of the Hazbin Hotel (now booking!!), potential valentine of you!)
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Heya girly,
I'm not one for holidays, but I know you reallllly wanted to try this one out. So! be my valentine?
I'll bring you to that great viewpoint I hang at, maybe show you how I make some of my arsenal. Just dress comfy, it's going to be a lot of moving!
You better be swooning already!
Your favourite 💣
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Hey,
I'm thinking this year we could try something new. As stupid as it sounds, will you be my valentine?
I've got a stack of rental movies and one empty ass theatre room. Still sure no one realized we even have one, but what the hell, right? Let me know what you think and we can go pick up some drinks before.
Looking forward to it,
Husker
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Hiii ❣
I know you told me not to go crazy this year, but how could I not! So, valentine...
I left a bag with this note, it's got a few outfits for you to pick that will match mine! Just be ready by 6 tonight, we've got a lot of stops. Drinks, dinner, a performance at Ozzie's, and a reserved spot in my bed tonight.
Happy valentines day,
Yours truly
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I pray this letter reaches you,
Maybe you don't expect it of me, but you deserve to feel as special as everyone else this valentines.
So, I've got a surprise dinner set up for us this valentines. If you are willing, dress nice for four tomorrow and I can take you for a flight before it. Just don't wear anything that might fall off.
Your angel,
Lt. Lute
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Dearest serpentine,
It would be ever so joyous to accompany you this valentines, if that is okay of course!
My egg bois have insisted upon serenading us and treating us to a nice dinner in my war machine. I promise you it is in prim and proper shape for such a day.
Yours sincerely
(Future) Overlord Pentious
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Hey hun,
You've talked a lot about valentines recently, and while I know we said we'd overlook it, I feel like you deserve to know how much I love you.
When you get the chance, I've got a bottle of wine and a free night to decide what we want to do. Just swing by after eight?
See ya valentine,
Vaggie
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Authors Note - Ahahaha can you tell I don't write Adam much? Either way, part one of the valentines series 🖤 If you don't have a valentine this year, please allow me to be yours! Or let me know which of these folks you'd accept a letter from 🤭
2K notes · View notes
missmeinyourbones · 9 months ago
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AURORA BOREALIS GREEN
cw: non sorcerer au, college au, enemies to lovers (?) neighbors to lovers, miscommunication trope if you squint (I AM SORRY), reader e to as she/her once, reader wears heels, some light sexual content (dry humping nation rise)
wc: 10k+
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There's something wrong with your upstairs neighbors. 
You've never met them, not face to face at least, but between the times you've hit your ceiling with the end of your broom and the audacity they have to continue to be as rowdy as they are, something isn't right with them. You're sure of it. 
And you're not naive to the fact that your apartment building is filled with young people, either currently in college or just freshly graduated. You're no prude to the dulled sound of late-night party playlists or squeaky bed frames muffled by plaster. 
But your neighbors aren't guilty of these typical noise complaints. No, they're borderline much worse.
The majority of their crimes take place in the day, believe it or not, which makes it all the more frustrating when you actually have shit to do. When it's not boyish yells of victory and frustration, it's footsteps that sound like a herd of elephants (how many people can live in an apartment floor plan for two?). They're relentless upstairs neighbors to have, and though you couldn't pick their faces out of a crowd if you tried, you're sure their lack of etiquette spans across other areas of their lives. 
The tiny clock at the top of your computer blinks a mocking 11:38 AM as you try to study through the sounds of excited stomping and rowdy gibberish. 
You don't know what makes today so different, whether it's the burnt coffee beans you can taste lingering in your usual order from the cafe across the street or the organic chemistry study guide practically laughing at you as you review your hieroglyphic notes for tomorrow's test.
Whatever is in the water has you feeling braver than usual, and instead of reaching for the conveniently placed broom in the corner of your kitchen, you find yourself stomping your way down the hall and up the staircase.
The sixth floor is identical to the fifth — you don't know why it wouldn't be, but you've never put much thought into it — so it's no surprise that your feet find no trouble in naturally bringing you to a door equivalent to yours just a floor below. 
Your knuckles wrap against the wood with three unfriendly knocks, and the joyous buzzing from inside the apartment instantly comes to a lull. You think you hear panicked whispers from the other side, almost as if the culprits are debating on answering or not. You take their choice away when you knock three more times. 
After a moment, you hear the clicking of the lock and the fiddling of the doorknob. You take a deep breath to ground yourself, put on your best customer service voice, and prepare to calmly tell these entitled frat boys to shut the fuck up when—
You're ironically met with the prettiest green eyes you think you've ever seen.
A tall brunette stands before you, about your age, and wearing a look that's both confused and embarrassed. Your eyes quickly flicker across his face in the span of mere seconds, logical thoughts going out the window and now replaced with amazement at how stupidly attractive he is. 
Though you knocked on his door, he speaks first.
"Hi...?" He clears his throat, looking behind you in the hallway, almost as if you have the wrong room. 
His confusion annoys you, and you suddenly remember why you're here in the first place. 
"Look, I really don't wanna be a bitch," you sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose, "but what could you possibly be doing in this apartment that sounds like an actual full-out brawl on a Wednesday morning?"
Obliviously handsome neighbor's face goes a bit pink and his jaw slacks as he stutters, looking for either a shitty excuse or a polite explanation of the truth.
He opens the door a bit more, gesturing to the living room behind him. You spare a glance to where another guilty suspect stares back at you with big brown eyes and a smirk. There's some video game paused on the screen, ridden with animated blood and a scoped weapon's perspective.
Your attention is brought back to the one holding the door when he mumbles, "I think it's our game."
A bit dumbfounded at his lame answer, you blankly stare at him.
"Your... game?"
Brown Eyes yells from the couch, "Call of Duty!"
As if on instinct, Green Eyes closes the door a bit, shielding you from his roommate and shaking his head in exasperation. He clears his throat awkwardly, "Sorry, are you—?"
You're suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you've been staring at how long his fucking eyelashes are. He's anything but sore on the eyes, but again, you try to remind yourself that he and his roommate make your life difficult at least five out of seven days of the week.
"I live below you," you huff behind a swallow, "and you really don't make it easy." 
He nods dumbly, finally realizing the connection behind your visit. "Oh, right."
You scoff and nod your head. For someone as pretty as him, he's a bit thick in the head. 
Biting your cheek, you begin to walk away from the door without completely ending the conversation. As you're turning to leave, he hears you call out from down the corridor. 
"If you could just — not play video games like eleven-year-old boys," your tone is filled with annoyance, "that'd be great." 
You don't need to turn around to know that the stranger at the door is apologetic and nodding in compliance. Before he can fully shut the door, you hear a quip from his counterpart on the couch.
"She told you, bro."
As the door shuts, you hear the muffled hiss from the other. "You're the one making noise, dipshi—"
…..
Your threatening conversation must have worked to some degree, because it's been almost two days without any sort of annoyance from your upstairs neighbors. You think you almost take it for granted, the way you can study without headphones and enjoy a movie in the living room rather than in your bed with the speaker on high.
The walk back from your class is usually about twenty minutes, but it's closer to fifteen today as you're quicker when it comes to getting out of the cold.
Your chemistry test went alright — maybe not your best work but okay enough that you passed. And that's all you care about as you make your way back to your apartment, intending to crash in your bed and not move for the next few hours.
The winter air leaves a chill up your spine as you swipe into your building and press the elevator button. Your nose runs a bit from the cold as it sits against your knit scarf. Bag on your arm and half-consumed coffee, you can't wait to enjoy a day or two without thinking about covalent bonds and isomers.
You close your eyes and release a sigh as the elevator door begins to close, but before it gets the chance to do so successfully, quick footsteps and a hand jammed between the closing space prompt the doors to reopen.
Not really paying attention to the stranger joining your 30-second elevator ride, you simply step to the side to make more room for them.
It's not until they make eye contact with you that you realize it's your neighbor, the same one you'd borderline terrorized a few days ago for being irritating.
He's out of breath from catching the lift last minute, lungs still adjusting from the crisp air from outside. His jacket is zipped all the way up to his collar and his hair pokes out in spiky tuffs from beneath his hat.
He mumbles out a weak "sorry" before his eyes find the floor and the rickety door shuts, leaving the two of you alone in the suddenly very small space.
You'd cuss beneath your breath if you weren't close enough for him to hear it.
What's the acceptable thing to do in this scenario? You mentally weigh out your options. Sit in an awkward silence? Introduce yourself as if your encounter never even happened? Address the fact that you banged on his door a few days ago and insulted him as a first impression?
You choose the silence. If anything, you silently pray that behind your winter apparel and the lack of eye contact, he doesn't even recognize you.
But that thought goes to shit when you see that he's already pressed the fifth-floor button for you.
You swear the ride to your floor has never been this slow. Seconds feel like hours as you watch the digital number rise like paint drying on a wall. The elevator almost laughs at you as it stops on the third floor and opens itself to find no one there; you curse whoever decided to press the button before changing their mind and taking the stairs.
After what seems like forever, your floor finally flashes on the pixelated screen, and as you feel the elevator come to a stop—
The doors don't open.
You think it's just your dramatic prolonged sense of time until it's been about ten seconds and still, nothing. Just the two of you in a stopped elevator with doors that won't unlock.
You've never been one to believe in karma, but you can't help but think this is the universe punishing you for standing up for yourself. You are quite literally on your floor, a mere sliding door away from the embarrassing situation you got yourself in, but still, nothing happens.
He presses the button meant to prompt open the doors a few times with slight force.
"It does this, sometimes," he weakly coughs out in an attempt to make conversation. "It's uh—a shitty building."
You try pressing the button for yourself, "It's never done this for me."
Green Eyes sighs, slouching against his side of the wall and letting his head fall to rest on his shoulder, "Consider yourself lucky."
You huff, giving up on the button and turning to face him.
Your eyes didn't deceive you the first time you saw him — he is just as pretty as you'd initially thought. Not a great conversationalist, but nice to look at. He avoids eye contact until you speak up.
"It's happened to you before?" you gesture to the doors that won't open.
He catches your eye before nodding defeatedly, "This is the fourth time."
You can't help but bitterly laugh at the situation you're in.
"Maybe it's just you, then," you joke, looking up at the digital five mocking you in the corner.
Though you don't catch it, his eyes soften a bit as they fall on you. The corner of his mouth slightly quirks up when he chimes, "Could be."
You let yourself count another ten seconds before tossing your hands by your sides in aggravation and sighing, "So, what now? Hit the help button or—"
And like a blessing, or maybe a curse, you can't decide, the elevator chimes, signaling its arrival. The doors open swiftly as if there was nothing wrong with them in the first place, revealing your destination floor to you.
You whip your head to your upstairs neighbor, confused and almost asking for his permission to exit the elevator. You don't know why you do so, and you don't know why you only depart after he nods his head and waves his hand for you to continue.
Next time you leave your apartment, you find yourself taking the stairs to be safe.
…..
Your peaceful living is unsurprisingly short-lived. After a few enjoyable days, you'd given your neighbors too much credit as they now return to their usual noisiness. You find yourself rapping on their door once again.
This time, Brown Eyes answers.
Even before opening his mouth, he's instantly friendlier than his counterpart based on body language alone, completely opening the door all the way wide and leaning against the frame in his palm.
He's taller than you, but not as tall as the former who greeted you last time. With light rose-colored hair, he's all smiles and giggles. You'd think he were high if you could smell anything on him.
Oh, he's also shirtless.
"Hey, it's our friend again," he smiles at you before craning his neck backward, and you can make an educated guess on who exactly he's talking to.
You're quick to steer clear, "We aren't friends."
He laughs at your words, completely unfazed by the unwelcoming attitude. He casually sips on an energy drink that looks borderline lethal when he asks, "Were we being loud? You comin' to yell at us again?"
His lack of care for the situation surprisingly doesn't rub you the wrong way. Inconvenient? Yes, but not necessarily malicious, from what you can tell.
"I wouldn't be here for any other reason."
"Sorry," he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. "We don't really have inside voices around here."
You can't help but roll your eyes at the childish excuse. "You should find some."
"Will do," he nods like a child being reprimanded in class, "sorry again."
He salutes you with a metal can in his left hand. Before you can turn your back to him and towards the elevator, you hear the same voice call out to you.
"Hey—!"
You stop midstride, slowly turning around to face the door again. He stands in the same position, leaning against the door frame as he points out the obvious.
"We didn't get your name last time."
You blink at him a few times, not caring enough to connect the dots and extend the nicety, but the friendly one persists. He places a palm on his (bare) chest as he gestures to himself, "I'm Itadori."
You nod with raised brows, "And I'm calling our landlord if you piss me off again."
You hear a soft chuckle from the inside of the apartment. The two of you turn at the sound of the noise, where Green Eyes hides his smile behind the strings of his sweatshirt and quickly returns his attention to his phone.
Itadori, apparently, looks back at you and nods to his friend, "That's Fushiguro."
You breathe out your own name and quickly make your way back towards your apartment. On the ride down to your floor, you find yourself repeating the name — Fushiguro. It tastes weird on your lips, and you hate the way you don't hate it.
..…
His name is Megumi. 
You learn this when a letter shows up at your door addressed to a Fushiguro Megumi. Mail mix-ups are common in the apartment complex, but you can't help but laugh at the coincidence - his name but your apartment number clearly displayed in black ink.
You examine the piece of paper closely. The cream-colored envelope covered in poorly drawn hearts and tacky puppy stickers placed randomly across its front found itself wedged into your door's mailbox. Flipping it over, the return address is a mere surname of Gojo underlined with a smiley face. 
A love letter, you realize. You're not sure why the shift in narrative suddenly fills your stomach with an uneasy weight of disappointment.
You're going out anyways, you tell yourself as you slip on your scarf and shimmy into your shoes. Between stopping at the grocery store for a few small things and dropping off overdue assignments at your professor's office, it's not like you're going out of your way to return the letter to its intended recipient. You're doing the right thing, being a good samaritan, your mind repeats. 
The single flight up the stairs is easy enough and a good excuse for exercise. Approaching the door that mimics your own floor below, the same one you've already visited two times too many, you feel weirdly nervous. Just slide it beneath his door and call it a day.  
As you bend to slip the paper beneath the door, it swings open. 
You quickly stand up straight and back away from the opening, as the shadow in your peripheral startles from your presence and does the same. 
"Shit, sorry—"
Looking up, you lock eyes with the one and only whose letter lies in your hand. Fuck. 
He hesitates a bit when he realizes it's you, doing a double take and immediately assuming he's in trouble again. 
"We—" Megumi, you now know him to be, turns his back to you, quickly surveying his empty apartment to show you, "aren't playing? Yuuji's not even home, so—”
You're not sure why you're the slightest bit hurt by his more than reasonable accusation. The only two times you've been at his door were to reprimand him, so of course he's not wrong to assume this time was no different. Still, it has you feeling guilty as you dryly swallow and raise your arm.   
"I was sticking this under your door," you sigh, handing him the ridiculous-looking envelope. "Got sent to my place accidentally."
His eyes flicker to your extended hand, and when he sees the writing on the envelope between your fingers, his body instantly goes hot with embarrassment.
"Of course it did," he groans beneath his breath, almost annoyed. 
A bit abruptly, he grabs the letter from you and places his hand behind his back, telling himself that if it's out of sight, you'll forget it ever happened entirely.
His uneasiness and slight frustration have you taking a small step back as he snatches the envelope. He senses your hesitation and immediately mourns how he acted out of instinct, sighing and slowly moving the letter from behind him to rest by his side.
He softens and clears his scratchy throat, something you've come to notice he does a lot. "Thanks."
Feeling a bit brave, you raise your eyebrows, amused at his odd behavior. Your words are taunting yet friendly when you nod to the note at his arm.
"You should probably tell your girlfriend that you're in #603, not #503."
Megumi's face is often stoic and downturned, aside from a slight pull of a smile that can rarely be seen on occasion. But at these words, you watch in regret as Megumi's expression mimics one of disgust mixed with pure mortification. 
"Oh, this—" his eyes fall to the envelope he thinks might be the cause of his death, "this isn't from a girlfriend. It's actually a lot worse than that." 
"Worse?" you push.
"It's... from a family friend," he weakly reveals. "Kinda like a dad, I guess." 
You find yourself smiling at the meek yet sweet confession, nodding along and biting back a good-hearted laugh at his timidness. 
"Right, I just assumed with the hearts and the cute stickers that—" you trail off, gesturing to the letter that clearly presents itself as something else. 
He laughs a bit humorlessly and itches the back of his neck shyly.
"That would make a lot more sense and be a lot less humiliating, yeah."
You take a moment to take in his shyness. He's harmless, you decide at that very moment. You make a mental note to remind yourself to weigh the sides of the subject at hand. 
Cons: awkward, obvlvious, bad neighbor, a tad unfriendly at times
Pros: annoyingly attractive, nice enough in actual conversation, respectful in passing, girlfriend-less 
You shake those points from your head, taking a breath and slowly moving towards the elevator. "It could've been worse. The stickers could've been puppies and kittens," you tease. 
You expect that to be all, because that's all it should be, right? An awkward yet friendly coincidence between two strangers who got off on the wrong foot. You're locked in on entering the elevator when you hear his voice from behind you. 
"Sorry—" he shortly blurts out. 
You turn, expecting him to elaborate on the outburst. The look on his face almost reads as if he wasn't planning to until seeing your reaction, where he explains, "That we're loud sometimes. I really do try to tell Yuuji to shut up, but he's just... a lot."
You don't know why your heart swells at the apology. 
"It's fine," you nod softly. Turning your back, you call out to him as you enter the elevator. "You've actually been pretty tolerable this week, but don't let that go to your head."
As the elevator closes, you see Megumi smile before returning inside and closing his door. This time, you don't stop the thoughts that flow through your head.
Pro: cute
.….
You suppose it was only a matter of time before the tables you'd set managed to turn on you, but you just didn't expect it so soon. Because the next time you run into your neighbors, it's them knocking on your door for a change.
The sharp winter wind shakes the sides of your building with rage — the kind that results in creaky panels and systems outages in certain sectors of your building.
After waking to take a shower early this morning and being greeted with piercing cold water that refused to warm up, no matter how long you ran the faucet, you knew today would be a long one.
Clad in layers of fuzzy socks and bulky hoodies, you rise from the couch to answer the banging outside. After opening the door to see who's on the other side, it takes less than a second for the visitor to make himself at home.
"You out of hot water, too?" Yuuji casually brushes past you, walking into your home and stopping in the center of the living room. He looks around the space in awe — as if his own place just a singular level above doesn't mimic the exact same floor plan.
Still in the hallway but keeping an eye on his friend's questionable behavior, Megumi waits in the hallway. He's on the phone with someone, his cell wedged between his elbow and ear. When he begins asking about the building's backup generator, you mentally thank him for being the only proactive one here.
You sigh and turn to Yuuji, who's admiring your wall art and the fact that you have an actual television stand, "I'm out of heat in general."
"Damn," he blurts out without a thought, "that sucks."
You overhear Megumi wrapping up his conversation in the background when your lips are pulled downward in confusion.
"Are you guys not?"
"Oh no, we are," Yuuji continues admiring your apartment with a child-like curiosity, "but we have a space heater that's doing the job for now. How are you so good at decorating?"
You ignore his question, turning to Megumi who now stands on the threshold of your doorway. He makes a face, one of tight lips and sympathy, almost as if he's wordlessly apologizing for both the unfortunate scenario and his roommate's lack of social etiquette.
You further wrap yourself in your own little warmth, crossing your arms inwards. "That's actually really smart of you guys," you manage to croak out.
"You can come up and chill if you want," Yuuji mindlessly offers, eyes scanning over the magnets on your fridge. He can't stop himself from fiddling with a cherry-shaped one that holds up a baby picture of you from kindergarten.
The shock on your face must be obvious because you swear you hear Megumi swallow a chuckle at your reaction.
"You came down here… to ask me to chill?" Your voice octaves up towards the end, almost as if repeating the offer will reveal itself to be a track or joke.
While Yuuji nods eagerly, you can hear Megumi muttering from behind the neckline of his sweatshirt.
"Sue us for extending a neighborly olive branch."
As Yuuji continues to outwardly snoop around your kitchen, his eyes land on your oven-top clock and he whines.
"I actually have class in twenty and need to catch the shuttle to campus, but you're welcome to not freeze to death with Fushiguro, if you want."
You check your phone, confirming the time when you question, "Didn't the last shuttle of the hour leave already?"
You watch the gears turn in Itadori's mind for a second before he smacks a palm to his head, quickly brushing past you and out the door.
"Fuck me, see you guys later then—" he hurries, the only sound following him being the swishing of his winter coat and clunky booted footsteps jostling down the stairs.
And with Megumi still standing in your doorway and the sound of the main staircase gate slamming behind Yuuji's path, you could hear a pin drop between the two of you if it weren't for the howling wind outside (which you find yourself suddenly grateful for rather than loathing it).
Megumi shifts his weight on the balls of his feet as he stands. He clears his throat in a way he hopes is subtle.
"You can still come up," he gestures to the hallway with a nod of his head, before cautiously adding, "if you want."
Instinctively, you feel your body curl further in on itself. Megumi must notice it too, as his eyes quickly flicker to your raw hands tucked beneath your arms.
"It's not that bad in here," you weakly dismiss.
He deadpans, "I can almost see your breath."
A sigh leaves your chilled body and you look up at Megumi. Now it's your turn to silently communicate with him — eyebrows raising and wavering between your options, you chew on your cheek in thought.
"You don't have to," he softly adds, hands burrowing themselves in the pocket of his hoodie. "Just wanted to see if you needed anything, I guess."
"What did the landlord say?" your words are muffled from your teeth in your cheek.
Megumi's eyes light up a bit before they find his scuffed Converse again.
"He's sending his guys over, but it's gonna take an hour, at least."
After another minute that feels like twenty, you softly speak up.
"…Do you really have a space heater?"
As he fights off a smile, Megumi gently nods.
.….
You'll admit, the apartment looks better than you'd imagined. Not that your standards weren't too high to begin with, but you're pleasantly surprised.
Megumi unlocks the front door, gesturing for you to enter as he slowly closes it behind him, shivering a bit from the draft weaving through the hallway.
It's clean, relatively. The design of the rooms and open areas are identical to your layout below, but between the decor (or lack thereof) and the overhanging presence of the space, it feels so different.
Their television, the one you know to be responsible for their rowdiness, balances on what looks to be a bedside table. Far too small for the proportions of the TV but just enough to carry the width of the screen's base, it looks silly but does the job.
"You can just…" Megumi waves his hand to the living room, awkwardly trailing off as he insists. "Sit. Wherever you want."
Your seating choices include a felt futon in scrappy condition, two lopsided beanbags, and a busted recliner. You take your chances with the futon.
Surveying the apartment, it's not terrible — truthfully, you'd been expecting worse from college guys. You give them props; aside from a few half-drank plastic water bottles and withering plants on their window sill, there's nothing that outwardly goes against any health violations or suitable living standards. No empty beer cans or pizza boxes, no trashy flags or posters hung on the walls. It's decent.
And the space heater working overtime in the corner outlet is a major plus. Feeling the angle of its warmth blasting on your legs, you exhale at the heat and rub your fuzzy slippers together on instinct.
"Do you want anything?" Megumi stands a few feet away, nervous for someone in the comfort of his own home, "Water or a drink, or something?"
It's sweet how respectful he's being — you think back to whoever sent him that letter, imagining they raised him right.
You shake your head curtly, "I don't take drinks from strange men."
His face drops instantly.
"Oh—right," he swallows harshly, fumbling with his sparse words. "I didn't mean it like that or anything, but that makes sense. I just meant—”
The stoic expression you were attempting to upkeep fails and you can't fight off the smile that pulls at your cheeks. Exhaling a laugh and looking over at him, you apologize, "I'm just kidding, Megumi."
He feels his stomach instantly solidify like cement at your words — Megumi. He doesn't recall you ever referring to him by any name, let alone his first. He feels a wandering heat itching up his neck when he coughs up a chuckle.
He shakes his head, sitting on the opposite end of the futon and leaving the middle cushion between the two of you unoccupied.
"Fuck off," he scratches his jaw to busy his shaky hands. In doing so, you catch a glimpse of a few silver rings wrapping around his knuckles.
As the warmth of the space heater (solely the space heater, you remind yourself) gradually dissolves the chill that's been stuck up your spine for the last few hours, you slightly settle further into your seat.
"So this is the scene of the crime, huh?" you motion to the gaming console propped up on the floor beside the makeshift television stand.
Megumi amuses an exhale through his nose and nods along, "Yeah. I mean, you've kinda seen it from the hallway before."
"Yeah, but this is the real thing, first-person point of view. It's just missing me downstairs hitting the ceiling with my broom twenty times."
The next few minutes are stolen by a whole lot of small talk that holds no weight. Beginning to panic at how the hell you're gonna make it through this entire hour with little to talk about, your eyes fall on the television once more.
"So," you curl into the futon. "Show me something worth screaming over."
Without warning, Megumi chokes on his own saliva as he swallows.
"Huh?"
"A game," you quickly correct, not realizing how your words sounded and nodding to the television before you. "I meant, show me a game that justifies how loud you two get."
The game is fine, nothing revolutionary but admit that you could see how it could be entertaining for some. A standard battle royal concept, Megumi hands you his second controller and walks you through the instructions on how to play.
You mimic the way his fingers hold the controller, how they flex and bend to hit certain buttons for special uses. Throughout the tutorial of trial and error, the two of you naturally close the gap of the middle cushion, now much closer as you copy his movements and use his hands for reference. He even goes as far as reaching over to point out certain buttons to you, skimming your fingers hesitantly as he pulls away.
It's safe to say you don't win, don't even come close, but he's a good sport all the same. He laughs when you're hit by enemies and revives you with little to no mocking. He whispers an encouraging "there you go" whenever you manage to land a hit on someone, followed by an "I got you" when he's covering for your character. It's fun — you freeze a bit when you realize that you like spending time with him, even doing the very thing that caused this entire debacle in the first place.
You don't realize how much time has passed until Megumi's phone vibrates from the coffee table. His eyes quickly glance over the unsaved number, almost as if recognizes the contact and is debating on answering or not.
Your eyes narrow teasingly when you taunt, "You gonna take that?"
Snapped out of his thoughts, Megumi nods, swipes his screen, and holds his phone to his ear.
"Hello?"
The conversation is short, maybe thirty seconds in total. Though you can't make out any specific words, you can hear the rumbling of another deep voice on the other end of the call. Megumi listens half-heartedly, nodding along and chiming in here and there to acknowledge the caller.
"Hey, yeah. That was me. Right, okay. Okay, nice. Thanks, appreciate it."
The call ends and Megumi puts his phone down on the coffee table once more. You swear you can hear a small sense of disappointment in his voice when he breathes.
"That was the maintenance guy," he breathes softly. "Heat's back on."
You feel your own body getting sour with misfortune. Why are you so bitter about the thought of going back downstairs to your own apartment?
Nodding at his words, you slowly stand and do your best to sound relieved. "Thank god," you joke, "I was beginning to think I might have to sleep on this gross futon."
Megumi sneers, rolling his eyes and rising to walk you to the door. Before you step into the hallway, you turn to face him.
"Thanks," your tone is spineless, one he's unable to recognize from you before you elaborate, "for letting me leech off of your heat."
"No problem," he shoots you a genuine look. "Consider it reparations for all of the times we've annoyed you."
"All of the times?" you shoot him a harmless glare.
Unlike most who cower and scowl at your sarcastic quips, Megumi seems to bloom beneath your daggered attempts at pushing him away.
"Fine," he exaggerates a groan, "maybe not all. But it's a start, right?"
A start. The insinuation tickles all air out of your lungs like a feather. Though you pretend to be annoyed and kiss your teeth at his words, you nod all the same.
Leaving his door, Megumi seems lighter than he did when you first entered.
"Sorry you just kinda watched me play video games for almost two hours," he calls out to you as you depart, hands returning to his pockets.
"Don't be," you honestly tell him as your head cranes back to look at him. "It was nice to be up here for reasons other than wanting to strangle you."
.….
A day and a half later when the universe has realigned itself and it's you knocking on their door again, they half expect you to be followed by your stuffy landlord holding an eviction notice.
Much to their surprise, you're alone, rather skittish — and holding a tupperware container of… cookies?
It's Megumi who opens the door initially, but Yuuji is quick to squeeze his way into the opening at the sight of your familiar face and mysterious delivery in hand.
"Ooooooh, what are these?" he inquires, unashamed as he pokes his nose into your space in an attempt to get a better look at the baked goods.
Pulling a bit away from his antics, you swallow back any potential wisecracks.
"Thank you for being neighborly and not letting me die of hypothermia cookies," you keep your voice neutral.
"Are they poisoned?" Megumi pipes in.
You shoot him a scowl, one he's learned is innocent enough, and his eyes crinkle in amusement.
"Shit, can't remember if I added vanilla or vitriol?" your head cocks to the side in faux thought.
Your eyes flicker to him as he chews on his cheek in a half-assed attempt to cover up his entertainment at your quickness.
Yuuji, focused on nothing but having a minimum of five cookies for good measure, snatches the container from your hands and carries it to the kitchen counter.
He's already opening the dish and helping himself as he chews, "I don't even know what that is, so I'm gonna take my chances."
Megumi gives a quick thank you for the cookies, and Yuuji chimes in behind a satiated mouth and crumby lips. You brush off their graces, reminding them it's just you returning the favor for the heating situation.
Just as you're about to see yourself out of their entryway, you hear an authentic offer from the kitchen.
"Hey," Yuuji wipes his lips with the back of his hand, and something about it feels oddly youthful to you, "wanna come over this weekend?"
You look at the two of them for a moment, waiting to see if there's a punchline to come, before carefully treading, "Why?"
"We're havin' some friends over," Yuuji reveals casually before going to take another large bite, "and I guess you're funny enough to hang out with us."
The hesitation in your response must be more apparent than you think because he's quick to chuckle and elaborate on the offer.
"It's not an orgy," he teases at your stiffness before grabbing at another cookie and shrugging. "We get take out, chill, drink a little, kick ass in Mario Kart."
You nod as you listen to his words. He's kind, they both are, and you know the offer to be a genuine one. Still, the situation makes your stomach ache with uncertainty at the thought of mingling with strangers for the sake of your mere — acquaintances? Neighbors? Friends?
"As fun as that sounds," you breathe, clearly trying but failing to convince them of your apologetic tone, "I don't really wanna intrude on you and your friends.
"It's not intruding if you're invited," Megumi interjects for the first time in the conversation.
Looking at where he stands against the counter, his eyes are on you. They're careful, but hopeful in a gentle kind of way. He wants you to say yes — but he'd rather swallow a knife than his own pride and admit it himself.
Your words are unconvincing when you sigh, "Not really in the hangout mood. Next time, okay?"
The two men deflate a bit, one more dramatic and obvious than the other, but they nod at your rejection. Wiping his hands off on his shorts, Yuuji walks you to the door, thanking you again for the sweets and joking about you getting home safe on your long journey back downstairs.
You can't help but giggle at his theatrics, insisting that, "If you need me this weekend, I'll be rotting away on my couch with a bottle of wine and a week's worth of Love Island to catch up on."
Yuuji laughs wholeheartedly, "Your loss, see ya."
Megumi weakly waves as his best friend swings the door shut. Once closed, Yuuji turns to him with a cheeky smile he knows can mean nothing good.
Megumi grimaces at his enthusiasm, "What?"
Yuuji nods to the door, a toothy grin spreading across his face. "Think I'm gonna ask her out."
Megumi's quick to react poorly.
"What?" he borderline knocks over the water bottle next to him on the counter. He catches it, embarrassed by his obvious care for the situation as he tries to cover it up with a nonchalant scoff, "Why?"
Yuuji stares at him for a minute in disbelief before stating what he believes to be the obvious.
"'Cause she's hot and yells at us all the time?"
Megumi scoffs in distaste again. He fiddles with the rings on his right hand, pretending to be careless about a situation he's anything but careful about.
Sensing his roommate's off response, Itadori's quick to add. "Unless you wanna call dibs before I do?"
"Dibs?" Megumi groans.
"Yeah, like claiming—"
"I know what dibs means," he interrupts before Yuuji can dig his own grave any further. He slumps into the palm of his hand as his elbow rests atop the kitchen counter, "I just think that's shitty."
Yuuji, knowing Megumi well enough to sense that he's hit a sour spot, nods and backs off. He joins him at the counter again, oblivious as he grabs another cookie to chomp on. With cautious eyes and a mouth filled with chocolate, he speaks up.
"…So you don't wanna call dibs?"
.….
It's Saturday, almost Sunday, according to the cat clock on your wall.
You'd kept your word. Beneath a few blankets and practically one with your couch cushions, you're spending your weekend doing exactly what you'd anticipated.
The television continues to play the stream of episodes you're catching up on. With your second glass of red in hand, you tune in and out of the segments when the good parts catch your attention. It feels good to relax, to do nothing and to be nothing behind tipsy and fatigued eyes.
A sudden knock on your door puts a minor wedge in your plans. Sitting up with a groan, you whimper beneath your breath but move to answer it regardless.
Maybe you forgot to tip your delivery driver when he dropped off your takeout a few hours ago and he's back for revenge. Maybe it's your drunk friends, showing up to ruin your night and attempting to persuade you to join them on their foolish escapades. Maybe it's someone with the wrong address.
Locking eyes with the visitor at your door, it's Megumi. Maybe you're drunker than you thought.
His delicate eyes match yours when he scarcely smiles, "Hi."
Your eyes go to the items in his hands — a few beer bottles, a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels, and a deck of cards.
Giggling to yourself, you stare at him, "I think you got off a floor too early."
Megumi laughs, and when you're able to get a good look at him, you can tell he's a bit tipsy, too. His shoulders aren't as tense as they usually are, he's still broad, but a lot looser now. His eyes are glossed over with a haze you're sure yours mimic. He scratches his nose awkwardly before opening his mouth.
"I—" he cuts himself off, eyes darting to the items in his arms before returning to you, "wanted to see you."
"Me?" you're unable to stop yourself from nearly gawking.
He laughs again, not obnoxiously but easy and natural. "Yes, you. Does someone else live here?"
"Don't you have plans with your friends?" you question, still not letting him inside.
"They're upstairs," he nods, "and no, I'm not here to force you to come up."
At his words, he can see your visible relief. Opening the door fully and letting him come inside, you relish in reassurance, "Good, I really didn't wanna be fake nice right now."
A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth as he sets his belongings on your coffee table. "Fake nice?" he prompts.
"I mean, not that it's fake, it's just like—customer servicey. Y'know? Being kind to people in a way that's not ingenuine but—"
"Exhausting?" he finishes for you, and he's weirdly more talkative with a bit of alcohol in his veins. "Yeah, I feel that."
You sprawl onto your couch and he takes the seat next to you but refrains from leaning back as far. He watches you graze on your glass of wine, your legs crossed childishly as you gaze up at him.
"Are you like that with me?" he puts on a brave face. "Fake nice?"
He releases a breath he didn't even know he was holding when you shake your head. After a hearty sip from your drink, you talk dramatically with your hands.
"Am I even real nice to you? I've kinda been a bitch since the day I banged on your door."
Megumi shakes his head as he laughs, which in return allows you to do the same. He relaxes a bit further into the warmth of your cushions, lolling his head to look at you as he opens himself a beer.
"I don't think so," he shrugs. "You're not wrong for complaining about us being understandably annoying."
Things lighten up as time passes. The night gets a bit blurry but it's fun, carefree. The two of you sit on your tiny couch, passing a bag of pretzels back and forth, and playing stupid card games that bring out your competitive sides and don't have real rules.
Minutes bleed into hours and you're not sure what time it is when it's late enough for Megumi to start yawning. Enjoying a comfortable silence between the two of you, his voice is temperate when he asks.
"Why didn't you want to hang out with us?"
He almost seems mournful, and a part of you feels guilty as his eyes blink heavily down on you. You exhale, readjusting your legs and throwing your head back.
"Seemed like a friend group thing," is what eventually crawls up from your throat. "Felt weird being the only one who didn't know everyone, y'know?"
He considers before nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. But I would've been with you."
His stare feels sharp, like he can see right through your facade and into parts of you you've buried deep a long time ago. You hate it and love it, want to drown yourself in it and voluntarily inhale until your own demise.
Unable to hold his stare, you look into your almost empty glass, swishing around the bleeding wine and ice that remains at the bottom.
"Well, you're here with me now, anyway."
Megumi continues to admire you without words. Pointing an accusatory finger back at him, you nudge his leg with your foot. "So, why aren't you up there?"
"Cause you didn't show up," he doesn't hesitate to respond. Almost as if he regrets his eagerness but still stands by the sentiment, he clears his throat before adding, "Was weirdly hoping you would, but—"
He doesn't finish his sentence, trailing off with a lame shrug.
His eyes look greener when they're a bit more watery. Fuck it.
Slowly, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time to assess his reactions, you move to crawl into his lap. You sense a difference in his breathing pattern, but other than that, he makes no move to pull away from you. He lets you carefully straddle his legs before getting comfortable atop him, when he places his hands on the plush between your hips and thighs.
Leaning in, giving him any chance to reject you, stop you, hate you, you continue to keep his eye as your lips just barely brush against his. He does the same, refusing to look away from you as if he'll never get this opportunity again. As if he wants to take a picture and relish it forever.
"Stop me," you bite through a hushed whisper, daring him to put an end to this before it begins.
His breath is lulled against your own when he whispers, "No."
You kiss him, and he kisses you back. It starts simple, like you're learning all about one another's creases and folds. Between shaky inhales and nervous hands, you lean into one another's touch, savoring every taste and sound you can manage.
Megumi feels brave, and on one particular gasp from you, he prudently skims his tongue across your lower lip before slipping it inside. Rubbing against your own with a fervent need, you open your jaw further for him to have whatever he wants. Between your increased breathing, soft moans, and greedy hands, the two of you slowly become messy and desperate for one another.
Hips wantonly moving against his thighs, he flexes instinctually as you begin to grind yourself down on him. He meets your movements, half hard as he presses into you, both of you whimpering at the new-found friction. The two of you reduce to whiney teenagers, practically swallowing one another whole and dry-humping fully clothed before you open your eyes to look at him.
Megumi, eyes shut and whimpering into your neck, is too good for this — deserves more than this. He's kind, respectful, funny (though you'd never tell him that to his face), and you're both drunk. It feels so fucking good, but it isn't right. It's not supposed to happen like this.
Slowing your movements, you pull back to see his face. Dazed, he opens his pretty green eyes to look up at you like you hold the stars and sun in your hands.
"We shouldn't," you pant, brushing your bangs back and catching your breath. "We should stop."
Megumi, confused and hurt, but instantly moving you off of his lap with a gentle hold, nods in agreement. "Right, right, we're — we're drunk," he whispers, almost ashamed of everything that just happened.
Before you can say anything, he's readjusting himself and standing up. A bit more sober than he was a few minutes ago, he's straightening himself out and making his way to your door.
"Sorry—" he keeps repeating himself, "I'm… I'm so sorry."
He's gone before you can reassure him that there's nothing to apologize for.
.....
You don't hear from him the next morning — or afternoon. 
When night falls, you've given up that there's any hope of saving whatever it was the two of you had going. 
Wanting to drown yourself in your own sorrows, you stare at the text from your friend before you and weigh your options. 
Stay in, cry yourself to a babbling mess, and finish your show
Answer their text and agree to go to this party with them
Thinking back to last night and how badly you fucked that one up, you decide the first choice is off-limits. Hoping you don't regret your decision, it's not long before you're looking decent enough to lock your door behind you and start the commute to your friends. 
The walk isn't terrible, being ten minutes to your friend's place and an additional fifteen to whoever's party you're attending. On the west side of campus, you can hear the muffled music and drunken squeals of the attendees from down the street. 
The party itself is fine, nothing special. The lime seltzer in your hand is still half full when you stray away from your friends in search of the bathroom. 
There's a line formed down the hallway of drunk girls laughing, couples swallowing one another's faces, and a single guy slumped against the wall in his own world. Taking a second glance at the end of the line, you recognize the lone drunk as Yuuji. 
Gently tapping his shoulder, his eyes blink open and he's nearly crushing you to death when wrapping his arms around you in excitement. He lets his animation get the best of him, lifting you in the air and spinning you once before he realizes he can't handle another. Leaning on the wall to steady both you and him, you're smiling at his sloppy yet endearing enthusiasm. 
"What are you doing here!?" he beams, swaying back and forth and reeking of cheap booze. 
"My friends dragged me out of the house," you tease before noticing truly how incoherent he is. Your nose crinkles with worry, "You fucked up?"
He can barely stand up straight, eyes unable to focus in one spot for too long as he blearily looks at you before skimming his body against the wall again. He's talking in slow gibberish, something about having one too many and wanting to talk to this pretty girl from his linguistics lecture before she leaves.
"Hey," you gently grab his jaw to steady his gaze. "Did you come here alone?"
Yuuji doesn't answer, or rather he does but it's nonsensical and impossible to go off of. You sigh, quickly scanning the suddenly overwhelming crowd around you before grabbing his arm and speaking kindly, yet reflective of a mother. 
"Let me take you back to our building, okay?" you prompt him to stand up straight and follow your lead. "I'm going back anyways, I'll walk with you."
Yuuji's eyes light up with excitement at the thought of a journey with his neighbor friend, and it's not long before he's dragging his feet over one another and using your hand as a guide to the door. 
On your walk home, you ache for the comfort of your warm bed, the feeling of taking these god-forsaken heels off, and Megumi's forgiveness. You wonder if you'll see him when dropping off Yuuji at his door — you pathetically hope so. 
However, Yuuji didn't show up to this party alone.
Megumi, who had been grabbing him a drink and caught a glimpse of you two, saw the entire thing without context — Yuuji's hands around your waist, you caressing his jaw, the two of you leaving abruptly together. 
He downs both his and Yuuji's drinks with ease. 
..…
Megumi wasn't home.
Disappointed but relieved to see Yuuji safe in the comfort of his apartment, you help him collapse on his couch.
Turning him on his side and making him drink at least two cups of water before throwing a blanket over him and leaving a note, you close the door behind you with a heavy heart.
A few minutes later, you're a bit more at ease. Feet now ridden of silly high heels and skin against the soft cotton of your bed, you find yourself flooded with thoughts of Megumi.
You wake up to a constant thud on your front door. Picking up your phone, it's almost two in the morning and you're not even sure you're not dreaming when you're feet carry you to the blistering noise of a fist on your door.
Swinging it open with half-closed eyes, you're more than prepared to fight a murder charge to get whoever the hell this is to leave you alone. But before you can curse them with everything in you, you realize it's Megumi.
"Hi," he whispers. It's a start contrast from the violent banging on your door he was responsible for two seconds ago, but you can't find it in yourself to care.
"Hi," you respond, suddenly more than awake and just as breathless. "You okay?"
"Are you sleeping with Yuuji?"
Your heart skips exactly two beats before you can accurately comprehend his question. It's then when you notice that he's drunk, disgustingly so. You're not sure how it wasn't the first thing you noticed - but looking at his green eyes again, you give yourself some grace.
"… What?" is all you can pathetically muster.
"Itadori," he slurs. His face is pale with hurt and the collar of his shirt is all wrinkled.
You can't help but roll your eyes, "Yeah, I know who Yuuji is, but why the hell are you asking me that?"
"Because you shouldn't be," he declares through a heavy tongue and spinning head. You think you hear his voice crack with emotion when he continues, "I don't want you to sleep with him."
You're sure you're still dreaming as you take in his words. Since the moment you knocked on the door one floor above you, sleeping with Yuuji has never crossed your mind. You've been far too busy focusing on thinking about the man in front of you, who's wasted beyond belief and accusing you of something that not only doesn't make sense but hurts a bit.
He fumbles on his words, swallowing dryly and spiraling.
"You shouldn't sleep with him just because he walks around shirtless and invites you to hang out with us."
Your eyebrows pull downwards with what Megumi knows is hurt. He can't stop himself from talking or spewing nonsensical things just because he can.
Your voice is shaky when you plea, "Megumi, what?"
"I mean—he's my best friend, he's great," he throws his hands up to surrender the truth. "But we played video games and—and we kissed. And you're always looking at me with those eyes and—"
"Megumi," your voice comes tired now, cold. "You're drunk."
"You left with him. And you were whispering in his ear and touching his arm." He frowns, feeling sick just thinking about it again. He shakes the nightmare from his head when repeating his prior question.
"Are you sleeping with him?" he asks again, more accusatory this time around.
He watches your eyes fill with water, but it's not long-lived before you're blinking away any sign of weakness and cementing your walls up again.
"If you didn't notice," you spit with venom, "your friend is drunk off of his ass. I walked him home since he could barely stand on his own."
As if you're speaking another language, Megumi dumbly gapes at your confession.
"You—what?"
You press with ice in your words, "Walked him home. He's passed out on your couch right now."
"Oh." Megumi hadn't returned to his apartment before coming to yours. He'd walked home from the shitty party with one destination in mind, immediately talking the elevator to the fifth floor and finding your familiar floor.
He feels stupid, nauseous with guilt, and god, does his head hurt. His heart hurts too when you scoff and cross your arms in defense.
"Wanna go back to the part where you were practically calling me a slut?"
He cringes, "No, no god no, that's not what I was trying to—"
You don't give him the luxury of explaining himself. Turning your back and slamming the door, you take away his chance of redemption.
You sound unrecognizable when you tell him, "Go to fucking bed, Fushiguro."
.….
The birds outside of your window remind you that it's Sunday, and the open book on your desk reminds you that not only do you have class tomorrow, but you have an assignment due before midnight.
Memories of last night's conversation — if you could even call it that — with Megumi make you feel queazy. Nothing happened in the way you'd wanted. It all just spiraled out of control, like water slipping through a cracked ceiling, you'd just watched it leak without remorse.
The continued chirping outside reminds you that it's quiet, something you should use to your advantage. A light in this mess of a pathetic story.
You'll study, you decide. You'll grab a quick coffee from the cafe across the street and get some actual work done. Something you should've done a long time ago, something you’d ignored that ended up with this this heartbreak.
Not even ten minutes later, you're decent enough to slide your shoes on and grab your house keys. Opening the door into the hallway, you're met with familiar eyes.
Megumi looks disheveled, sitting with his knees up against the wall of your hallway. At your abrupt opening of the front door, he's quick to stand up and dust his pants off from the grime of the hallway carpet. You notice he has a paper bouquet of pinks and blues in his hand and an exhausted frown on his face.
When he looks at you, he can almost feel the air leaving your lungs as your stomach drops.
The first words you say to him are softer than he expects, than he thinks he deserves, but still carried by a look of disapproval.
"Were you here all night?" your lip turns with disgust.
"No—" he spews too quickly. Seeing your expression that clearly reads disbelief, he slows himself down. Taking a deep breath, he repeats himself with a bit more certainty. "No, I've been here since like, seven maybe?"
"Why?"
His hand trembles in a way he hopes you have the respect to ignore as he moves to give you the bouquet. "Because I'm sorry," his voice is steady, like he's been practicing in the mirror.
Choosing to make him work for it, your eyes flicker to the flowers unimpressed before finding his face again.
"For?" you cruelly push him further.
But Megumi's determined to meet your forces just as equally. His voice gains confidence as he speaks clearly, "For panicking and assuming the worst last night. I was drunk, but that's not an excuse. It was a douchebag thing to do."
Admiring how your face softens at his apology but still carries creased lines of worry, Megumi half expects your response.
"And?"
This is the part he's a bit unprepared for.
"And for leaving that night," his volume dips with the confession, eyes wanting to find comfort in the floor so badly but refusing to leave your own as he tries and tries and tries to fix this, "I..."
His lips move before he can think twice about his words, "I thought it was what you wanted."
His confession cracks something inside of you, like nails digging crescents into raw skin. Slowly, you gesture for him to come inside. He hesitates but follows when you move towards the couch, the same couch you'd straddled him on two nights prior. It looks different in the daylight.
Megumi's careful with each step, as if he's walking on eggshells, when he slowly sits beside you on the couch. Placing the bouquet on your table, he moves as if you're a predator, as if he'll make one wrong move and you'll snap, lurching at him and sinking your talons into his neck. You hate how it makes you feel.
Your words surprise the both of you when they eventually come. "I'm sorry I reacted the way I did. I wanted you to stay I just—felt bad."
Felt bad? Megumi's mind goes numb at the realization. Felt bad for him? Like when you do a good deed to cancel out a bad one? Did you kiss him that night because you pitied him?
Before his mind runs itself further into the worst-case scenario, he's brought back to reality as you continue.
"We were drunk, and I didn't want that to be how it happened y'know?"
He starts at you blankly, "It?" He lamely asks.
This time, it's your voice that weakens with shame. He watches you fiddle with your fingers, the same ones he remembers feeling in his hair and on his skin. The ones he wants to feel again.
"Felt like I was coming onto you, and you deserved better than that," you eventually reveal softly, correcting yourself with certainty. "Deserve better than that."
And he feels stupid. God, does Megumi feel stupid. All this time, he'd been thinking you regretted the why of the situation, kissing him like you did. He'd never stopped to think about the fact of how you did it. Never thought you'd be so inclined to consider his wishes.
You think he regrets it, and that is the last thing he wants you to believe.
Taking a risk, Megumi lays a gentle palm on your thigh. He does so slowly, giving you a chance to revolt and bite his hand clean off the bone. You don't so he relaxes his hand.
It's not sexual, not desperate and needy like how it was the other night. It's calm. comforting. Another way for him to say I'm still here, aren't I?
"I'm not great with words," he starts, "but I was very much into it. I need you to know that. You didn't—do anything I didn't want."
Softly and ignoring the criticism from the voice in your head for once, you nod.
You recognize the familiar pull of his lips when he softly grins. "Think it's pretty obvious now, but in case it's not," he leans into this whole communicating thing, "I really like being around you."
He thinks his heart grows a size when you weakly smile back at him, "You like being around me?"
He shrugs, laughing at your sarcasm. "Around you, with you. I guess I just like you, really."
You raise your eyebrows, challenging his statement, "Are you still drunk?"
"Fuck no."
You hum shortly. "Hungover?"
"Disgustingly so," he grimaces at the reminder of how nauseous he is.
"Thinking clearly?"
"Never really around you, but clear as I can be."
It's soft and sweet, and this is how you wanted it to be. Naturally, as if you're both magnets being pulled to one another, Megumi is carefully guiding you into his lap as you're naturally making yourself at home in his hold.
The position almost exactly mimics the one you'd found yourself in on Friday night, but this time, it's different. It feels different — golden instead of red and light with a newfound meaning.
With gentle eyes and slight nods from each of you, you kiss once more. His mouth moves the same, eager yet graceful as he leans into you. No wandering hands or drunken hiccups, you feel one another smile into the kiss until it is all giggles and teeth.
"Y'know, if you wanted to ask me out," you pull away from him, accusatory with an underlying teasing, "you should've just asked like a normal person instead of accusing me of sleeping with your friend."
Megumi groans in embarrassment, hiding his face in your neck. You feel the heat of his cheeks when he sighs.
"Yeah, that wasn't my finest moment."
Kisses are stolen and silence is shared until he yawns you remember how awful he must still feel from drinking so much. Crawling off of his lap, you ignore the butterflies in your stomach whines he whines at the loss of your weight.
"Want anything?" you call out as you walk towards the kitchenette. "I have Advil and a bagel with your name on it."
Megumi hums at the thought, not confirming or denying the offer, as his eyes remain locked in on you in a blissful comfort.
Your voice becomes more distant as you turn the corner, "I'll even give you those eyes I know you like so much."
A muffled sound of humiliation can be heard from the couch, "God, please forget I said that."
Putting the bagel in the toaster and reaching up to the medicine cabinet, you laugh carelessly.
"Never."
…..
Yuuji wakes up with a throbbing headache and an acidic burning in the back of his throat.
He groans, turning on his side before realizing that — he's not in his bed. With blurry vision and sweaty hands fumbling to survey the environment around him, he feels for his phone. The screen is far too bright and completely overridden of missed calls and texts, reading a mocking 2:14 PM when he groans.
When yelling Megumi's name a handful of times doesn't work (it usually does), he opens his Find My Friends app and tracks his roommate. Seeing his icon appear right next to his own while ironically hearing your echoing laughter ring from upstairs, he laughs.
Before he closes his eyes again and deals with a hangover from hell, he sends Megumi a text before tossing his phone across the room.
Ur welcome for not actually calling dibs.
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perfectlyvalid49 · 9 months ago
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On being Jewish, and traumatized (It’s been 5 months and I want to talk):
Judaism is a joyous religion. So much of our daily practice is to focus us on the things that are good. I know that there’s a joke that all our holidays can be summed up as “they tried to kill us. We survived – let’s eat!”, and you might think that holidays focused on attempts at killing us might be somber, but they’re really not. Most are celebrated in the sense of, “we’re still here, let’s have a party!” When I think about practicing Judaism, the things I think about make me happy.
But I think a lot of non-Jews don’t necessarily see Judaism the same way. I think in part it’s because we do like to kvetch, but I think a lot of it is because from the outside it’s harder to see the joy, and very easy to see the long history of suffering that has been enacted on the Jewish people. From the inside, it’s very much, “we’re still here, let’s party” and from the outside it’s, “how many times have they tried to kill you? Why are you celebrating? They tried to KILL YOU!”
And I want to start with that because a lot of the rest of this is going to be negative. And I don’t want people to read it and wonder why I still want to be Jewish. I want to be Jewish because it makes me happy. My problem isn’t with being Jewish, it’s with how Jews are treated.
What I really wanted to write about is being Jewish and the trauma that’s involved with that right now.
First, I want to talk about Israeli Jews. I can’t say much here because I’m not Israeli, nor do I have any close friends or family that are Israeli. But if I’m going to be talking about the trauma Jews are experiencing right now, I can’t not mention the fact that Israeli Jews (and Israelis that aren’t Jewish as well, but that’s not my focus here) are dealing with massive amounts of it right now. It’s a tiny country – virtually everyone has a friend or family member that was killed or kidnapped, or knows someone who does. Thousands of rockets have been fired at Israel in the last few months – think about the fact that the Iron Dome exists and why it needs to. Terror attacks are ongoing; I feel like there’s been at least one every week since October. Thousands of people are displaced from their homes, either because of the rocket fire, or because their homes and communities were physically destroyed in the largest pogrom in recent history – the deadliest single day for Jews since the Holocaust ended. If that’s not trauma inducing, I don’t know what is.
And there is, of course, the generational trauma. And I think Jewish generational trauma is interesting because it’s so layered. Because it’s not just the result of one trauma passed down through the generations. Every 50-100 years, antisemitism intensifies, and so very frequently the people experiencing a traumatic event were already suffering from the generational trauma that their grandparents or great grandparents lived through. And those elders were holding the generational trauma from the time before that. And so on.
And because it happens so regularly, there’s always someone in the community that remembers the last time. We are never allowed the luxury of imagining that we are safe. We know what happened before, and we know that it happened again and again and again. And so we know that it only makes sense to assume it will happen in the future. The trauma response is valid. I live in America because my great grandparents lived in Russia and they knew when it was time to get the hell out in the 1900s. And the reason they knew that is because their grandparents remembered the results of the blood libels in the 1850s. How can we heal when the scar tissue keeps us safe?
I look around now and wonder if we’ll need to run. We have a plan. I repeat, my family has a plan for what to do if we need to flee the country due to religious persecution. How can that possibly be normal? And yet, all the Jewish families I know have similar plans. It is normal if you’re Jewish. Every once in a while I see someone who isn’t Jewish talk about making plans to leave because they’re LGBTQ or some other minority and the question always seems to be, “should I make a plan?” It astounds me every time. The Jewish answer is that you need to have a plan and the only question is, “when should I act?” Sometimes our Jewish friends discuss it at play dates. Where will you go? What are the triggers to leave? No one wants to go any earlier then they have to. Everyone knows what the price of holding off too long might be.
I want to keep my children safe. When do I induct them into the club? When do I let my sweet, innocent kids know that some people will hate them for being Jewish? When do I teach them the skills my parents and grandparents taught me? How to pass as white, how to pass as Christian, knowing when to keep your mouth shut about what you believe. When do I tell them about the Holocaust and teach them the game “would this person hide me?” How hard do I have to work to remind them that while you want to believe that a person would hide you, statistically, most people you know would not have? Who is this more traumatic for? Them, to learn that there is hatred in the world and it is directed at them, or me, to have to drive some of the innocence out of my own children’s eyes in order to make sure they are prepared to meet the reality of the world?
And the reality of the world is that it is FULL of antisemitism. There’s a lot of…I guess I’d call it mild antisemitism that’s always present that you just kinda learn to ignore. It’s the sort of stuff that non-Jews might not even recognize as antisemitic until you explain it to them, just little micro-aggressions that you do your best to ignore because you know that the people doing it don’t necessarily mean it, it’s just the culture we live in. It can still hurt though. I like to compare it to a bruise: you can mostly ignore it, but every once in a while something (more blatant antisemitism) will put a bit to much pressure on it and you remember that you were already hurting this whole time.
On top of the background antisemitism, there’s more intense stuff. And usually the most intense, mask off antisemitism comes from the right. This makes sense, in that a lot of right politics are essentially about hating the “other” and what are Jews if not Western civilizations oldest type of “other”? On the one hand, I’ve always been fortunate enough to live in relatively liberal areas so this sort of antisemitism has felt far away and impersonal – they hate everybody, and I’m just part of everybody. On the other hand, until recently I’ve always considered this the most dangerous source of antisemitism. This is the antisemitism that leads to hate crimes, that leads to synagogue shootings. This is the reason why my synagogue is built so that there is a long driveway before you can even see the building, and that driveway is filled with police on the high holidays. This is the reason why my husband and I were scared to hang a mezuzah in our first apartment (and second, and third). For a long time, this was the antisemitism that made me afraid.
But the left has a problem with antisemitism too. And it has always been there. Where the right hates the “other”, the left hates the “privileged/elite/oppressors.” It’s the exact same thing, just dressed up with different words. They all mean “other” and “other” means “Jew.” It hurts more coming from the left though. A lot of Jewish philosophy leans left. A lot of Jews lean left. So when the left decides to hate us, it isn’t a random stranger, it’s a friend, and it feels like a betrayal.
One of the people I follow works for Yad Vashem, and a few weeks ago she mentioned a video they have with testimonies from people who came to Israel after Kristallnacht, with an unofficial title of “The blow came from within.” The idea is that to non-German Jews, the Holocaust was something done by strangers. It was still terrible, but it is easier to bear the hate of a stranger – it’s not personal. But to German Jews, the Holocaust was a betrayal. It wasn’t done by strangers, it was done by coworkers, and neighbors and people they thought were friends. It was done by people who knew them, and still looked at them and said, “less than human.” And because of this sense of betrayal, German survivors, or Germans who managed to get out before they got rounded up, had a very different experience than other Holocaust victims.
And I feel like a lot of left leaning Jews are having a similar experience now. People that we’ve marched with or organized with, or even just mutuals that we’ve thought of as friends are now going on about how Jews are evil. They repeat antisemitic talking points from the Nazis and from the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, and when we point out that those ideas have only led to Jewish death in the past they don’t care. And if someone you thought of as a friend thinks of you this way, what do you think a stranger might think? Might do?
The Jews are fucking terrified. I’ve seen a post going around that basically wonders if this was what it was like for our ancestors – when things got bad enough to see what was coming but before it was too late to run? And we can see what’s coming. History tells us that they way people are talking and acting only leads to one place. I’m a millennial – when I was a kid the grandparents at my synagogue made sure the kids knew – this is what it looked like before, this is what you need to watch out for, this is when you need to run. I wonder where to run to. It feels like nowhere is safe.
I feel like I’ve been lucky in all this. I don’t live in Israel. I have family and acquaintances who do, but no one I’m particularly close to. Everyone I know in real life has either been sane or at least silent about all of this (the internet has been significantly worse, but when it comes to hate, the internet is always worse). I live in a relatively liberal area – there’s always been antisemitism around anyway, but it’s mostly just been swastikas on flyers, or people advocating for BDS, not anything that’s made me actually worry for my safety. But in the last 5 months there have been bomb threats at my synagogue, and just last week a kid got beat up for being Jewish at our local high school. He doesn’t want to report it. He’s worried it will make it worse.
I bought a Magen David to wear in November. At the time it seemed like the best way to fight antisemitism was to be visibly Jewish, to show that we’re just normal people like everyone else. Plus, I figured that if me being Jewish was going to be a problem for someone, then I would make it a problem right away and not waste time. I’ve worn it almost constantly since, but the one time I took it off was when I burnt my finger in December and had to go to urgent care. I didn’t think about it too much when I did it, but I thought about it for a long time after – I didn’t feel good about having made that choice.
The conclusion I came to is that the training that my elders had been so careful to instill in me kicked in. I was hurt, and scared, and the voice inside my head that sounds like my grandmother said, “don’t give them a reason to be bad to you. Fight when you’re well, but for now – survive.” It still felt cowardly, but it was also a connection to my ancestors who heeded the same voice well enough to survive. And it enrages me that that voice has been necessary in the past. And it enrages me that things are bad enough now that my instinct is that I need to hide who I am to receive appropriate medical care.
I wish I had some sort of final thought to tie this all together other than, “this sucks and I hate it,” but I really don’t. I could call for people to examine their antisemitic biases, but I’m not foolish enough to think that this will reach the people who need to do so. I could wish for a future where everything I’ve talked about here exists only in history books, and the Jewish experience is no longer tied to feeling this pain, but that’s basically wishing for the moshiach, and I’m not going to hold my breath.
I guess I’ll end it with the thought that through all of this hate and pain and fear, we’re still here. And we’re still joyful as well. As much as so many people have tried over literally THOUSANDS of years to eradicate us, I’m still here, I’m still Jewish, and being Jewish still makes me happy.
Am Yisrael Chai.
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cannellee · 10 months ago
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NARUTO OMEGAVERSE ☆
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୨୧ alpha! naruto au x omega! reader (f)
— what they would give you as a courting gift (pairing : naruto, shikamaru, sasuke, itachi, rock lee, neji)
my masterlist : ☆
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ALPHA! NARUTO
naruto is a joyous and energetic person, his gift are as vibrant as him. in order to court you, he would definitely take you out on some dates. ichiraku ramen sounds like the perfect place to begin his courting! it's a place which holds countless of precious memories for him and he wants you to get to know him better. he's someone who speaks his mind, so I think he'll really talk openly about his desires and interests in you, it's one of the rare times he's being serious and it's truly a sight to see.
onto a more materialistic approach, naruto will 100% gifts you plushies. he thinks it's an adorable way to connect the both of you. extra points if the plushie is the effigy of kurama! he will sometimes scent it, sometimes not. it all depends on how you react to them, he'll pay attention to your reactions and decides if that was the right move.
I also think naruto will choose a more natural and spontaneous courting, surprising you with cute and funny outings. helping you escape at night so you can both see the stars together. he'll throw cute notes at you to cheer you up during class...
overall, naruto just wishes to spend more time with you, make you laugh and smile. he really considers your happy face as a reward, it literally makes his day. he wants the both of you to know each other and grow closer.
ALPHA! SASUKE
now sasuke is definitely more reserved in his approach and less explicit about his feelings for you. nonetheless, he won't stay on the sidelines and let other alphas steal you from him. I don't think he'll give you gifts at the very beginning, he's prudent and will first and foremost test the waters by subtly scenting you at times and assess your reaction. if he considers it a green light, he'll start acting more assertive. probably a few stargazing sessions to begin with and when you start to get closer, he'll be more possessive about his courting.
I think he would give an item related to his clan. it could be a luxurious silk robe with the uchiha crest at its back. he would love to see you wear it, in his mind, it serves as a symbol of unity and pride, having his omega wear that would reinforce the seriousness of your relationship along with solidifying his potential claim on you.
in the same spirit, later into the courting, sasuke would gift you a uchiha clan heirloom. that way, he puts you under his protection and his claim on you is now strong and clear, serving as a warning to all alphas that you're his. its strengthens your bond as it's a deep acknowledgment of the importance your hold in his life.
and in fact, sasuke's gift serves as a proof of his commitment to you and your relationship and it feels reassuring to know that he considers you as a member of his clan.
ALPHA! SHIKAMARU
as expected of shikamaru, he has a pretty good understanding of omegas' nature and will therefore, make pretty good gifts. he has a pretty laidback behaviour, this is why I think he wouldn't want to make courting seems too ceremonial and will adopt a more casual approach. oh you're cold ? here's his jacket, scented. you don't even have to ask, shikamaru is just great at making things seem so normal. you mentioned you liked soft items ? here's a cute blanket he bought today, no it's not really a gift, just a thanks for spending the day with him. and it's just that. of course if you're careful you'll catch him blushing if he sees you snuggling his scarf, it's redolent with his pheromones and he's pleased to see you look so safe.
other than that, it's mainly lazy indoor dates. just you taking a few naps, progressively getting closer to each other until you eventually fall asleep on his chest.
overall, shikamaru likes to do things according to your tastes and doesn't want his courting to seem unnatural and bizarre. he tries his best to be his usual self while also trying not to get too shy, surprisingly.
ALPHA! ROCK LEE
lee is a great alpha, always cheering you on. he's very open about his love for you and he just needs you to give in. of course he knows you're more reserved and needs more time to get to know him before you can make a decision. that's why he's so patient and devoted to you during the courting process. flowers, cheesy love notes, wood sculptures with your initials... with lee it's never ending and you're always surprised with what he was able to come up with.
he will give you gifts, but he'll also often take you out on dates for fun adventures, at least that's what he calls them. genuinely thinks rock climbing & hiking are the best ideas. if he discovers you're not sporty at all, don't worry! lee is more than happy to carry you around, take your hands to help you walk through a particularly tricky path and asks you if you need a break every five minutes. he takes it as his chance to prove to you how alpha, how reliable he is. how much his unwavering determination and passion are yours only.
probably will try cooking snacks, like cookies or brownies but I don't think he's that much of a cook so it'll end up messy. you'll have to console him about this fail attempt and reassure him that you can be the one cooking for him instead!
ALPHA! NEJI
neji is a great observer, he has your tastes and hobbies all figured out and he knows how to choose the perfect gifts. he is very gentle with the omega he is trying to court and his gifts are as thoughtful as you can imagine. small accessories! after assessing what you like, he'll settle on a small hairpin with soft colours, which compliment your eyes. jewelry as well! a subtle bracelet, a ring or anything, just to remind you that he thinks about you all the time. it's a way to show people that you too are connected and that neji is already pursuing you, the others can back off.
he knows you're sensitive to smells, so probably a few candles with sweet fragrant and cute designs. perfumes? (or insence burner) as long as he likes the smell, he's buying. he loves to know you're wearing the scent he has chosen for you, it's like a pre-mark. it's not his scent yet but it's only a matter of time.
however, neiji will not force things, you'll wear his pheromones yes, but only when you feel ready and you have completely accepted him.
a delicately sewed kimono, or an item you'll be able to wear more easily, like a scarf, gloves... but! his favourite courting gift and the gift which really sealed your relationship is the cute pendant around your neck, carrying a piece of his cloth so that you always smell like him. it's subtle, but enough for the time being, he'll have plenty more time later to scent you profusely!
ALPHA! ITACHI
to. provide.
this man's main goal is to provide for you and to show you he can do it. he's reliable and he's desperate to have a chance with you. please notice him.
while getting to know him, you'll get plenty of nest items, scented of course. a lot of blankets, a few pillows and some of his clothes, he'll give it all to you. he'll even help you build your nest if you let him, he's not so sure about what he's doing but he's attentive and learns fast so you can count on him!
he'll get you food as well. you'll never be hungry with itachi. when you meet up, if he didn't already brought snacks with him, you can be sure he'll buy some later just for you. you paying isn't even a option.
just like his brother, he'll give you clothes you can wear on a daily basis with the uchiha clan crest on them. all that to assure your protection and to claim you, nobody wants to meet a jealous uchiha anyways.
he's a bit quiet at times so he'll use notes to share his feelings. it's always really touching and delicate, you know he means it.
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Hey, i read the “Bat-boys finding out your pregnant” and may i ask for more? It was sooo cute that i need more of it 😭💕
The Batboys fathers HCs
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A/N: this request is long overdue that I’m sure the requester doesn’t even remember it, but I’ve arrived at last. I hope this is what they wanted. The Absolute Power run has restored my love for Nightwing and comics. ❣️
Dick Grayson is a fun dad. At first, Dick suffocated beneath the weight of fatherly duties. He wanted to be better than Bruce. Dick loved him, but he could admit that his boyhood wasn’t a salubrious environment for the young mind. No child should have to carry the weight of Bruce’s mission. Thus, Dick’s mission became ensuring yours and the baby’s lives were secure, safe, and joyous.
Pale beams of sunlight kissed your cheeks good morning. The aroma of maple syrup wafted throughout the house, tickling your nostrils as you carried yourself down the stair steps, footfall by footfall. There Dick stood at the stove, scooting the black spatula beneath a golden pancake and flipping it into the air, causing your baby to burst out into a fit of giggles before the pancake hit the skillet with a sizzle. He was proud of himself for making his baby laugh.
“Well, well, look at mama.” A grin crept across his lips as he spotted you creeping closer, supernovas bursting in his electric blue irises.” You were snoring in a pool of drool when I awoke, so I grabbed the baby and started breakfast.” Vibrant seas of pacifiers, rattles, and toy pianos adorned the house.
Dick attempted to rush the developmental process. Not out of callousness, but sheer excitement to have a child. He had already stocked the baby in dolls, trucks, pacifiers, fruit snacks, apple juice (watered down, of course). He even installed a nightlight that short circuited the house at first, but Bruce helped him fix it. Reading is good for the baby right? Dick is on it. He’s already ordered the best and most classic tales; Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, Alice in Wonderland, Dr. Seuss, Little Red Riding Hood.
Dick Grayson has read multiple novels on fatherhood, motherhood, child development, postpartum depression. He hates surprises, and babies are the breeding ground of surprises. He will pack the go-bag full of onesies, pacifiers, diapers, wipes, toys because he doesn’t want you to be in public and not have the materials.
“Give me a few days to install the new changing table. You’ll love it.” Crimson blush adorned his tanned cheeks, a proud grin dawning on his lips, showcasing his pearlescent teeth.” It broke when I weight checked it, thank god. Damian, albeit reluctantly, is coming out here tomorrow to translate the instructions.”
Jason Todd is the protective, paranoid father because he’d placed a bullet in the worst humanity had to offer, witnessed otherworldly horrors done to the little guys, the folks who lack billions of dollars to hole up on secluded islands and cabins. He can’t eradicate all the scum, can’t caulk the fractures villains seem to keep slipping through—and that terrifies him.
Jason never imagined a life worth living to be possible. He’d thought himself a sentient zombie, an unlucky boy yanked from the eternal peace of a cold, soundless grave and forced to enact vengeance on behalf of the common folk who lack the means to undertake the mission themselves. He never considered Red Hood to be a hero; merely a restless phantom with nothing else to bide his time until the sweet release of the afterlife deigned to shatter his manacles to the mortal world. That was until he’d fallen over the sun, offering endless devotion to his goddess, and you’d rewarded his offering with a daughter, a lovely girl. He’d abduct the moon and wrap it in a silken bow if only you’d give him permission.
“Catch, papa,” your daughter had called out, retrieving the little football and sprinting toward him, tiny feet carrying her over the damp and verdant grass of y’all’s backyard. Jason never brought the both of you to parks—an excess of people to watch, different personalities and behaviors; a myriad of possibilities for tragedy. Too much room for error in a vast, leafy expanse.
“You’ve gotta bring it to me first,” Jason called back, outstretching his muscular arms, awaiting her arrival. He was paranoid and distrustful of the world, not a killjoy. Y’all’s daughter’s bedroom was littered with vivid nail polishes, fluffy scarves, glittering tiaras, and Monster High dolls. Your daughter had always adored Frankie Stein and Frankenstein because they reminded her of Jason and herself, the dolls and humans both sharing pale white streaks of hair. He hadn’t known whether to laugh or weep upon hearing those words from her lips, innocent and completely unaware of the accuracies spanning far past hair color.
“Jason, I love you, but we are not cooping ourselves up in the house this summer.” The words were firm and unyielding—but lacking any true bite.
“ I’ve given you grace. I let a lot slide because I understand your background. But we’re just not doing it this summer. Its too hot to not go to waterparks and enjoy ourselves because of possibilities.” A damn good point rested upon your tongue, and he knew it.
“Fine.” He relented with a jocosely petulant huff.” But we take a gun with us.”
Tim Drake is an ambitious father. It’s been said before, but I don’t believe he’s as active as the fandom would believe. Though, his absence isn’t born of malice or indifference, but ambition, a thirst for a legacy. He wants to be a man his significant other and child can be proud of, a father worth bragging about. There’s also a large chamber seated within his mind that knows not how to be a father, for his parents were cold, choosing to throw dollars at his gripes and needs rather than be present.
One of his greatest fears is disappointing the both of you, like he was disappointed by his own parents, so disappointed he couldn’t even despise them. Tragically, the mission to avoid history’s repetition had placed him before a mirror, his parents gazing back at him, a smug smirk curled on their lips because they know that he’ll be on their end of the glass within a few decades.
Can he be blamed? Tim wants the absolute best for his family. The best grades, the best schools, the best scores, the best scholarships. He’s not naïve enough like Dick to believe hard work and persevere can lift a nobody anywhere. There are no bootstraps to be pulled taut. It’s an illusion, a sauce wealthy people spoon over their meals to disguise the taste of nepotism and privilege. Manipulations the rich regurgitate to excuse themselves from having to acknowledge the unfair, biased system they’ve upheld.
The door to his limousine slammed closed, his child seated beside but, but farther than ever. What could be said? Jerking forward, the limousine rolled into drive, coasting beneath autumn streaked clouds, as though her father had gifted her the sky from a florist. Bruce hadn’t prepared Tim for the teenaged terror years. He couldn’t help but wonder if he himself had been this capricious and fickle as a teen, or if he were merely that bad of a father.
“Do. . . do you want a Milkshake? From that one place by the house, like we used to when you were young.” Tim couldn’t help but raise a hopeful raven shaded brow. He could smell the stench of sweat, an anxious perspiration, cleaving to your school uniform. It must’ve been a test day.” I’ll clear the rest of my schedule for us. . . if you want, of course.” He extended an olive branch, granting her the choice to engage and accept, or set the course for the rest her teenage years.
Damian Wayne does not want children. He doesn’t know how far his taint would bleed, and all he can envision are the ways he could disgrace the mind of a child. His village was rotten and evil. Bad fruits bear worse seeds.
Damian’s devotion was love, the purest kind he knew, a primal desire to protect and cherish that of which he adored. You forged suns in his heart, set the butterflies in his belly aflutter. Beneath a weeping of sheet of violet sky, the both of you had sworn to love the other until Earth imploded—and when it did, he would find you in another universe.
He doesn’t hate children. In fact, he would be a decent babysitter for Dick and Jason, and whenever Tim deigned to grace the BatCave with his presence. But, Damian is staunch in his childfree attitude, and you respect it. Truthfully, you weren’t even sure you wanted kids. No, you and Damian battled crime, traveled the world and experienced culture, learned histories outside of the filth pumped into his mind by the Al Ghuls. Bruce was saddened by Damian’s decision against children, but he ultimately respected it—and him.
Damian knew he was poisoned and rotten and always would be, no matter what emblem was sewn over his breast. He was content with the life the both of you had, and knowing Dick, many more children are to come, so he’d never get lonely.” Beloved, what do you make of Italy? Not the tourist parts where the history is washed, but the ripe lands.”
Bruce Wayne is a weary father. He knew the birth of his youngest child was redemption, his last chance at preserving the Wayne name since Damian had sworn off children. But Bruce was aged, hardened, jaded, weary. He had scars to last a lifetime, some worn on his heart, though majority were worn on his skin.
The Wayne brownstone was eerily silent since Alfred’s death. Bruce’s son sat around the oaken table, coloring a picture of Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, and Alfred. Bruce’s heavy lids fell over exhausted, dim blue irises, his brain flitting back to the memories of Alfred, gathered at the stove and learning a recipe. I am. . . old, Master Bruce. My time on this earth is not infinite. You must learn more than the ways of fists, the words echoed in his mind. Reminding him that old age wasn’t even the murderer of Alfred Pennyworth.
He fetched an inhale before pulling himself off of the couch, and padding over toward his son at the dinner table.” What’s that? Oh, a pretty picture. A real artistic talent, like Damian.” Bruce was unsure of his fathering more often than not. He knew how it appeared to his son’s school counselors and the principal—old, washed up playboy Bruce Wayne saddled with another young son. That was far from the case, but the masses will believe anything when they’re given nothing.
Bruce fetched a pot and skillet from the creaking cabinets of the brownstone, far from the elegance and cleanliness of the manor. Alfred would’ve been mortified to see the mess, he almost chuckled, but withheld it. Lest his son raise a question, for the explanation would be too complicated and long-winded for his young mind.” So, what do you see for dinner tonight? What makes that belly growl like a lion? Mac and Cheese? Lasagna? Hamburger Helper?”
Bruce knew exactly what his son would choose. Asking was merely a courtesy. Bruce knew him, raised the boy from the minute he was weaned. He knew what his son would do before his son knew what he himself would do. The Batman wasn’t a slacker, wasn’t lazy.
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flowerisevil · 3 months ago
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Gwayne Hightower X Targaryen reader princess @beckyxzz
Disclaimer: incest. Gwayne is the reader's uncle, slight angst, attempted r@pe, mention of sa.
~•~
A youngest and a daughter. What an awful combination can the princess have.
The princess was feeling spiritless between these walls, after a war was declared.
"I want to go in the Sept, it is the seventh day today" she informed her sworn protector, her uncle.
"Princess, would you like for me to inform the Queen so she shall accompany you?" Gwayne asked.
She shook her head, she can't even look at him after the dream she had about him last night, it was unpleasant.
Gwayne took knowledge of her request, as soon as he fetched a carriage for her, the princess was fast to enter the carriage before him.
"You look devastated princess..." Gwayne pointed out.
"I worry for my future, Ser Gwayne" she confessed, as she skinned the tip of her fingers, a manner she obviously gets from her mother.
Gwayne looked at her, she looked like she did not come from her sister Alicent, from her outside and inside. She looked extremely like a Targaryen, out of the five of them, she was the only one who radiates an aura like the other pure-blooded Targaryen had. Her skin and hair were glowing, her lilac eyes that can deceive anyone.
"I worry that someday, the King would arrange me in marriage to the other houses for alliance" Gwayne snapped back in reality as her voice echoed inside the carriage.
"Aegon and Aemond they're plotting to marry me to the Oscar Tully"
Gwayne only nodded, he knew that his nephews' ideas were right, Oscar Tully was a young boy who would accept a generous offer of marrying a Targaryen princess, especially if it's her.
"And you don't want it? Lord Oscar Tully is a great chivalrous and has a great title"
She shakes her head, she never dreamed of marrying a guy, she wanted to marry for love and build a family that will be full of joyous laugh and lovely interactions.
She dreamed one man to marry and unfortunately it was the man right of her, out of all people her heart chose the one she truly shouldn't be with, he was sworn and took an oath.
As they have reached the Great Sept none between them, uttered a word.
Gwayne watched her kneel on the stone statue, while she lit up three candles he frowned, for whom she lit up the third one? Gwayne stared at her, she was the most beautiful of all of them, the most beautiful in his eyes too. His eyes stares at her position, kneeling while she looked up, he wonders how beautiful she would look if a such position is in front of him, he shook his head it was never a good idea to think about her in a sensual way.
It was a painful minute he had to endure before the princess and him came back in the Keep.
~•~•~•~•~•~
Gwayne resisted her, he tried, and he was good at hiding it, the people inside the Keep did not suspect him aside from one.
The youngest princess was outside the Godswood of the Keep when the Jason Lannister pay her a visit, Jason had always dreamed that someday he might get her hand for marriage before the two Targaryen brothers finalize her betrothal to Oscar Tully. It's not like Aegon did not want him for their sister, it would be an honor for both parties to unite their houses.
Gwayne eyes followed the steps of the Lannister towards the princess, he sat beside her on the wooden bench, the princess gaze moves towards him, a hint of discomfort flashed on her face at the close distance between her and Lord Lannister.
"Ser Jason, I am afraid my brothers are nowhere to be seen here" she spoke genuinely, Jason let out a small chuckle as he shakes his head.
"It is you princess that I am looking for" his body moved closer to her and his hands slowly reaching for her hand but before he had placed a kiss on the back of it, the princess had already withdrawn her hand from his grasp.
"What a very proper lady you are" Jason smirked. "I do wonder if only I had asked for your hand earlier than maybe our houses and the people in Kings Landing are already cheering at our union" the princess face grimaced as he spoke, he was speaking nothing but nonsense.
Gwayne hold his sword as he watched the scene unfold, Jason reached to cup her face, he cannot read what he's telling her, but one thing is for sure, the princess is not pleased nor comfortable with him. And he himself is not happy at the scene right in front of him, that cunt of a Lannister touching her elegant face, he dared to touch the princess like that.
Gwayne battled with his own emotion, but his restraints vanished when Jason Lannister took a small fabric of her dress and sniffing it, he immediately walked over them and grabbed his collar pushing him to the ground, he draws his sword before pointing it on the lord lion's neck.
"What an immoral person you are to harass the princess" Gwayne spat, the guards seem alert on his actions but he paid no mind and looked at the princess behind him.
He was furious.
And she can read it clearly on his eyes, but why? Why does it look like his act and rage was caused by other than his knightly duty? Why does his eyes seems have something more to say.
"Princess give me your command and I shall extinguished this unhinged man" Gwayne spoke, digging the tip of his sword the man's skin.
She opened her mouth to speak when Aemond walked inside seeing the scene in front of him.
"Ser Gwayne? What is the meaning of this?"
Aemond spoke beside him was Ser Criston Cole, Aemond's eye widened at the unpleasant scenario, when Gwayne moved his gaze to the Prince, Jason Lannister took it as a chance to run and stand beside Aemond.
"The princess sworn protector is insane! H-he pointed his sword at me!" Jason snarled.
Aemond looked at his uncle, demanding an explanation, Jason's defense made the knight chuckled as he placed his sword back his side.
"My Prince, Lord Lannister was harassing the princess"
Jason denied his allegations fueling the anger inside him, he stepped forward to make him admit his treasonous act but the hand of the woman behind her was placed on his arm, deterring him. His tense muscles softened at her touch.
Aemond eyes watched the interaction between his sister and uncle, he made a small sound with a click of his tongue as he whispered something to Ser Jason Lannister and the Lord walked away.
Then he turned back to them, looking at his dear sister. "Ser Criston, please escort the princess out of the Godswood."
"Aemond, I wish to stay. Hear me out, Lord Lanniste-"
"Enough. We shall talk later princess, for now I need to have a word with Ser Gwayne" with Aemond's command, Ser Criston walked to the princess and slowly guiding her back inside the castle.
Gwayne and Aemond remained there, the prince walked near at his uncle, his uncle was a great knight, one of his greatest swordman.
"You are a very an honorable knight Ser Gwayne, I would not have to deny that" Aemond murmur to him, looking him from toes to his head. "But it seems like the past moons you are having dereliction with your duties" the prince continued, he might only have one eye, but it does not mean he wasn't able to see the stare of fondness his uncle setting to his sister.
"I am only doing my duty, and it is to protect the princess, my Prince" Gwayne was bravely enough to stare back on the one-eyed prince.
"There is a difference with protecting the princess because of your duty and protecting her out of jealousy" Aemond chuckled, Gwayne was not fazed by his nephew's correct allegations. "I am no fool uncle, I know the little amor you have for the princess" Aemond stepped backward as he turned his back against the Hightower knight and walked away.
~•~•~•~•~•~•~
The last phrases echoed inside Gwayne's head, his mind was preoccupied when he heard a noise inside the princess chamber.
He quickly knocked on her room, waiting for her answer but it remained silent, he tried multiple times still no answer.
"Princess I am going inside" he informed before pushing her wooden door.
He went inside and he saw her sitting on the edge of her bed, her back facing him.
"Princess? Are you alright?" He walked toward her.
He took the sight of her, when he finally saw her whole, her cheeks covered in almost dried tear stains, both of her arms hanging on her sides, it took his attention at the two bottles of wines scattered down her bed and one on her right hand.
Gwayne kneeled in front of her, slowly taking the wine out of her grasp, when he kneeled, he noticed pieces of broken glasses on the floor and small drops of blood, he searched where did it came from, and his eyes dropped on the left arm of the princess.
It was a long slit, probably a wound from the broken bottles of wine, he remained calm despite the urge to be angry at her for being too careless and letting herself get wounded. He scanned her chamber looking for something to aid her injury.
He slowly grabbed the liquor away from her, next he reached for her hand and gently washed it with wet water removing the flowing blood.
The Princess watched his actions, when he slowly held her hand like it was a piece of jewelry that need to be held with care. Her drunk state told her to caress his hair to show him her affection.
She has always admired him, from his physical traits to his inside traits, an honorable man, raised by his mother in Oldtown, an heir to Oldtown. He would be a perfect candidate as her betrothed, perhaps if only their father, the previous King was still alive he would consider Ser Gwayne to be her betrothed.
She looked down on him as he slowly wrapped a clean cloth around her palm, she reached to cup his face, slowly bringing his face close to her. Gwayne was surprised by the princess but also was fast to move away from her. Her heart sank as she felt his skin detached from her hand.
"Princess" his voice warned, the young princess stood up walking closer to him, she again caresses his face, her thumb rubbing his pale skin. With her drunken state she tried reaching for his lips, but the knight looked away, dodging her kiss.
"Ser Gwayne" her voice almost sounded like a plea, Gwayne took all his courage to not smash his lips to her at that moment, she would not need to ask him again, but he knew better than be intimate with the young princess.
"Princess, this is inappropriate" Gwayne managed to protest.
The Targaryen princess did not care, the alcohol she consumed had put enough courage for her to do an act that no proper or modest lady would do.
"Just for tonight please..." she leaned her forehead to his shoulders, her hand rested on his chest.
Gwayne was frozen, saying every curse he knows in his mind, he was no saint, with her pleading voice and desperate request she awoke something inside of him. He bit the inside of his cheeks, his hands gently snakes behind her back not enough for her to notice.
"Please"
Gwayne did not wait for another word, as he tilt her chin up to face him and connected their lips, he knew it was wrong, that if someone had walked in and caught them, he would be exiled, hanged, or beheaded with no trial.
She was a bit surprised not expecting his lips to hers, his tongue devoured her mouth, licking the taste of alcohol in her, she reached for his collar, but Gwayne gently pushed her down back to her mattress.
She studied his face, he was breathing heavily and his face fall down to the ground, Gwayne did not utter any word when he tucked her in thick covers.
"You must retire, princess" he said before turning around.
She was puzzled by his actions, while he was walking to leave her chamber, the princess pulled his white cloak enough to make him turn around, facing the princess.
"Ser Gwayne are you playing jest on me?" She furiously said, she somehow felt like her ego was stepped in. Not because she was rejected, but the mere thought that this knight left her hanging.
"I am clearly aware that you princess is very much familiar with ordinance and oaths that I have took as your sworn protector" Gwayne retorted, he returned his words with fully, like he intends to knock some senses into her wasted state. "I do not intend to break that princess; I am afraid you may have to find a different man or a whore perhaps who can fulfill your desires" he continued.
It was a harsh slap to the princess, with heavy steps she moved away from him. "Would you like me to fetch you a whore that will please you for the night?" She shakes her head.
Gwayne felt the pang of guilt when she raised her face to face him, the watery eyes were obvious to see. "I have no needs for those whores Ser Gwayne" she defined, hating how her voice sounded like it was about to break, it was shameful, she knew that her own sworn protector now see her as an improper desperate lady, who would risk everything just to get a taste of pleasure.
Gwayne nodded in acknowledgment before leaving when the princess spoke again. "I may be drunk but clearly I know what I am doing. I do not kiss just because I am drunk Ser Gwayne it is because I have deep feelings for you" she confessed.
Her head fell down on the cold ground as silence covered them, she was anxiously tugging her dress looking for comfort, but she failed. She knows that maybe inside of him he's already laughing at her little confession, maybe she was truly a Targaryen for having queer customs.
"Princess you are a young lady, you have no idea what you are talking about" he begun not daring to face her. "Whatever it is, please keep it to yourself or forget about it. Because I do not see you nothing more than my duty and a daughter of my Queen sister" he continued as he walked outside the chambers.
She pursed her lips, her eyes remained down before she finally composed herself to go back in her bed. She saw it coming, how fool of her to even try her luck at him. As she lay down Gwayne's words keep repeating inside her head until her mind grew tired and drift off.
That night Gwayne frustratedly punched the wall beside the door outside of her chamber, he was amused to himself that he was able to pull off a such thing, he talks like he did not want her, like he did not dream of having her, he talked like he has no interest in her, but he knew that inside him says otherwise.
That night he had left her chamber, he asked a different knight to guard the door of the princess bedchamber. Gwayne went outside the castle inhaling the air wishing that the fucking wind would relax him.
Gwayne's attention shifted towards the sound of someone approaching, he turned to find the source of sound prompting him to ready his sword. After minutes he finds nothing and left.
On his way back to check the princess his was puzzled as a lot of servants and guards are running through the halls urgently, his worry rise and ran towards the princess room. When he stopped in front of her chamber it was open and she looked inside to see the Dowager Queen with a teary eye watching her youngest daughter as her handmaidens tearing up while changing her already ripped dress.
Alicent eyes darted towards him as well as Cole's, the Commander of Kingsguard immediately gripped his collar dragging him out of the room.
"Where have you been? Why aren't you here when this tragedy happened?" Cole scowl at him, his fingers tightly grip his collar.
"I was gone for an hour, I asked another guard to look after-"
"They beheaded prince Jahaerys in the Queen's chamber, after that they stopped by the princess chamber slitting the throat of the guards that was here and they have harassed the princess, all this because of your insolence" Criston's last words are the only one who hit him.
He abruptly pushed him away trying to see her, but Criston pulled him back "After your negligence I don-"
The Commander dropped on the cold ground from the hard punch from Gwayne, before Criston could even react the knight was already inside the chambers.
Gwayne rush towards her but Alicent was quick to block her way. "Brother" Alicent spoke, when he moved his gaze towards the princess, she was already sleeping.
"The Maesters gave her something that would ease her shaking and led her to sleep." his sister voice was shaking as she explained.
"What did they do to her?"
Alicent can't form any words, how she will be able to repeat the words her daughter told her. "T-They barged here, and she said they touched her in the most inappropriate ways" Gwayne's inside was trembling, but he remained still when Alicent continued.
"The guards was already searching each room after what happened in Helaena's room, it was good thing that the guards looked inside her room before they do anything to her. The boy is dead, his pain has put through its end."
Alicent next words broke out. "B-but what they have done to my girls" she cried out, she covered her mouth to stop from making noises, preventing to wake her daughter.
A tear escaped on Gwayne's eyes as he listens to her words, there was no one to blame other than him, he didn't only forsake his duty but also her safety. In one night, he was able to completely harm her in many different ways.
It took minutes before Alicent calm herself, Cole assisted her back to her room, Gwayne was left there, he remained inside her chamber, it was inappropriate but it did not matter anymore. He watched her sleep, recognizing the familiar kind and sweet face she have, out of all people she did not deserve that, she was nothing but kind to everyone highborn or not.
"What kind of Gods are they to put harm to someone like you" he whispered with a small tear streaming down his face.
What happened to her, stabbed him inside. He wanted to protect her, he wanted to shield her from any harm but at the end he was the one who had forsaken her safety.
~•~•~•~•~
Because of the incident, every kingsguard was questioned by the King Aegon.
"My son is dead! My poor sister was harmed! I shall have those rats head on a spike!" Aegon burst out as he left the council room.
Him along with the Kingsguard remained still when the Dowager Queen spoke, all the other guards shifted their gaze to her sister but his eyes remain on the youngest princess beside her, she was looking down while the Prince Aemond gently talk to her, Gwayne can see the Prince hands covering hers.
"All of you remain to your duties but none of you shall go near to my daughters, I'll have different men guard their room" His reality snapped back at the Dowager Queen's command. "And Ser Gwayne"
His eyes darted towards his sister, waiting for her to finish her words.
"You are dismissed from your duty, you are no longer the Princess sworn protector" her last words before she left the suffocating room.
The room was filled with whispers and silent chatters, thinking that Ser Gwayne would be exempted on the consequences of the accident last night.
"You should be glad, you weren't exile from the position, because of your insolence the princess was harmed" Aemond move to him face to face. "She was supposed to be under your protection and what have you done?"
"You know what's the right punishment for you? I should have both your head and cock in a-"
"Aemond that's enough" the princess rose from her seat, her face expressed nothing but devastation, the old kind and glowing aura now long gone.
"You defend this guy? A man who was responsible for what happened to you?" Aemond's outrage grew more as her voice and words protected him.
"Please, its inelegant to cause a scene in the council room" she rose from her seat and walked towards them, her face that used to be filled with a joyous, harmonious and glowing light is long gone and changed with despair and agony. When she came near them his gaze drifted down on the small gray patch that was hiding under the collar of her dress.
A bruise. A mark that left to remind her about that night.
The princess noticed his attention to her bruise, she swiftly fixed her collar to hide the bruise. "Aemond that is enough please, I would like to rest please..." He noticed Aemond softens at her words when the prince pulled away from him and guide the princess outside the room.
•~•~•~•~•~
A week passes the memory of accident can't seem to be buried from the people inside the Keep's minds, all servants looked after the Queen Helaena and her younger sister more, their guards was replaced by knights of Casterly Rock, the security was more stricter, and it was killing Gwayne, a whole week he wasn't able to see her, he tried to get over it, convincing himself it was for the better but it did not work, Sevens whatever nonsense words he would say to himself it will never work.
The past few weeks people despise him, Aemond hated him rather, would often discreetly throw him vile insults but Gwayne paid no mind, and that's what anger the prince most.
And here they are, standing in front of him. The prince was on the training grounds when the prince Aemond saw him and challenged him for sword sparring.
"I challenge the Dowager Queen's brother"
"The irresponsible knight, Ser Gwayne" Gwayne rolled his eyes at the insult, Aemond was a young man who knows nothing but to throw vile insults thinking it would be the greatest weapon to have.
Criston was the first to spoke. "My prince Ser Gwayne Hightower is your uncle it would be disrespectful to challenge your older uncle-"
Criston explained but looks like the prince has no intention of listening. It was no secret of Gwayne's skills, an expert in sword and combat, he was raised for the specific specialty as an heir and knight he was taught to hold a sword and fight at a very young age, and he excels.
"It's much more disrespectful to neglect a prince offer, doesn't it?" His one eye placed on his.
Gwayne offered a small smile and nod before he bows for respect. "You are truly right my prince, a shame on my part to neglect your generosity, and it would be an honor to-"
"Honor?" Targaryen prince muttered under his breath with a loud scoff. "Honor is the last thing you deserve uncle"
With the prince last words, he draws his sword and begin to attack the Hightower knight. Everyone on the training grounds did not plan or even wish to intervene between the two skilled swordmen, not even Ser Criston Cole. On the upper part of the castle the King Aegon took a sip from his goblet while watching with a smug look on his face, beside him was the Lord of whispers, Ser Larys Strong.
"Look at them fighting over my dear little sister, what a cunt deprive they are." Aegon laughs watching two kin of his dwell.
"I beg your pardon you grace, Prince Aemond?" Larys asked, he did not expect a such thing from the one-eyed prince, to waste his time and defeat his own for a woman.
"Y/N was the only woman he ever loved, our dearest sister who showed her nothing but gentleness" Aegon explained his hand rotates clockwise to stir the wine in goblet. "Did you not notice how he was not fazed by the idea of betrothing Y/N to Oscar Tully, the Lord of one of the most important houses in the realm but rather he was threatened by a simple knight, our uncle to be exact" Aegon laughs loudly, he finds it quite entertaining to see two dumb men kill each other for a cunt.
But on the other hand, Larys seems like not to get his idea. ''What do you try to say, your grace?"
The sound of laughing that covered them disappeared, the King raised an eyebrow at him, but it later turned into a sly smile.
"Aemond knows who his enemies are, but he only attacks the ones he knows he will lose to" he looked back down the grounds, Aemond was behind Gwayne the prince arm wrapped around the knight's neck.
"Because he knows he has no chance of winning over Ser Gwayne" Aegon said and place his goblet, letting out a loud burp.
Back on the ground the guards were growing worried of the two, Gwayne's army tried to intervene but Gwayne command them not to.
"You think just because you are the brother of the previous Queen you have the right put your hands on the princess?" Aemond whispered his grip tightening.
Gwayne knew, the overprotectiveness, the insults Aemond made after the accidents, the small jealousy that would flash on the prince face when she defended him. Those was plainly all because of his romantic feeling for her.
"I am far better than you could ever be Aemond" he replied striking his elbow right to his patched eye, resulting him to fall on the ground. Gwayne was fast to take his sword from the ground and points it towards the prince.
it made everyone gasp, a treasonous act was displayed.
"Perhaps the prince would wish to ask for different opponent next time, someone who has the same level of skills like him" he said before finally throwing the sword and turning his back. His back dropped to the cold ground, and a sharp dagger was pointed at his neck.
"You shall know your place in here......uncle" Aemond remind him.
Looking around he can see the concerned eyes of his men, but neither of the two paid minds. Aemond pushed his dagger furthermore earning a loud groan from the knight beneath him. "No one in this people would dare to question me if I slit your pretty neck-
"Aemond"
All of the attention moved to the princess on the door, behind him was the King Aegon that has a wide annoying smile. Quickly Aemond removed himself above the knight and simply left the training grounds without uttering any words. Before the prince passed her by, she whispered to him.
"What is this about Aemond?" her voice lingered on Aemond's ear.
"You shall not know my dear sister" he only smiled and resume to walk pass her.
The youngest princess sighed out her frustration, oh she knew, she has always known. He did not perfectly hide it. Her gaze moved towards the knights that was helping Gwayne to stand up, the bruises was starting to swell as well as her worries for her.
"Bring Ser Gwayne in my chambers now" she commanded before leaving the grounds.
Her heart was beating fast as she reached the hospital wing of the castle and gathered the things and medicines she will need. She was worried and guilty she knew the exact reason why Aemond did that, she knew her mother will be vexed if someone told her what she just commanded those people earlier. No one was supposed to go near her other than her brothers, sister and mother.
When she opened her chambers, Gwayne was sitting on the chaste his armor is still on, her hands were shaking as she placed the medicines on the top of her drawer. After that night she don't know how she will be able to face him again.
"Princess the Queen would not be pleased to know that you invited me in your chamber without anyone to chaperone"
She exhales and pretend like she did not hear him. "Remove your armor and lay down the chaste."
"But princess-"
"I will not repeat myself again"
Gwayne pressed his lips together and diligently nod and did what he was told to. He was having a hard time removing the damn armors around him, his body was still sore from what all the prince did to him earlier.
The princess immediately moved towards him and helped him with removing his armors, it stunned the knight at the sudden proximity. For a moment he was breathless with her closeness to him, her hands slowly put down the heavy plates and armors around him and Gwayne was finally relieved from his armor she moved back to take a cotton with a medicine to heal his cuts.
Gwayne sat still on her chaste, she sat beside him to tend his wounds, the first tap earns a groan from him, she whispered him to calm down.
How can he? when she was that close and beautiful
But after few minutes they both grew comfortable with each one's presence, Gwayne's body was leaned against the chaste while she was tapping a medicine in the long slit Aemond made on his neck.
She wanted to cry at that moment, she wanted to talk to him about that night even though he made it clear.
"I apologize for what Aemond did, he can be very impulsive sometimes" she managed to start a conversation with her hoping that he would reply.
"He loves you" Gwayne stated, it was hard to let out those words because he did not want to acknowledge someone's romantic feelings for her, but other than that he was scared that you might feel the same towards Aemond.
"I do not wish to talk about that, Aemond is nothing but a brother to me and it will always remain that way" she explained her eyes fixated on his neck, everything about him was gorgeous.
"I apologize for that night princess, I was supposed to be there, to protect you" his words made her froze.
Once again, she was reminded by the horrible night that happened to her, she composed herself as she gathered all the used cottons, the memory of the incident still lingers inside her head, she intends to forget about those as much as she can.
Gwayne noticed her abrupt movements, when she stood up to move away Gwayne had caught her arms pulling her back down on the chaste, his arms snakes behind her and pushed her body close to him. Their closeness did not help the longingness their trying to suppress.
"Please know, I cry out for you, the one thing I can't have" Gwayne spoke as he gently tucks some of her hair strands behind her ear.
"Please do not play with my feelings by doing this you only make-" she was cut off when he seal her into a kiss.
She can feel her muscles relax above him, her hands automatically landing on his chest while she tried to deepen the kiss. She was drowning at their kiss. Meanwhile, Gwayne carefully guided her body above him, his hand behind her waist while the other one was placed on her face.
The two separated to catch their breaths, Gwayne moved his forehead towards her. "Forgive me, my love" his voice was regretful.
"Every night my love, I did nothing but pray to the Gods for their forgiveness and yours, every night I wished to be on your side and comfort you, every night I think of no one but you. Forgive me princess for being a coward daft" he pleaded; his fingers intertwined with her as he brushes his lips to her hand.
"Gwayne that night when they were...." she could not bring to mention the words of what happened to her. "In my mind I was shouting your name hoping you would hear me and save me, I prayed to the Gods to bring you and save me from that horrid situation" her lips formed a smile
A bitter smile with her watery eyes was displayed infront of him. And it shattered him.
"But you shall not to blame yourself" her voice became hopeful, her eyes settled above his blue ones. "I would not be please to burden yourself with guilt"
"i tried to resist my feelings for you, you know" he chuckles. Their body wrapped around each other, "but I was only fooling myself, telling myself that I wasn't devastated by the news of your betrothal with Lord Tully, or whenever prince Aemond was all over you. I had to convince and to repeat to myself that I was in no position to feel that way"
"My betrothal to Oscar Tully is now gone, you have nothing to worry" she explained and sat up beside him.
Gwayne only nodded as he brings his lips to her knuckles "I don't care if it's to happen or not, no matter what will happen I will forever fight for your hand, no matter what consequences I will face"
"Gwayne if you wish we can keep this as a secret"
"I do not wish nor intend to darling" he cupped her cheeks and pulled him into another kiss.
This time he will do everything to have her, he will not leave Kings Landing without her by his side.
His lips move down to her collarbone, his finger moved the fabric that was covering the bruise, the princess tried to hide it, but he stopped her. He pressed his lips on the top of the bruise lightly not wanting to hurt her, if only his lips could remove these horrid marks and replace it with his own, he would gladly do it.
He switched positions with hers, now she was beneath him.
"You must rest, your wounds and bruises are not healed" the princess smiled and stood up, she led him towards her bed.
Tiredness covers the two as they both lay on the bed, when Gwayne opened his eyes, it was almost night he removed himself from her bed and starts wearing his armor again, he has to talk to her sister and start explaining everything, he placed a kiss right on top of her head before exiting her room.
A soon as he closed the door of her chamber, the familiar dagger was settled once again on his neck.
"Does the bruises of my punches not enough or maybe I shall fully-"
Aemond wasn't able to finish his sentence when Gwayne was fast to get the dagger out from his grasp, and quickly moved on Aemond's back, his arm wrapped around the prince neck while his other arm swiftly placed on the top of his other eye.
"I have been patient with you boy" Gwayne spoke, the tip of the dagger moved closer to the prince eye. "But I must tell you that everyone has their limits"
He let go of the prince, gasping for air before Aemond scowled "Do you think the King and your Queen sister would approve of this? no, you will be exiled not only from here but from your position or even worse you'll end up beheaded"
Gwayne showed no hint of fear, "You are right, there's uncertainty of what I am about to do, my life, position and honor will be put in risk because of my actions, but if there is something I cannot risk is my love for the princess."
He had come to the point where he was desperate to be with her.
"I can and I will risk everything just to have her, even if the only chance is impossible, for her I would gladly risk it, my prince"
Gwayne always knew the importance of honor, being the heir of the King's Hand, his father didn't miss any day of reminding him about it, and growing up his principle was just like his father's. But now he was ready to bend everything for her no matter at what cost.
"Prince Aemond you have no idea how far I will go just to prove my love her, you don't know the things I'm willing to do for her."
Gwayne stated before finally walked past the one-eyed prince all confound.
A/N: hello doves i am truly sorry for the long and slow updates, life's been quite busy, had a lot of things going on but anyways please know that i am slowly working on your requests.
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huicitawrites · 4 months ago
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Omen of the Cursed
Yandere! Ryomen Sukuna x Fem! Reader
TW: depictions of abuse, gore, mentions of suicide (non-descriptive), yandere
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THE KING OF CURSES sits casually at the edge of the village well, biding his time. Two muscular arms support his weight on the cobblestone, while another relaxes on his knee, and his fourth is busy—clutching a decapitated head in his clawed hand.
Crimson stains adorn the tips of his fingers, and his feet are smeared with blood. Puddles gather in abundance throughout the village, and the earthy streets are littered with bodies and dismembered remains.
He has killed every single one of them.
He enjoyed it.
He relished in their screams and their agony: men, women, children, the elderly. They all sounded the same in the end, squealing and wailing like lowly pigs sent to slaughter.
At first, the village men tried to fight back, but once he claimed his first victim—his Dismantle technique turning a man into a mangled heap of flesh—they began to shriek and run. When they realized there was no escape, they started to beg.
Some cried for their children; others, for their lovers or themselves. It was amusing to observe how far they would go for survival. They offered everything they had: the village's meager gold, their wheat, their rice, their sheep. When they sensed his dissatisfaction, they turned on one another, offering up their wives, their children, their kin—one even stabbed his own brother and threw the corpse at his feet, declaring a desperate loyalty.
Yet, the King of Curses had come to finish what was started, he took their lives one by one, laughing maniacally in ecstasy and joy.
And so, he sits amidst his carnage—waiting.
The best was yet to come.
He tosses the head in his hand, its expression of horror still etched on the pale face as it rolls across the ground, leaving a trail of blood. He shakes his hand to rid himself of the crimson droplets before resting his four-eyed face atop it. His glaring eyes fixate on the village entrance, marked by a large, old Torii gate.
He recalls the day you abandoned him.
He remembers it all too well.
Ryomen Sukuna was born a cursed, unwanted little wretch.
Everyone believed it and treated him as such: the adults and elders in the village, who instilled their beliefs in their children. Even his own father abandoned him as a mere babe, leaving the village under the moon of Sukuna's birth. His mother, on the other hand, took her own life shortly after he learned to walk.
The villagers whispered rumors of a sibling he had devoured while still in his mother's womb.
Everyone despised him, and so young Sukuna began to despise them too—except for one.
You.
You probably knew of Sukuna as ‘an ill omen’ and ‘a cursed child forsaken by the very gods,’ but what surprised him was your disregard for the villagers' cruel words.
(He remembers the first day you met.)
“Hey,” your soft voice called to him in the village woods. He wore dirty, ragged clothes that contrasted with your colorful kimono. “Do you want to play with me?”
“Go away,” he spat, leaning back against the trunk of a tree, pretending to ignore you.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” you replied, rolling your eyes with a playful smirk. You crouched by the river, scavenging for the perfect pebble—a flat little rock. To your delight, you found a twin of it, and with both rocks in hand, you approached the bitter boy.
“Here, you have one,” you tossed him a pebble. “I’ll show you.” Your squeaky voice was impossible to ignore, drawing his gaze as you meticulously adjusted your stance. He recognized the blue fire coating the rock in your hand. His eyes widened, and a single thought sprang to mind.
‘Is this girl cursed like me?’
You threw the pebble expertly, and it bounced across the water’s surface three times.
“Did you see that?! Say it was cool, right?! Your turn now; it’ll be fun!” You jumped excitedly, pointing at the lake with a wide, joyous smile.
Sukuna snapped out of his thoughts and concealed his amazement. He didn’t want to admit it then, but it was a very cool shot. With a blank stare, he picked up the pebble at his feet and mirrored your stance. He held it between the tips of his fingers, took a deep breath, and unleashed his own blue fire. The pebble soared from his hand, bouncing farther and more times than yours.
You sparkled with wonder. “Say, can you teach me that? You can see it too, the blue fire!” Your tiny hands clasped his for a jolly handshake.
He remembers the burning embarrassment on his face, nodding and stuttering when you said, “Say… Let’s be friends!”
Back then, you were children who became great friends. You were so different, yet inseparable. You were a pretty daughter: kind, gentle, obedient, playful, and pampered by strict but loving parents.
On the opposite end, he was the village’s outcast. Shooed away from stores, despised by everyone. Parents forbade their children from being near him, adults mistreated him without remorse, and even the village priests scorned him.
Yet you laughed at his antics instead of scorning him. You cheered him on and even sewed him clothes out of spare cloth. You helped him flee when villagers chased him with pitchforks and torches and snuck him food or tea.
Like a moth to a flame, he basked in your warm kindness. As you two grew, he coveted your friendship, wishing for eternity with you by his side.
But as your teenage years approached adulthood, things began to change. While Sukuna detached from the village and its obligations, you became bound by expectations. Your mother filled your days with lessons on housewife duties—sewing, cooking, and manners—while your father began seeking suitors.
You wanted none of it; your spirit longed to explore the world, but your heart was tethered to your family, making it difficult to ignore your parents' wishes.
In a moment of desperation, he proposed an idea, but you laughed incredulously.
“So you say we ‘run away,’” you cocked your head. “I can’t just leave my parents behind. What kind of daughter would I be after all they’ve given me?”
He wanted to protest, to argue that he could take care of you, but you added, “Besides, we need money. A marriage would solve their issues. Yet…”
“I could marry you,” he blurted out.
The words spilled from his lips impulsively, and though he masked his bitterness, a knot tightened in his throat when you laughed.
“My parents would never give their blessings, they’d disown me first.”
“I’m not that bad of a choice.”
“Sure, a boy who steals and has no care or responsibilities makes a decent candidate,” you quipped.
He knew you meant no harm and understood the frustration behind your words. But he stood up and left, even as you apologized. You were speaking the truth. He was still an unworthy boy—weak, poor, a disgrace.
He couldn’t intervene as you left the village.
Three days before your departure, a foreign man appeared. Older, yet toned, with a staff in hand, he seemed a wandering monk- he later realized the old monk was a pesky sorcerer. He should have killed him back then.
The sorcerer interrupted one of your encounters, pointing his staff at you. His eyes sparkled with glee before darkening in disgust as they fell upon him.
Surely, he saw the monster would become - no, the one he was. The hate, the fury, the greed brewing in his dark heart.
The monk spoke with you, offering escape if you became his apprentice. Under the guise of holy work and financial compensation, your parents agreed to send you away.
“I’m leaving, then,” you stuttered, eyes cast down. You couldn't meet his dark crimson gaze, knowing the look of betrayal hiding beneath your stoic facade.
“I will come back to visit; I promise, Ryo,” you said, the pet name spilling from your lips with sweetness, but he huffed in response.
“I will be here waiting, [Y/n].”
Ryomen Sukuna left the same night you departed. He had nothing left in the village and without your presence, he could tolerate the shithole no more.
Two and a half decades passed.
He left as a cursed boy and returned as the feared King of Curses—Ryomen Sukuna.
As he stared at the Torii gate, his foot bounced impatiently, fingers tapping against the cobblestone edge.
Soon, a figure emerged in the distance—a traveler on a mule, donning a kasa. For a moment, he mistook you for the damned sorcerer monk, but he felt your familiar cursed energy. It seems you grew stronger through the years as well.
A wicked grin spread across his face, revealing sharp teeth and fangs. His four bloodshot eyes widened and pupils dilated in anticipation.
Finally, you crossed the gate.
“Welcome back,” the King of Curses greeted. “Do you like my welcome gift?” He gestured to the bodies and blood scattered throughout the devastated village.
You didn’t answer. Instead, you pulled back your kasa, revealing a solemn expression on a beautiful face. To Sukuna’s surprise, your eyes held no disgust, fear, or even anger, only a pitiful gaze that irritated him.
“Did you enjoy it?” you asked, ignoring his question. He huffed, wondering if you were attempting to seek a glimpse of that playful childhood friend.
The King of Curses laughed at your question, finding it absurd given the answer was obvious. “I found it most delightful,” he cooed.
Slowly, he detached himself from the well and stood before you. Even a few meters away, you could see the transformation he had undergone. He had become a beast—two extra eyes and arms, a mouth in his abdomen, a colossal build, and black curse markings embroidering his skin.
“It’s true then,” you sighed. “You’ve become the King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna.”
“Tis how I’m called now.” It struck him as strange to hear his full name from you. “I must say it has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“How many have you killed by now?”
“I’ve lost count, darling.” Your frown deepened, and Sukuna’s smile widened. He noted how tightly you clutched the reins and how your body tensed. “My father and mo—”
“I’ve killed them both,” he cut you off, grinning wickedly. “Their deaths were slow and painful.”
“Ah…”
Now it gets exciting, he mused, watching as fury consumed your expression. This was the response he craved—a little punishment for abandoning him, if you will.
Tears streamed down your cheeks as you struggled to hold back sobs.
“I have come to slay you, curse,” you spat, mixing pity with spite. You clutched the cloak around you, prying it off to reveal white and red Miko clothing. You held a shakujō, likely a cursed tool.
This was not the first time someone had come to exact vengeance upon him, and it wouldn’t be the last.
However, it would be the last time you left him.
The King of Curses made the first move, closing the distance between you in the blink of an eye. He lunged forward, delivering a devastating blow.
You leapt from your mule, who perished instantly. Your body shivered from his overwhelming strength.
Sukuna continued his relentless assault. Blow after blow, all you could do was dodge—there was no time to parry or block.
In a fleeting moment of opportunity, as you rolled away and encountered his exposed back, you swung your staff, chanting, “Cleanse.”
A blinding explosion of cursed energy erupted against him, bright light streaming from the metal adornments of your staff.
For a moment, you thought you had succeeded—what a fool you were.
He was the King of Curses, after all; he was no longer ‘Ryo.’
Sukuna remained unfazed, standing with his back turned to you. Before you could gauge the danger, one of his lower arms seized your staff, crushing it into splinters. He turned, crimson irises meeting yours.
“Was that all, [Y/n]?”
He reveled in your shock, and before you could distance yourself, he conjured his own spell. “Cleave!”
Hundreds of cuts ripped through your skin, blood gushing from every wound. You choked and coughed, your body crashing to the ground in a futile struggle for breath.
“Does it hurt?” he taunted, voice dripping with venom. Lifting his chin, he added, “This is but a taste of how I felt back then when you turned your back on me, spurning me like everyone else.”
He loomed over you, body casting a shadow. The wicked grin evaporated from his face, voice turning serious. “I find the fear in your eyes delicious. It’s a satisfying punishment for what you did to me.”
Crouching down, he drew forth a hand ignited with cursed energy. Not the familiar blue you knew, but a clear white. You had never witnessed such a technique, your weary mind too occupied to marvel.
Sukuna hovered his hand over your wounds, and in a short time, you found yourself healed, yet the damage had already been done—the fighting, the murder of people.
The King of Curses encircled you with his four arms, lifting you as a husband would lift his wife. Despite the tenderness once present in the boy you knew, you turned your head to avoid his gaze.
He scowled at your rejection; your silent tears pierced his resolve more than any weapon. One hand cupped your cheek, forcing your gaze back to his monstrous face.
"Spurn me no more, I will not let you, not again", he warned, his fingers digging into your skin.
“You’ve become a monster—what their words condemned.”
“I’ve become a king.”
“-of curses.” You cut him off.
His many eyes narrowed, “So what? Human or curse, it matters not in the face of strength,” he said nonchalantly against your melancholy. “All that matters is that I am strong now and that we are reunited. Even if you spurn me, I will make you love me again.”
He sighed, his voice as soft as a whisper.
“The boy you knew may be gone, but you will learn to love the man he has become,” Sukuna assured, his four eyes gazing back at you with an affection that twisted your gut, making your heart race in fear. He began moving toward the Torii gate, carrying you as if you were caged in his embrace.
He inhaled your sweet scent— it reminded him of the home he never had, the one he desires to build with you by his side.
“Finally,” he lowered his face to yours, “we are together again.”
His lips tasted of iron and yours tasted divine.
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swiftiethatlovesf1 · 4 months ago
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Toto x reader!wife please… they welcome a new edition to the Wolff pack 👶🏻 & Toto regrets not being present for Jack as much during his newborn stage, this time round he is, fitting into baby’s schedule rather than his. Fluff with reader & Jack taking on big brother duties 🥹
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The wait was finally over. The past nine months had been a whirlwind of emotions, with your hormones playing havoc and everyone making adjustments for the new family member. It all began when your favorite snack suddenly became repulsive, followed by the inevitable bouts of morning sickness. Though you and Toto hadn't been actively trying, you also weren't avoiding it, and soon enough, a positive pregnancy test confirmed the big news.
After the announcement, your family dynamic shifted. Toto and Jack became protective and endearingly overbearing, rarely letting you out of their sight and insisting on handling every little task for you. During Jack's pregnancy, Toto's frequent travels for the team kept him away, but this time he vowed to be present. He took time off to be with you and Jack, diving headfirst into preparations. His first project was transforming a room into the new nursery.
"Alright, team," Toto announced, rolling up his sleeves as he surveyed the empty room. "Let's turn this place into the perfect nursery."
"Dad, can I help with the painting?" Jack asked eagerly, already clutching a paintbrush with excitement.
"Of course, buddy," Toto replied, smiling warmly. "But remember, we're using paint, and we need to be careful."
You stood in the doorway, amusement dancing in your eyes as you leaned against the frame. "You two really don't need to do everything. I can help too, you know."
Toto turned to you, shaking his head firmly but gently. "Absolutely not. You're on strict relaxation duty. Doctor's orders."
Jack nodded in agreement, mimicking his father's serious expression. "Yeah, Mom, you need to rest. We got this."
You chuckled, walking over to them. "Okay, okay. But I can at least supervise, right?"
Toto guided you to a chair, his touch tender. "You can supervise from here. Feet up."
Jack began stirring the paint with great concentration. "What color are we starting with, Dad?"
"The light green," Toto replied. "It's calming and perfect for the baby."
As they painted, you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you. "You know, I appreciate all this effort, but you both don't have to be so overprotective."
Toto glanced at you, his eyes softening with love. "I missed so much last time. This time, I'm not going to miss a single moment."
Jack nodded vigorously. "Yeah, and I'm going to be the best big brother ever. I want everything to be perfect."
You smiled, your heart swelling with love. "Well, with the two of you taking care of everything, I have no doubt it will be."
Then came the gender reveal. You decided on a private celebration with close friends and family. The Mercedes team surprised you with a personalized car for the reveal. As Jack unveiled the car, the sight of a pink car triggered joyous screams and happy tears.
Jack jumped up and down, clapping his hands. "It's a girl! It's a girl!"
Toto wrapped his arms around you, his eyes glistening with tears of happiness. "We're having a daughter," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
You looked up at him, your own tears of joy spilling over. "I can't believe it, Toto. We're having a little girl."
Jack ran over and hugged both of you tightly. "I'm going to have a baby sister! This is the best day ever!"
Your friends and family cheered, the sound of cameras clicking as they captured the joyous moment. The pink car gleamed in the sunlight, symbolizing the pure happiness that filled the air.
Since Jack was already four, you and Toto decided to let him choose her name. With a beaming smile, he chose Lena.
On a sunny day in August, Lena was born. The procedure went smoothly, and soon enough, you had your precious baby in your arms. Jack looked up at you both, his eyes wide with excitement. "Can I help take care of her? I'll be the best big brother ever!"
You laughed softly, ruffling his hair. "Of course, Jack. She's going to be so lucky to have you."
Toto nodded, smiling down at Jack. "You're already the best big brother, buddy. She's going to adore you."
And from that moment, your little family of three grew to four, filling your hearts with boundless joy and love.
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thatbloodymuggle · 5 months ago
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MASTERMIND (i)
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ONE- THE EQUINOX
SUMMARY: A child of light and dark, you are the Night Court’s best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox in his own den.
PAIRING: eris vanserra x reader
WORD COUNT: 6.7k
SERIES MASTERLIST
WARNINGS: none for now
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“There is no shot Rhys is a pillow princess,” Cassian snips through howls of laughter.
“Are you kidding me? Have you seen the way Feyre does every little thing for him? She wiped the crumbs off his face at dinner last night!” you counter in a fit of giggles.
Cassian shakes his head, the tendrils of hair tied back behind his head coming loose at the motion. Azriel sits beside him, arms crossed against his tattooed chest. It’s obvious to everyone in the room that, although the Spymaster tries his best to feign disinterest, he is highly amused by the subject matter of the argument. On the other hand, Morrigan, who lays leisurely on the couch across from the bickering pair, doesn’t even attempt to conceal her delight.
“I’m with my sister on this one. He follows her around like a puppy—he stares longingly out the window when she’s gone and wags his wings when she returns,” Mor quips.
You burst into another fit of laughter and clutch your stomach as you are reminded of your soreness from your training session the day before. 
“All the more reason he’s a munch, not a pillow princess,” Cassian barks back, his voice booming through the living room and down the hallways.
Nesta, who sits quietly in the corner and actually appeared disinterested in the discussion, perks up at Cassian’s words and gags at the thought of her sister in bed with her brother-in-law. 
“That’s enough,” Azriel interrupts before your rebuttal can roll off your tongue, “We should not be discussing what our High Lord and Lady do in the bedroom.”
“Oh, come on, Az, you can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Cass rolls his eyes and yelps at the subsequent kick in his side from Nesta.
“Now that’s enough from you,” she snaps, cold eyes narrowed into slits, “And you should know better than to pick an argument with her. It’s a losing fight.”
Cassian glares at the way your lips curl into a feline smirk and your chest puffs out slightly with pride. 
“Little Miss Know-It-All isn’t right about everything,” he drawls with a playful glint in his eyes. 
“She most definitely is,” Mor giggles.
“Oh, come on. Az? A little help here?” the Illyrian general lulls his head towards his friend.
Azriel drums his fingers against the arm of the couch in thought before humming, “I’m with Little Miss Know-It-All.”
Cassian throws his head back with a groan as all the females in the room laugh at him. He is spared from further humiliation by the opening of the door. You are forced to stifle a giggle at the sight of Feyre at the doorway. Her brows cinch together as you and Mor share a knowing glance, mischief dancing in your identical eyes. Despite his irritation, the corners of Cassian’s lips twitch as he tries, and fails, to suppress a smile. 
“Something funny?” the High Lady quirks a brow with a hand on her hip.
The three of you shake your heads in unison, but refrain from laughter.
“It’s always you three,” Feyre grumbles before diverting her attention to the room full of her inner circle, “Rhys is back from his meeting with Eris. He’d like to call a brief meeting before dinner.”
The joyous atmosphere of the living room is dampened, as everyone is reminded of the looming threat of yet another war. This time, you have no problem wiping the smile from your face. An unspoken tension hangs over everyone as you follow Feyre out down the hallway and up the stairs of the House of Wind. Upon entering the meeting room, you immediately notice the frustration painted across your High Lord’s features—the tick of his jaw, his white-knuckled grip around his glass of wine. Eris must have really pissed him off, you think to yourself as you take your seat between Azriel and Mor. 
“The fox was even more irritating than usual, I presume?” Amren muses as she glides into the room last, the twin doors slamming shut behind her. She was always one for subtlety.
Rhys runs a hand over his face, “I was about five seconds away from wringing his neck,” he grunts. Everyone waits patiently for the High Lord to collect himself before continuing, “I think we should consider re-evaluating our alliance with Eris.”
“As much as I would love to be rid of him for good,” Feyre is the first to pipe up, “I don’t know if we are in the position to turn our backs on him if he is our only source of information on Beron’s inner-workings.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if he may be more trouble that his information is worth,” Rhys counters.
You catch Mor chewing on her bottom lip in thought out of the corner of your eye.
“Well how valuable has his information been thus far? Has he mentioned anything Az hasn’t found out on his own?” Cassian leans his elbows on the table.
All eyes turn towards the Spymaster.
Azriel sighs and his wings flex behind him, “I’ve heard next to nothing this week. They’ve put up heavy wards that even my shadows can’t get through,” he pauses before adding, “Perhaps precisely so my shadows can’t get through.”
Rhys inhales deeply through his nose to simmer his frustration.
“Well even if Eris is feeding you more than Az can pick up on, who’s to say we can trust anything the little cunt says?” Mor spits with a venomous edge to her words.
“So we must find out if he can be trusted,” Feyre interjects.
Rhys grunts, but doesn’t disagree, “And how do we do that?”
Silence envelopes the room as everyone ponders over their options. The House of Wind seems to sense their agitation and summons a glass of red wine in front of everyone’s seat. You sing praises in your head at the sight, and don’t hesitate to reach forward and lift the generously full glass to your lips.
“Why don’t we send in our reserve spy?” Cassian pipes up from the opposite end of the table.
You splutter at his words, sending wine dribbling down your chin. You hastily wipe it off and narrow your eyes into an icy glare as you hiss, “I told you to quit calling me that.”
Mor tenses beside you.
“Absolutely not. Her role works because no one knows who she is. As soon as Eris catches wind that we have a secret member of the inner circle, we can kiss any niceties he may offer goodbye. Besides, she’s never dealt with the politics of High Lords before,” Azriel is quick to counter Cassian’s suggestion.
Your lips dip into a frown, and you open your mouth to speak, but Cassian beats you to it.
“Then we ensure Eris doesn’t find out who she is. She already has contacts in the Autumn Court. She can pretend to go there on a business trip for her father and get close enough to Eris to catch his interest. Just close enough that she gains access to the Forest House, but not so close that she ends up wrapped up in Beron’s schemes,” Cassian speaks methodically as the gears turn in his head.
Mor’s grip around the stem of her wine glass tightens.
“She has a name,” you hiss at the two Illyrians, “And you may consider asking her what she thinks before bickering about it.”
The two males shut their mouths and turn to you expectantly. Feyre eyes Mor seated beside you. She can sense the annoyance radiating from her, and speaks softly, “What do you think, Y/N?”
All eyes flick towards you. Yet, you don’t so much as tremble, even under Amren’s scrutinizing gaze.
“I’m not opposed,” you speak slowly, cautious of your fuming half-sister, “But I don’t understand how you expect me to get Eris to take interest in me, let alone tell me anything useful.”
Rhys drums his fingers along the mahogany wood of the table, “We could prep you. I’ve seen the bastard with enough women to know what he gravitates towards.”
Mor’s thinly veiled patience seems to have run its course as she slams her wine glass down onto the table, red liquid sloshing over the edges, “You are not whoring my sister off to him.”
You subconsciously shrink into your seat.
“No one’s whoring her off,” Cassian speaks carefully, “She just needs to get close enough to prod him a little and snoop through the Forest House.”
“Could I not just take the wards down and then get out?” you offer your spell-cleaving abilities, searching for a compromise that could satisfy both parties.
Amren shakes her head tightly, “There’s no telling what Eris or Beron will do once they found out their wards have been breached. Not worth the gamble.”
“Don’t tell me you think this is a good idea now,” Mor seethes at the female across from her.
“It’s not our best idea,” Amren matches her icy glare, “But it’s the only one we have.”
Mor leans forward in her seat, her rosy lips curling into a snarl, “I will not stand idly by as you through my sister to the wolves.”
“Mor, please,” you speak softly as you place a hand on her knee. The tension in her shoulders eases slightly, but her jaw remains clenched. Your eyes scan over Rhys, who watches your exchange silently. You take a deep breathe, steadying yourself before speaking, “I think I can do it.”
“You think?” Amren challenges.
“I know,” you snap at the second-in-command.
Mor’s knee jerks against your hand and she bitterly grumbles, “I don’t like it.”
Rhys sighs and leans back into his seat at the head of the table. The lines have been drawn: Amren and Cassian versus Morrigan and Azirel. The High Lord cocks his head towards his mate, “I’ll defer the decision to you, Feyre darling.”
If it weren’t for the tension thick in the air, you would giggle at his words considering your earlier dispute with Cassian.
All eyes shift to the High Lady, who chews the inside of her cheek in thought. Her blue-grey gaze lands on you, “You’re confident you can do this?”
Subconsciously, your back straightens and your chin raises ever so slightly. You do your best to ignore your fuming half-sister in your peripheral as you steadily reply, “Yes.”
Feyre nods and glances towards her mate, “Then under the condition that she is adequately prepared before stepping foot anywhere near the Autumn Court, I’m in favor.”
Mor doesn’t hesitate to storm out of the room the moment Rhys calls the meeting adjourned. You rub your temples as you know you’ll be having a rather unpleasant conversation with her later about your decision. You are aware of her history with the Vanserra family; although she has never gone into details about the events, and you have never pushed her to do so, you have heard about what transpired centuries ago from Cassian. But that is a matter to be dealt with later. Everyone files out the room after Mor, leaving you, Azriel, and Rhys to hammer out the details of your new mission.
Your façade is carefully constructed. As the fabled Athena Ellesmere, you will be visiting the Autumn Court at the start of harvest season to set in motion tradings for a variety of goods. Under Rhys and Azriel’s instructions, you send letters to two of your previous contacts ahead of your impending arrival; one to Willow, the wife of a corn farmer, and one to Ginerva, a widowed herbalist. You tell them your stay will be longer than usual, as your father has tasked you with researching some new trade routes along the border. When the time comes, your research will give you the perfect excuse to request access to the Autumn Court library, and by proxy, the Forest House.
To his part, Azriel presents all the information he has been able to collect over the years on the Autumn Court: a map of the Forest House with each room labelled, a list of employees within Beron’s inner circle, and a list of empty residences positioned conveniently between the main town and the Forest House. You study the layout of the Forest House diligently, tracing your finger along each twist and turn of the long hallways. You pay particular attention to areas surrounding Eris’s personal chambers and office. The Spymaster lists off items you should keep an eye out for if you are successful in gaining entry to the Forest House: correspondences with other High Lords, meeting notes, any information pertaining to the Night Court and Velaris.
Most importantly, Rhys and Azriel warn many times through your meeting, you are to stay far, far away from Beron. You are there to spy on Eris, and Eris alone. While any information you can gather on Beron will be welcome, you are not to interact with him directly. Females are not treated with the same respect in the Autumn Court as they are in the safety of Velaris. And if anything goes awry, you will be under his jurisdiction.
As the conversation shifts to the man of the hour, you can surmise one thing: Eris Vanserra is a fox. Sly and cunning, with a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue. A predator. He enjoys the hunt more than the catch itself. If you want to ensnare the fox in your trap, you will need to play a convincing game of hard to get; hard enough to keep him chasing, but not so hard that he deems the grapes sour and moves to a different branch.
The fox is a far cry from any of your previous expeditions. You should feel on edge; nervous, anxious about what is to come. But you can’t kindle the flicker of excitement in your gut at the prospect of outfoxing the fox himself.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
“Please check in with Rhys daily. Even if you don’t find anything. And don’t forget the tunnel escape routes Az showed you if something goes awry,” Mor rambles on as she fiddles with the buttons of your cloak.
You roll your eyes with an exaggerated sigh, “Anything else, Mother Mor?”
She flicks your forehead, and you scrunch your brows with a yelp at the assault. 
“Don’t fret, dear Morrigan. Our little Spymaster-in-training has got this,” Cassian ruffles your hair with a grin. 
You swat his hand away and turn to him with a glare, “I said quit calling me—”
“That’s enough, you two,” Feyre interjects before you can bicker with the Illyrian fool.
You hike your bag onto your shoulder and smooth down the emerald-green dress underneath your heavy cloak. The wrinkles in the fabric instantly return as Mor throws her arms around you, sending you stumbling backwards.
“Be careful,” she whispers into your neck.
You fight the urge to roll your eyes, and instead return her embrace. 
“It’s just a month. I’ll be fine. Promise,” you give her a reassuring squeeze before squirming out of her tight grip.
“I’d suggest you leave now before Mor changes her mind,” Rhys speaks lowly into your ear. You don’t need to turn to see the smirk plastered on his face.
With one last adjustment to your clothes, carefully crafted to blend seamlessly into the Autumn Court, you turn towards your misfit family. An impish smile tugs at your lips as you wave at them.
“Don’t miss me too much. And Nesta, please keep your pet in check for me. Sometimes all he needs is a good yank on his leash.”
You don’t stick around to hear Cassian’s protests as the air around you twists and folds. You hold your bag tightly as you winnow one, two, three steps. With each step, you take in the chance in scenery. The beating sun of Day, snow-capped mountains of Winter, and finally the unmistakable kaleidoscope of Autumn. Your grip on your bag loosens slightly as you marvel at the latticework of red, brown, gold, and green. This isn’t your first time in the Autumn Court—in fact, it must be your fifth visit at this point. But the colorwork, reminiscent of the stained-glass windows in the Dawn Court libraries, never ceases to amaze you. Twigs crunch under your feet as you walk leisurely through the expansive forest. You suck in a deep breath, taking in the delicious smell of pine, before winnowing once more.
This time, you hit your mark. About 10 yards in front of you sits a quaint little cabin. Smoke steadily blows out from the chimney on the roof, and you smile to yourself at the sight. Ginerva must have prepared a fire prior to your arrival—a welcome gift, of sorts. You dig out the key in the pocket of your coat, which the herbalist had sent you the day prior following your payment for one month’s rent.
A sweet cedar smell invades your senses as you swing the cabin door open. The hinges creak loudly, indicative of a desperate need for oil. You take in the small space as you set your bag down on the wooden floor. A fire burns brightly in the fireplace in the corner, contained by some sort of enchantment. Directly across from the flames is a modest bed, slightly larger than a twin. A smile tugs at your lips as you picture Azriel or Cassian trying to sleep on it with their ginormous Illyrian wings. On the other side of the cabin is a small kitchenette, stocked with all the pots, pans, and utensils you could possibly need. You swing the door shut behind you, and relish in the warmth the fire brings—a stark contrast from the brisk autumn winds outside. Despite the scattered cracks in the wall and the sheer layer of dust covering the floor, the cabin has a certain rustic charm. After spending so many years confined within the same book-lined walls, you never fail to appreciate such changes in scenery. 
You set to work unpacking your bag, charmed to fit more than it should hold. The clothes Amren and Mor have packed for you are a mixture of warm oranges, reds, and greens—a far cry from your typical Night Court attire. A sharp knock snaps you from your task at hand. You plaster a kind smile on your face as you swing the door open.
Ginerva is the epitome of a typical Autumn Court inhabitant. Her hair is tied back in an intricate braid, its copper hue a beautiful compliment to her piercing green eyes. A constellation of freckles are dotted across her pale skin, lifted by the wide grin on her lips.
“Athena!”
The herbalist doesn’t give you a chance to reply as she envelopes you in a warm embrace. Your gut churns as the reality that you are now in Athena Ellesmere’s skin, not your own, settles in. Still, you return her gesture with a laugh. 
“It’s good to see you again, Ginerva,” you pull back from her with a soft smile, “I can’t thank you enough for arranging this for me.”
The female brushes off any flattery, “Please, don’t thank me. I’m merely appreciative to have your company for a short while. It does tend to get lonely around here with Ambrose gone.”
You suppress the frown that twitches at your lips at the thought of her deceased husband. You had the displeasure of meeting him twice before the war against Hybern claimed his pitiful life. Just as Ginerva was the epitome of an Autumn Court female, so was Ambrose the epitome of an Autumn Court male: pompous with a vicious temper. 
“I can only imagine,” you reply, voice dripping with faux remorse, “How has business been at the shop?”
Her juniper eyes brighten and a rosy hue spreads across her pale cheeks, “Oh, it’s been wonderful! I’ve just restocked a new barley tea which works wonders for joint pains. My customers can’t seem to get enough of it!”
That could surely come in handy after your brutal hours in the ring with Cassian. You make a mental note to purchase a stock of it before the end of your trip.
“That’s wonderful to hear. I’ll have to swing by once I’m settled in,” you grin.
“Please do,” Ginerva smiles, “I hate to cut my visit short, but I must get going to re-open the shop. Will I see you at the equinox celebration tonight?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you swiftly reply, your cheeks beginning to ache from your calculated smile.
Your head dips into a kind nod as Ginerva departs with a wave over her shoulder. The door shuts, leaving you to the comfort of your temporary home once more. The twisting in your gut returns as you continue unpacking your belongings. It shouldn’t bother you—the seamless weaving of lies and deceit. You have been playing the role of Athena Ellesmere for decades now. But this trip is different; longer, yes, but it’s more personal. You feel a guilt you have never felt before manipulating others into trusting a person who doesn’t exist. 
The once comforting aroma of the cabin begins to grow suffocating, and you decide a walk of the premises is needed. You slip on a pair of boots and drape your cloak over your shoulders as protection from the biting autumn wind before heading out into the forest. Although the breeze in Velaris is soft and comforting, you can’t help but revel in the slightly more sinister wind that nips at your nose as you wander in the direction of the Forest House. You have frequented the Autumn Court several times now, but have never approached the grand estate, let alone entered it. With sentries littered at every entrance, it is impossible to breach. No enemies approach Beron’s home without his knowledge, and none leave without his permission. That is, with the exception of the Autumnal Equinox.
Although the falling leaves of autumn preside year-round within the court, the equinox marks the official start of autumn in Prythian, and for Autumn Court inhabitants, the beginning of harvest season. Celebrated since the country was divided into the seven courts, it is a tradition which spans centuries of High Lords. For one night each year, the High Lord opens the gates of the Forest House to his citizens, and indulges them in music, wine, and dancing until the early hours of the morning. 
You have never attended an Autumnal Equinox celebration, but you have read extensively about it. You have read extensively about a lot of things, for that matter; but have experienced so few.
As you make your way through the woods, your eyes land on the Forest House peeking through the trees. It is absolutely breath-taking. One hundred books couldn’t do the moss-covered shingles and centuries-old red brick justice. A bitter taste floods your mouth at the thought; the reality that in your 70 years of existence, you’ve seen so little of the world. You love your home in Velaris, and your little misfit family. And yet, you can’t help but dream of another reality in which you free from any obligation, free to move as you please, free to never settle down. You suppose that this must be the price for immortality.
Rather than dwindling into an existential crisis, you collect your thoughts and begin your scaling of the Forest House perimeter. Images of Azriel’s carefully detailed maps swim through your mind as you study each window. The fabled story of Athena Ellesmere rolls off your tongue as the colorful leaves crunch under your feet. And for a few short hours, you find yourself lost in the beauty of a small piece of what the world beyond Velaris has to offer.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
You didn’t think it possible, but somehow the Forest House is even more magnificent up close than what you caught glimpse of from behind the rolling hills. The golden archway beckoning citizens inside its premises is full of intricate details, nearly invisible to the naked eye. Red leafed decorations are so bright they seem to reflect the stars in the night sky above. Vibrant green ivy snakes and twists along the cobblestone walls of the courtyard, tying the whole scene together. 
It is surely a sight for sore eyes. But as are you.
The silk of your ruby red dress pools at your feet and flows like a blood river with each step. The expensive material hugs your hips, but does not constrict them, accentuating your figure. A deep plunging neckline and open back expose just enough skin to leave any male wanting more. Your hair is pulled back in a tasteful updo with a few tendrils loose to shape your face, highlighting your natural beauty. And to top it all off, a deep, red lipstick. You look regal. 
If Cassian could see you now, he’d never again call you Bookworm. 
As you enter the center of the courtyard, you take in the joyful scene before you. A band of enchanted instruments play a lively tune as faeries dance and sing, the sweet smell of cinnamon filling the air. 
But you have a job to do.
You imagine Azriel’s voice in your head as you survey the perimeter of the courtyard, making note of each potential exit. Your eyes scan the crowd for any potential threats. Once you come up empty, you take a step forward towards the middle. You hold your chin high, and move with an elegance that does your elegant gown justice.
You ignore the lingering gazes of onlooking males as you weave through the crowd and help yourself to a goblet of wine. You have never tasted anything quite like it—a sweet undertone of crisp apple and nutmeg. You nonchalantly scan the crowd, this time searching for a head of flaming, crimson hair. The task, however, proves to be difficult, as nearly every head is red.
 An ominous shiver crawls up your spine as you sense an unwanted presence lingering behind you. You try to ignore the male breathing down your neck and sip your wine, but to no avail.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here alone?” your nose scrunches at the sour scent of liquor on his breath.
His threatening stance disturbs you, but you are prepared for this.
You glamour a glittering, diamond ring onto your left hand and raise it in a delicate gesture, not bothering to meet his eye.
“Waiting for my husband,” you swiftly reply.
His drunken grumblings barely reach your ear as your eyes lock in on your target.
You know what Eris Vanserra looks like; Rhys has shown you through his own eyes. But you aren’t quite prepared for how, for lack of a better word, stunning the man across the crowd truly is. 
His towering stature exudes power. The first few buttons of his emerald silken shirt are undone, leaving the top of his chest exposed. You can’t help but ogle at the way the silver chain around his neck falls gracefully down his radiant, almost golden, skin. The sharpness of his chiseled jaw slices through the air; a stark contrast to the soft texture of his wind-swept, crimson hair. A golden wreath sits flawlessly on top, its shine reflecting the moonlight above. It takes everything in you not to gawk at his beauty.
You down the rest of your wine, willing the alcohol to give you the confidence you need, before refilling your goblet. You stalk through the crowd, all the while keeping your eyes locked on him. You lean against a red brick wall about 20 yards behind the male he is speaking to—directly in his line of view. You wait patiently, allowing yourself to indulge in his regal beauty. Finally, his chin dips to the side. 
The roaring sound of music and screaming faeries washes away as his amber eyes flick towards yours. Your heart thumps as you hold his curious gaze, your own inquisitive one unwavering. A feline smile curls onto your face and you slowly, teasingly, raise your goblet of wine to your red lips. Eris’s eyes narrow ever so slightly as he studies your movements. You cock a brow in response as you take a sip of the dark liquid. A venomous smirk tugs at his lips, and your heart leaps into your throat at the playful glint in his eyes.
Just as quickly as it appears, he vanishes.
You catch sight of his golden wreath weaving through the crowd, and swiftly push yourself from the wall. With a deep breath, you will yourself into the shadows (a gift bestowed upon you by your unknowing father), and glide in the opposite direction. You stop a few yards away, and smirk as you spot Eris approach your previous spot on the wall. His brows furrow as he looks around in confusion. You wait patiently for his eyes to find yours again. The burning bonfire flickers in his irises, highlighting the unmistakable glint of mischief. He swiftly moves in your direction, and you slip away into the shadows once more, careful to conceal your Night Court power. Again, you stop a small distance away. You repeat your vanishing act a few more times, slowly luring the fox away from the center of the party and into your snare. Once you reach the outskirt of the courtyard, you will yourself completely from the shadows and set into a casual strut. You can feel his presence approaching, and your heart thrums in anticipation.
“Where are you flying off to, Little Bird?” 
His warm voice crackles like the flames of the bonfire.
You shiver as his warm breath fans over your neck, his aroma of sandalwood and cranberry dizzying.
“Maybe I’m stretching my wings,” you muse, “Or maybe I’m luring the fox from the safety of his den.”
Your knees buckle as his lips graze the shell of your ear with a smile, “I quite like pretty things with sharp tongues.”
Your lips part and goosebumps erupt along your skin. His charm is alluring, but you are prepared for this. So, you swiftly spin the face him. His golden wreath nearly scrapes the tip of your nose as he lazily raises his head, but you resist the instinct to step back. All air leaves your body as he rises to his full height. His amber eyes bear into yours, and you are suddenly aware of just how much of your skin is exposed. 
“I think you underestimate just how sharp my tongue can be,” you purr as you raise the wine still in your hand to your lips.
Eris watches intently as your lips wrap around the rim and you tip back the goblet. You allow a droplet to leak from the side and spill down the curve of your lips. As you lower the goblet from your face, his ring-clad hand darts out and catches the red drop. His thumb rubs gently along your chin, his warm touch igniting a fire in your gut. His soft grips tightens ever so slightly as he tilts your face upwards before removing his hand. Your lips part as he sucks his wine-covered thumb into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing at the motion. 
“Good?” the airiness of your voice betrays you.
“Delicious,” he sings.
He is taunting you—circling his prey, preparing to pounce. 
“A bit too sweet for my taste,” you hum and blindly set the goblet down on the low cobblestone wall beside you, “And I think my wings are adequately stretched.”
The crimson silk of your dress ripples as you turn swiftly on your heel and saunter back towards the party. A playful smirk dances on your lips as you feel Eris’s gaze on your swinging hips. His powerful aura trails behind you. He allows you to lead through the crowd, giving you a fleeting semblance of control, before his strong hand wraps around your wrist in a commanding grip.
You swallow down a gasp as he abruptly spins you around and pulls your chest flush against his. He has a direct view of the curve of your breasts down the deep cut of your dress; but his luminous eyes don’t waver from yours. He intertwines his right hand with yours so that your palms touch, while his left finds solace in the dip of your waist. Despite your best efforts, you are unable to will away the deep flush creeping up your neck as he moves you gracefully along the floor in a waltz to the beat of the music.
“I’m not familiar with the customs of the Autumn Court, you tease, “But where I come from it is impolite to steal a dance from a female without her permission.”
He ignores you and twirls you around before pulling you close again, “And where is it that you flew from, Little Bird?”
You hum nonchalantly, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
His chest rumbles with laughter, sending a shiver down your spine. His head dips down so that his lips are millimeters from your ear as he whispers, “I’ve seen your eyes before.” Your heart skips a beat—you hadn’t even considered the possibility that he might recognize your similarity to Morrigan. But the tension in your shoulders eases as he continues, “Did the Mother send you from my dreams?”
You mimic his gesture and raise your lips to his ear before replying, “From your nightmares, actually.”
“Little Bird knows how to play,” Eris muses. He rises to his full height once again before spinning your body so your back is flush against his chest, your feet moving with his in a gentle sway to the strings of the orchestra, “Does she have a name?”
“She does,” you retort simply.
He knows your game. And he’s willing to play.
“It seems only fair you indulge me with yours, seeing as you know mine,” he probes.
Your face warms as he moves your bodies closer to the blazing bonfire.
“Who’s to say I know your name?” you tease in a lilted voice.
His hands trail down your body at an agonizingly slow pace before landing on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.
“Everyone knows my name, darling,” molasses drips from his lips as his voice tickles your neck.
You reply coolly, “Vanity working on a weak hand produces every sort of mischief.”
A humorless laugh escapes from his lips, and you jolt as his fingers dig tightly into your waist, “I can assure you my hand is many things, but weak is not one of them.” His right hand leaves your waist, and you gulp as it wraps around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze—but his grip is just strong enough to prove his point. “What can I do to get the canary to sing?”
You spin around to face him and lace your right hand with his left once more. Your gentle sways become brisker as the tempo of the violins accelerates. 
“My name for a question,” you cock a brow.
“Indulge me.”
His gaze shifts from your eyes to your intertwined hands as your fingers dance along his, gently slipping one of his rings off. You roll it teasingly between your fingers before slipping it onto your thumb.
“Athena,” you finally relent with a coy smile.
A pleasured hum rumbles in his throat as he rolls the ring around your thumb, “Fitting name, Little Bird. Though I think you’re better suited as a canary than an owl.”
Pure, unbridled desire clouds your eyes as Eris raises your thumb to his mouth and nips it tauntingly.
“Do intelligent females scare you?” you muse, pushing your thumb against his bottom teeth.
A sinister grin curls onto his lips as you trail your ring-clad thumb down, over his bottom lip and to his chin, before retreating to its place in his hand.
“They terrify me,” he purrs before twirling you in time with the crescendo of the orchestra.
“My question,” you state simply as your playful eyes meet his again.
“Shoot.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as you trail your right hand from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, stroking your fingers gently through his scarlet locks. Your gaze shifts from his amber eyes to the walls of the Forest House behind him.
“What do you guard inside your henhouse, Fox?”
Your heart thumps wildly in your chest as the words leave your lips. A dark look glazes over his eyes, sending a wave of instant regret crashing over you. Have you said too much? Pushed too far?
His grip on your hand tightens and he lowers his lips to your ear once more. But this time, they don’t graze. His teeth sink into your earlobe, and he tugs hard enough to elicit a wince; a warning.
“I indulge your question, but I didn’t promise an answer,” Eris drawls. He presses a kiss to your ear before whispering, “Be careful, Little Bird. If you fly too close, you might just get burned.”
Cauldron, save you. Your knees buckle and an involuntary moan escapes you as he trails his lips down your neck. Your eyes flutter shut as you crane your neck to the side, giving yourself fully to him. He ghosts open-mouthed kisses along your sensitive skin and your nails dig into the nape of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. He nips at the junction of your collarbone and you gasp, your eyes shooting wide open.
The twinkling stars above blink down at you and a wave of panic rushes in.
Rhys’s words from earlier sing in your ears: Don’t get too close.
Eris senses the rapid uptick of your pounding heart. He hums against your skin and drags the tip of his nose up your shoulder, along your neck, and finally to your chin. His lips ghost over yours as he breathes, “Change of heart, Little Bird?”
This time when you look into his amber eyes, the playfulness, the mischief, the humor, is all gone. You are looking into the eyes of a predator, seconds away from closing in on its kill. You gulp and pray that your mask of apathy hasn’t slipped. 
“Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.” 
A wide grin takes over his face, but the predator within him lurks. Still, he hums in understanding and leans away, “I see. But I must warn you that my patience is notoriously thin.”
A swift movement in your peripheral captures your attention. You look past Eris’s shoulder and catch sight of a tall male stalking towards you—one of his brothers, you deduce from his flaming red hair and regal posture. A sense of relief rushes over you, as you plot your escape for the evening.
Your plaster on a sickly-sweet smile and raise your lips to his cheek, giving the Autumn Court heir a chaste kiss.
“’Till we meet again, Eris Vanserra,” you whisper.
He nearly groans at the way his name rolls off your tongue, but his brows furrow as the meaning of your words sinks in. He turns his head towards your line of sight, and you use the opportunity to swiftly slip away. You don’t stick around to hear his conversation with his brother. Instead, you will yourself to slip back into the shadows. A rush of adrenaline surges through you as you make your escape. 
It isn’t until you are far past the golden gates of the Forest House that the reality of what just happened sinks in. You gasp for air as your heart thunders in your chest. You steady yourself against a large tree, sinking your nails into the bark until the splintering pain stabilizes you. As you retract your nails from the trunk, a glimmer catches your eye. The shining silver of Eris’s ring, still sitting snugly around your thumb, seems to wink at you. You roll it around with your index finger, and a faint smile ghosts over your lips. Pride burrows in your chest as you push off the tree and begin your trek back to your temporary home.
Although the night didn’t go quite as you had envisioned it, you have the fox right where you want him. 
And he is none the wiser.
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aquaticmercy · 9 days ago
Text
Waste a Moment / Part 12
Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.
Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her) 
Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.
Requested by :  @remoony
Word count : 2.8k
Note : Hi all!!! Got a lot of messages and comments in the last couple of days but have been busy so bear with me while I catch up! Please let me know if I miss anyone on the tags!!! Enjoy!
Series Masterlist
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"Out in the Dark"
Saturday evening.
Hours bled into an endless stream of time after he left, the lock on the door clicking like the final nail in the coffin. You’d felt your world shatter like brittle glass, splintering into a thousand jagged shards, each one a reflection of a future you’d foolishly imagined with him. 
You hadn’t just kicked him out of your home; you’d ripped him out of your life, your heart, leaving behind a cold void of absolutely fucking nothing.
You were starting back at square one. Again.
His voice still lingered, a ghost haunting the room, quiet and pleading, cracking with a fragility you’d never heard before. He’d tried to explain, hoping you might understand. 
But you weren’t going to give him the luxury of hope. Not anymore.
You could still remember how he looked at you then, eyes bottomless blue pit of despairs as he begged you to listen, to hear the truth he was too afraid to voice until it was too late. 
But all you could see was betrayal. 
You sank onto the couch, knees folding beneath you, arms crossing over your chest in a feeble attempt to hold yourself together. Your fingers dug into your sides as if you could press the splintered pieces of yourself back into place. 
Then, a sharp knock disrupted the veneer of calm you’d built around yourself. Startled, a jolt of white-hot fury flared up in you. 
Of course, he’d come back. 
You’d told him to leave, and he hadn’t listened. He never did. Did he think that if he could just say the right thing, everything would be okay?
“I told you to leave!” you yelled, your voice cracking under the strain of false strength.
After a moment’s hesitation, a familiar voice seeped through the door. “It’s me,” You heard through the door, “I… I heard what happened. I thought you might need a friend.”
You froze, the breath catching in your throat. 
It wasn’t Bucky.
It was Yelena.
How dare she show up here, now, pretending to be a friend when she’d known all along? She’d been part of the lie, part of the deception that destroyed the illusion of your waking nightmare. Sure, it explained why she was mad, why she looked like she would’ve killed Bucky if she could— but that was no excuse to be complicit for as long as she had.
“No,” you spat. “You don’t get to show up like everything’s fine. You knew, Yelena. You knew, and you didn’t say a word.”
If she had been hiding this from you, what else was a lie?
The silence was broken only by a weary sigh. “I was going to,” she admitted quietly. “I told him to, but he… he was scared. And I gave him time… I thought it should come from him.”
Her gaze fell to her feet, almost as if she couldn’t bear to look at the door. 
She knew she should have told you. But now, hearing all that joyous life drained from your voice… she wasn’t so sure if she could’ve.
Maybe she didn't tell you because she didn’t want to be the one to see your heart break. Now confronted with this, she realised that maybe all that anger, all that big talk to Bucky was… all a facade.
She started wondering, maybe, deep down, when the time came,— when her ultimatum needed to be fulfilled— if she would have faced you at all. Maybe she had given Bucky a week, more time than he deserved, because she needed time to brace herself for the fallout. And now that the moment was here... she realised she wasn’t ready after all.
She wasn’t ready to see you empty. Hollow. Broken.
Just as she couldn’t see you after your injuries.
In its own twisted way, it was a mercy to her that you didn't let her in, that she couldn't see the state you were in.
You laughed then, a bitter sound that tasted like ash on your tongue. “And look where that got us.”
Yelena leaned on your door, dropping down to the floor. She didn’t care if your neighbours walked on her like this— she just wanted to try to save a sliver of connection, any crumb she would give you.
She only ever wanted you to be happy.
“But it is real,” she insisted, her voice dropping to a whisper. It was a kind of sorrow you hadn’t heard from her before. She’s reverting back to the thick Russian accent, thicker than she’s had for years, in this moment of vulnerability. “The way he feels about you, even when I hated him for not telling you. I could see it in his eyes, in the way he said your name.”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. She sounded like she was pleading, begging you to see something you couldn’t, wouldn’t allow yourself to see. 
“I knew he wasn’t kind to you before,” she continued, the words tumbling out. “But I think… I think he loved you then, too. Back then he… he always made sure there was always one of your favourite donuts left in the fridge. He made sure to always buy your favourite tea to stock up the training kitchen. He once asked me what… um… what your favourite flowers were so he could put it in a vase in the common room.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, the memory of his distant, haunted eyes flashing through your mind. 
After your memories were wiped, you spent so many nights staring into his piercing eyes as if it was a never-ending abyss, trying to find a way in, trying to reach the part of him that seemed determined to stay locked away. You’d thought you had. You’d thought you’d finally reached him. 
But you hadn’t. Not even close. 
“I don’t know if I can believe that,” you choked out. “I don’t even know what to believe anymore.”
“I’m not lying.” Yelena’s voice cut through your spiralling thoughts, but you had no reason to believe her. “The Bucky you told me made you feel safe— he’s real. Maybe I... I couldn’t bring myself to shatter the peace you found.”
She remembered all those years spent hoping Natasha was happy, that she was okay, that she was safe. And then, in an instant, all of that hope was stripped away.
Maybe it was the same with you. After your injuries and memory loss, you weren’t just a new beginning for Bucky, but for Yelena, too—an opportunity to feed her saviour complex. Maybe she needed an excuse to protect you from Bucky, who only ever wanted your happiness, too.
Maybe they had both been approaching this all wrong. Maybe she shouldn’t have sparred with him that night, leaving him bruised. Maybe she shouldn’t have antagonised him. Maybe she should have encouraged him, worked with him, instead of standing in his way.
You could feel the anger slipping away from your fingertips. You didn’t want to believe her, didn’t want to let that tiny flicker of hope take root. 
Because if you did, it meant facing the possibility that maybe, just maybe, there was something left to salvage. 
And that took work.
You were exhausted— all you did for months was work and work to get a tiny piece of yourself back. What if you just wanted to let go altogether?
“I should have told you sooner,” Yelena murmured, voice barely a whisper now, “We both should have told you sooner.” 
She never meant for you to find out this way—she had hoped that either she or Bucky could explain the context behind his actions. But now you've seen everything—the raw truth, stripped of memories or emotions to soften the blow. You couldn’t remember what you’d once felt for Bucky, couldn’t fill in the gaps on your own— and wouldn’t listen anymore.
You felt a tear slip down your cheek, hot and stinging as it traced the curve of your cheeks.
After what felt like an eternity, you heard her exhale, a soft, defeated sigh. “I’ll go,” she said quietly. “But… don’t let this destroy you both.”
Sunday.
The next day, Bucky stood outside Happy’s office at the compound, teeth clenched so tightly he could feel the strain in his temples. His body was hot with frustration, bitterness curling through him like smoke from a slow-burning fire that had been left for far too long. 
He hadn’t slept, hadn’t even bothered trying to—every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was you. 
The look on your face, the look of hurt and betrayal. The shock, the disbelief as you told him to leave. For the first time since he’d known you, you felt… small. 
That image had made a home in his mind, festering until he could feel it like a sickness spreading under his skin.
Now, out here in the hallway, he felt he was being torn apart from the inside out. His chest was heavy, his hands shaking with a rage that had no target. Every barrier he’d put up over the years to keep himself calm had crumbled. Now, his mere existence was just a raw, open wound, bleeding fury and self-loathing. 
He hated Happy for showing you the footage. He hated himself for letting it come to this. He hated fucking everything. But more than anything, he hated the truth he was beginning to confront, a splinter that he’d ignored until it was too deep to pull out.
With a deep breath, he pushed open the door, his metal hand slamming against the wood. The loud, brutal sound echoed through the room, and Happy looked up from his tablet. Sam, sitting across from him, raised an eyebrow..
“What the hell were you thinking?” Bucky’s voice was rough, nearly a growl, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “She wasn’t ready for that!”
Happy’s expression tightened as he set down the tablet. Sam turned back, arms folded across his chest, leaned back.
As Bucky's anger burned, he caught the look in Happy’s eyes—a flash of real fear, his line of sight fixed on Bucky’s metal arm with paranoia, shoulders closing in as if bracing for a blow. 
No.
His reaction pulled Bucky back from rage that had consumed him, a cold dread quickly replacing it instead. 
He’d seen that look— that fear— a thousand times as the Winter Soldier. 
On his victims.
He forced himself to breathe, to loosen his fists and soften his stance. He didn’t want anyone to fear him like that ever again. Not now. Not ever.
Especially not Happy, who only meant well. Not Happy, who cared about you. 
“Good morning to you, too, Buck,” Sam replied, tone sharp but calm, cutting through Bucky’s anger like a blade. “Maybe take a second before you start throwing blame around for your mess.”
Bucky’s jaw clenched tighter, a tendon twitching in his knuckles. He forced his gaze back to Happy. “I’m not blaming you,” he said, his voice calmly grating against the words. “But she didn’t need to see that.”
Happy looked down, a small look of misplaced guilt in his eyes. “I… I assumed she knew everything.”
“You can’t just assume these things,” Bucky was trying everything— everything in his power to stop the anger from bubbling.“You can’t just keep this from me.”
Beside them, Sam let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. He looked pointedly at Bucky, an edge of irony in his otherwise cool voice. “You’re one to talk.”
Bucky opened his mouth to argue, to defend himself, but Sam raised a hand, silencing him with no room to protest.
“Look, man, I get that you didn’t want to hurt her,” Sam’s tone softened slightly, trying to cut through Bucky’s defences. “But you’ve been handling this wrong from the start.”
“I only wanted to protect her.” Bucky said, his tone tinged with sadness, by a guilt he didn’t want to acknowledge. “She’s been through enough.”
Sam’s expression hardened, the warmth fading from his eyes. “Protect her from what? The truth? From you?”
The words struck Bucky like a punch, leaving him exposed, vulnerable in a way he fucking hated. He knew Sam was right, but admitting that was like swallowing broken glass.
“I was going to tell her,” Bucky muttered, the words weak even to his own ears, flimsy excuses for his failure.
Sam’s gaze sharpened, eyebrows raised in doubt. “Were you?” he asked, voice laced with scepticism. “Or were you just hoping she’d never find out?”
Bucky stared at the floor, words caught in his throat as shame rose like a frostbite nipping on his cheeks. He knew the answer, even if he couldn’t bring himself to say it. 
He had hoped for that once, but that hope had been selfish, born out of a desperation he was too terrified to confront.
“If you love her,” Sam continued, “you’ve got to own up to it.”
“How do I even begin?” Bucky shook his head, hands fisting at his sides as he tried to hold onto the last shreds of his resolve. “I wasn’t in a good place back then. I didn’t know how to… handle things. I didn’t even want to let her in. But now? Now, I—”
Happy interrupted him, a gentle understanding in his voice. “Then tell her that.”
Bucky’s head lowered, eyes fixed on the ground. Sam shook his head, frustration etched deep in his features.
“Come on,” Sam said, voice softer but tainted with disappointment. “You can’t expect her to fill in the blanks. You can’t keep pretending like the past doesn’t matter just because it’s easier for you.”
Bucky’s fists tightened, his frustration slowly bleeding away, leaving behind a hollow space in his chest.
Finally, Bucky looked up, deep lines of exhaustion etched on his forehead. “What if she doesn’t want me anymore?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Sam furrowed his eyebrows, pity in his voice. “That’s not for you to decide.”
It wasn’t just anger anymore. It was an overwhelming regret, a bitter knowledge that he had robbed you of something he himself had fought for— choice. He had taken away your ability to choose for yourself, just as Hydra had taken it from him. They had stripped him of his free will, turned him into a weapon, a shell of a man. And now, unknowingly, in your most vulnerable state he’d done the same to you. 
It almost didn’t matter that he meant well.
He had spent so long trying to protect you from his past, trying to keep you safe from the darkness that lived inside him. But all he’d done was push you closer to his guilt.
He’d let his love for you warp into something possessive— he’d let it twist into the worst kind of love.
Suddenly, a piercing alarm blared throughout the compound. Red emergency lights started flaring as FRIDAY’s voice echoed coldly through the speakers. 
“Intruder detected at Hangar One.”
Bucky’s head snapped up, a sick, sudden dread forming in his gut. He and Sam exchanged a single glance before they broke into a sprint down the hallway. Behind them, Happy picked the tablet back up, “Show me cameras, FRIDAY.”
“Cameras in Hangar One are damaged,” FRIDAY’s voice cut in.
Bucky’s stomach twisted. He knew who it was before he even reached the hangar— knew it with a certainty that terrified him to his core.
They skidded to a stop at the open doors of the hangar just as the quinjet’s engines roared to life, its sleek outline gleaming under the overhead lights. There you were, your hands gripping the controls, eyes fixed on the holographic map.
For one heartbreaking second, you looked up just as Bucky reached the hangar entrance. 
Your eyes met his through the glass, and in that instant, Bucky felt his world collapse. 
The look on your face was one he knew he would never forget: a storm of emotions—hurt, betrayal, sorrow, and the faintest hint of something like goodbye.
He raised a hand as if he could reach you, almost pleading, but you were already looking away, turning back to the controls as if you couldn’t bear to see him one second longer.
“No,” he whispered, voice raw and breaking, the word swallowed by the whine of the engines.
The quinjet began to rise, and for a second, he thought you might stop. That maybe there was still time to make things right, to find the words— that you’d let him explain. But then the jet shimmered, the cloaking system engaged, vanishing into the air.
A haunting  silence filled the hangar as the engines faded to the distance.
Bucky’s arm dropped, his chest feeling like it had been ripped open. He felt Sam’s hand on his shoulder, but it did little to stop the despair clawing through him. 
He had lost you before.
But this time, he was afraid he might have lost you forever.
-to be continued...
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