#only tearing up once in a while enough for people to be wondering what the fuck was up

[short-honey-badger]

Doll

Pairings: Shanks x Female Reader

Summary: Shanks meets an escaped slave from Marie Geois and swears to teach her how to live.

Notes* hey lovelies. As you can see from the oneshots, I'm finally back in action. I hope you enjoy the start of my new series that I'm planning to help me really get going. Expect some protective Shanks and some darker elements. Pretty fast pace just cause that how I enjoy writing him lol. I've really missed writing for him and sharing works with you wonderful people. Anyway, enjoy! ❤️

Doll Masterlist

There aren't many things that could surprise Shanks on the Grand Line anymore, but the woman that sat at the bar could definitely be considered a good one. He didn't recognize her, but he could tell that she was in a league above the other patrons that sat around the bar. She sat in the back corner, a bottle of booze sat on the table in front of her that she occasionally took a pull from. Shanks sat at the front and got the attention of the bartender.

“Who's she?” He asked and the man shrugged as he cleaned a dingy glass.

“Dunno. She blew in a couple of days ago. She pays, so I don't ask questions.”

Shanks huffed and ordered a drink for himself, “And whatever she's been drinking, too.”

Drinks in hand, Shanks stood from the bar and ambled over to the table where the woman sat. He plonked the bottle down and, head tilting to the side, “This seat taken?”

You looked up, blinking rapidly as if coming out of a daze and gave the redhead a smile once you focused on the ale he'd sat beside your empty one. “Is now.”

Shanks grinned and plonked down in the chair opposite you and leaned back and eyed you from under his bangs, “You from about here?”

The woman shakes her head, a mysterious little smirk painting her lips, “Nope. And I can tell that you aren’t either.”

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing in thought before her eyes brighten like a bulb has gone off, “You’re Shanks, right?”

The emperor huffs and gestures to himself, “You caught me.”

He doesn’t expect the woman to go quiet, an almost contemplative look about her as she shifts in her chair. He can’t help but lean in, curious despite himself.

“Maybe you could help me out then?” You murmur and flick your eyes up to meet his own. Shanks is surprised to see the desperation lingering there, hidden behind the self-assurdness that you seem to wear like a second skin. What would a girl like you need help with?

“Alright, I’ll bite. Tell me what’s going on. Don’t let my money go to waste though, doll,” he murmurs and gestures to the untouched ale that he’d brought over. You smile in thanks and take a sip, wetting your mouth as you get ready to spill. You can only hope that the emperor will accept.

With shaking hands you reach up and unbutton the top few notches of your shirt, just enough to expose your left shoulder where the brand still tugs uncomfortably at your skin. Even though you’ve had the brand for years now, you’ll never get used to the sickening way it pulls at your skin. The constant reminder that you were owned.

Shanks sucks in a sharp breath, the brand of a slave staring back at him in before he tears his eyes away and looks back at you, “How’d you escape?”

You grimace and button back up, eyes flinty, “My old master,” you hiss the word in disgust, “Sent me on an errand in Sabaody so I took my chance. That was about a month ago now. They’re stil looking for me.”

“Who got your off the archipelago?” Shanks asks and downs half his tankard of rum in one go. He’s met slaves before while visiting the string of islands, but with Silvers there, Shanks steered clear most of the time unless he happened to drift close. The though that even after all that Fisher Tiger had done, the Celestial Dragons still kidnapped and baught slaves. It disgusted the emperor to have seen that brand on a woman like you.

You shrug and bite your bottom lip. You busy your hands by playing with the ring of condensation that the bottle of ale has left behind, “Didn’t really catch their names. I stowed away the first ship I could find and I’ve been drifting ever since. I just… I can’t go back to that place Shanks. I don’t want them to find me.”

Shanks doesn’t know what makes him reach out, but he takes both your hands in his own, and wow, you were such a small thing weren’t you? He squeezes your palms and gives you a confident grin to hide the rage that threatens to erupt like an active volcano. He may have just met you, but there is a feeling in the pit of his stomach that tells him that he’d met someone special. Someone that could change his life, and he finds himself hardpressed to even think of letting you slip away from him.

“Don’t worry, doll. I won’t ever let that happen,” Shanks swears, and it’s then that a thought crosses his mind. A blush flushes his face and he peers at you, “Maybe you outta tell me your name, though. Or I could just keep calling you doll. Either works for me.”

Your laugh sends a shot of heat straight to his stomach, and your smile could light up the sky, “My name is _, but you can keep calling me Doll if you’d like.”

Shanks meets your grin with one of his own and then stands, carefully pulling you up with him, “Well, doll. How about you come meet my crew?”

Shanks stays close to you for the rest of the evening, introducing you to each one of his crewmates and pointing out what they do aboard the ship. You smile and make conversation, though some of it is stilted and awkward, like you aren’t sure how to talk to someone so casually. You loosen up after a couple more drinks, and find yourself leaning against your new captain, bottom lip stuck between your teeth as you watch the crew’s antics.

“I don’t want to be a burden to you, Shanks. Do you think that you could teach me?”

Your voice is soft, breath featherlight against his skin, and Shanks thinks that he would do anything for you in that moment. Instead, he tips a bottle of rum up to his lips and takes a deep swig before he answers.

“Sure, sweetheart. What do you want to know?’

Your eyes burn with a sort of determination that the emperor doesn’t see often, and it makes anticipation well up in his chest as you lick your lips and look at him.

“Everything, Shanks. I want to know everything.”

He sets the bottle away so that he can give you his full attention. He can feel the air thicken, the winds and sea changing as he dips his head and reaches out to cup your face in his hand. He swipes his thumb along your jaw, then your chin, eyes never leaving your own.

“Then that’s what I’ll do, Doll. I’ll teach you how to live, yeah?”

[chimivx]

“…i want you, bless my soul…”

Four months.

You met him on your first day in your first class, your professor the agitated type, the kind that gave you piles of homework with every lesson. He sat beside you, slipping into his chair right before the syllabus slid onto the table in front of you.

Dark hair cut short in the back lived a little more free in the front, on the top, growing into a messier, curlier mop as the weeks drew by, on and on. Tall, broad, and most definitely strong as hell, he was gorgeous. There simply wasn’t any other word for it, he walked into class every week with his golden skin aglow no matter where the sun lived in the sky. You’d be lying if you said your stomach didn’t twist in knots watching his wide eyes scan the room, standing there near the doorway in a white t-shirt and dark blue denim jeans clasped to his waist with a leather belt.

What in the fucking Calvin Klein ad just walked in here?

Don’t sit next to me, don’t sit next to me, please don’t-

He wore Dior Sauvage, just enough of it to charm your eyes in his direction, the two of your glances meeting for only a few seconds, yet long enough to know that this was going to be a long semester.

After that first week, that first class, he showed up on time, sometimes even earlier than you, and sure enough he’d be in that seat and he’d offer you the tiniest smile while he pushed in his chair to let you pass behind him.

Did he own any clothes that fit?

It felt like every week he’d have on a new shirt that clung to him like seran wrap, every little chiseled sculpted by Michaelangelo notch in his body, his chest, completely and utterly visible. As if he didn’t know it, more than enough time in class he’d spend with his hands behind his head, his biceps tightening in his sleeves, bulging beneath the fabric that you waited to see rip.

Too often you’d have to tear your eyes away, too lost in wonder as to what kind of marvel sat beside you. Six foot something, perfectly built, not only did his appearance alone catch you off guard, but his ability to be so gentle. A smiley, sappy giant full of tooth rotting sweetness. Each raise of his hand, how he toyed with his pen between his firm fingers, the way he’d listen to other people speak — his eyebrows pulling up in the center, his eyes widening with wonder. He’d keep to his space, never once invading yours. Respectful, he knew to say hello, goodbye, would ask you quiet questions, like what page number you were on, and he’d give you thanks into oblivion.

It wasn’t until a month or so had passed that you realized it. One morning you stood in front of the mirror for too long, put a little too much effort into your makeup, into your hair. Spritzing a bottle of perfume to your wrist that you saved for special occasions, when the glass tapped back onto the shelf and you dabbed your wrists together, you gasped.

Damn.

Swapping the lacey sweater for something more casual, you know, for class, you pulled half of your hair up and back, letting some of it hang forward, praying to anyone who’d help that it didn’t look like you woke up before your alarm to get ready for a class you half cared about.

He noticed.

He sat down, walking in a few minutes after you, and his eyes lingered in your direction. Not that you could tell, nor were you paying attention, you were sitting backward in your chair with your nose in your phone. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t good at being nonchalant like you’d been for nearly two months now.

Besides, it didn’t work. He didn’t say a word the entire class, only his hello and his goodbye.

It didn’t upset you. That’s what you told yourself, the lies you fed your brain to pretend to feel better. It didn’t upset you, he was a boy in a class you didn’t see anywhere else on campus. He probably had a girlfriend. Look at him, listen to him, he definitely has a girlfriend.

By the next class you were back to the usual, the snoozed my alarm twice before getting up in a rush, a hoodie and baggy jeans. Hair thrown up, makeup minimal, you accepted your fate.

You weren’t expecting him to be in the room first, you’ve narrowed down his time frame of entry, typically within ten minutes of the lecture starting depending on when you’d arrive. He was five minutes too early. Giving him the tightest smile, you shimmied behind his chair and mimicked his greeting, shoving yourself into your seat, not prepared for fifteen minutes of silence with him beside you.

Nose in phone, nose in phone.

It was all you could do to keep from gawking, for some reason he was fresher than normal. Black t-shirt, denim jacket on the back of his chair, silver jewelry hanging off of him. He wore a different cologne, one you couldn’t pick out, but god it was delicious you wanted to lick it straight off his neck. He definitely sprayed it to his wrists too, typical, you could lick it off of him there too, why not. Maybe even his chest. No- anything beneath that shirt that should be squeezing the air out of his lungs was lethal, how was every muscle visible? How could he walk around like that, he had to know that-

“Did you do the homework?”

Great.

You didn’t dress yourself up to keep the giddy high school level crush on the DL, but the way you jumped at his words and your cheeks warmed definitely helped. And, yes, you were staring.

“I, uh, yeah, I did.”

If he noticed anything, he didn’t show it.

“Mind if I see it to make sure I got it right? You’re better at this than I am.”

Juvenile, all of it, from the way he checked his answers to the way he slid your notebook back over to you with a shake of his head. Nothing else was shared, the class had begun and he focused on your irritating professor who assigned similar homework for the third week in a row.

Holding onto the way he spoke to you, the soft tone, the warmth in his eyes, the subtle graveliness he forced but then got rid of when he answered questions aloud, you truly felt seventeen years old all over again.

He asked you a question.

He talked to you.

Did he spend more time on how he looked for you?

No, it’s for his girlfriend. The one he definitely has.

The girlfriend that he-

“Whatever perfume you had on last week… I liked it.”

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t wait around for you to say anything. He scooped his books into his arms, and he walked out of the classroom, leaving you in absolute shambles. Nerves lived within you for a week, so many nights spent lying awake thinking about him, what he said to you, what you were going to do. If you wear the perfume again you’re setting yourself up for exposure, you may as well just tell him you have a crush on him to his face. But, then again, if you didn’t wear it, you’d lose his interest. He wouldn’t think you had an interest in him, and what if he told you that because he does have an interest in you?

Oh god.

What if he knows?

You wore the perfume. One spritz of it over your heart before you left your room, enough that he’d just be able to tell if he paid as much attention as he suddenly seemed to be.

Early again, beating you to a class you tried to get to even earlier today, you did not miss the small smile that pulled at his lips as you slipped behind his chair. It was the only thing shared all class, a smile somewhere in between lessons when he caught your eye. He had that same cologne on, the one from last week, the one that had you envisioning what it’d be like to have your tongue dragging all over his body, it was hard to not look at him.

Oh, he definitely knew.

And so it began.

For another month, perfume and cologne alike, worn every class, you started to share more than smiles. He’d lean your way for questions and answers, would ask about the homework, the assignments, sometimes when he didn’t even need it, asking for an answer he already had scribbled on his paper. Fighting the nerves, the way your belly filled with butterflies and did cartwheels within you, you started to share more than just classroom talk. While you worked you chatted, you learned where he was from, where he came from, where you came from and why you both were here.

He was funny.

Funny in the way he didn’t know he was funny, oftentimes asking you what he did to make you laugh like that. You’d cover your mouth and pray the giggles away, unable to tell him how adorable he really was.

He filled every shoe you profiled him with. Kind, sweet, funny, gentle giant.

Chiseled chest his cologne, the one you loved, radiated from.

But you didn’t figure that out until the following month.

Month four.

Four months was all it took, and he was yours.

Class whispers turned into coffee dates. Coffee dates turned into homework dates, which turned into dinner dates.

By the end of the third you were wrapped in his sheets, wrapped in him, cologne on your tongue and lips pressed to his, whispering confessions of how long you liked each other but both felt too nervous to say anything. Reveling in pride, that you weren’t as obvious as you thought yourself to be, his sparkling grin overtook his face and he whispered two words that cradled your heart.

“I knew.”

[icharchivist]

Your playtime of and love for FFVII transcends time, you heard it here first folks

Obviously 😎

though you jest but i still think a lot about the fact i replayed Crisis Core so many times on different PSP, knowing i usually take ~80 hours per playthrough, but unable to tell you how many times i played this game, so in fact my hours poured into ff7 are in fact transcending time completely because god knows how many hours i played that game. not me!!!! for sure!!!

[vroomvro0mferrari]

LN4 | Win & Woo

Summary: Congratulating Lando after his first race win is a lot more difficult than you expected. When you finally get the chance to, he reacts differently than you anticipated.

Lando Norris x best friend!Reader

WC: 3.1K

Warnings: Cursing, making out

Masterlist

You’re watching from the garage as Lando drives around the track. You keep your eyes on the screen in front of you as you bite your nails. You don’t think you’ve ever been this nervous before. Lando has been leading the race for over twenty laps now, and it’s only a few more until he wins – his first win. Your heart is beating out of your chest as your eyes are locked on Max’s gap to Lando, not even paying attention to everything else that’s happening on track. You’re grinning widely, barely keeping in your excitement, when you see the number get larger at every glance. You’re trying to calm yourself down, to not get too excited too early because you know from earlier experiences that everything can go wrong in one split second, even on the last laps, but there’s no rain today.

You hear the commentators speaking in the background as you stare at the TV. Every time they say something about how this might be Lando’s first win, your heart skips a beat, mentally scolding them not to jinx this wonderful opportunity. Your focused gaze on the screen doesn’t falter as Lando starts his last lap. No matter what happens around you, your eyes are pointed that way. You’re fumbling with your fingers and nibbling on your lip anxiously as you watch Lando turn through the last corners, a smile slowly making its way on your face.

Next thing you know, you’re screaming, jumping and cheering as Lando crosses the checkered flag first. You’re smiling so big that your cheeks hurt as you hug Max and cheer with the team. You quickly congratulate the team before rushing to the parc fermé, hoping to congratulate Lando before he’s whisked away for the podium. 

It’s busy – what else did you expect? You can barely work your way through the crowd, but you try anyway, pushing people aside to see your best friend. You can’t see him yet, but you hear the cheers of people as he appears on the big screens nearby. You watch how he’s congratulated by his competitors, as Fernando and Carlos come over to hug him and how Lando takes a sprint to the team awaiting him. He’s got a big smile on his face, a blissed-out look, when he jumps over the fence into the team who’s ready to catch him. 

You’re close enough to see him on top of the crowd of orange, but he can’t see you. That doesn’t mean he’s not trying to, tough. The second he got out of the car, he was searching for you, and that’s what he does as soon as he’s got both his feet on the ground again. But before he can properly look around, Zak has found him, and then Andrea, and in no time he’s led away from where you’re standing. It’s useless for you to fight your way to the front when he’s already gone. So you change your course, quickly move back, and rush to the podium.

You search your way through the seemingly maze-like paddock as you hurry to make it to the podium in time. You can hear the drivers talk about their race over the speakers that are everywhere while you walk and you can hear Lando laughing in the background, but you don’t let it distract you; you’re on a mission. 

When you get to the podium, you’re once again pushing through the crowd in search of a place in front, somewhere Lando can see you. Thankfully, Zak spots you and helps you out, pulling you to stand in front of him where Lando’ll be able to find you. Although Lando hasn’t told him, Zak has caught wind of his secret crush and knows that he’ll probably be searching for you in the crowd of orange.

You cheer and clap politely when Charles and Max walk to their respective podium steps, but you watch with tears in your eyes and pride welling up inside you when Lando runs onto the stage. You clap and cheer as loudly as you can, staring up at him on the highest step. You can see his eyes flitting around in search of you while he pumps his fist through the air. His face lights up with happiness as soon as he finally spots you in the crowd. He winks with a big grin, and your smile grows even more in response. You can’t feel anything but delight at his achievement – the goal he’d been trying to reach ever since he stepped foot into his first kart, his life-long dream. The tears of joy are rolling down your face; you’ve never been so proud. 

He smiles at you from his spot that’s much too far away and sticks up his thumb as if he’s asking you if you’re okay. You laugh at the motion and nod your head. Of course, you’re okay, you’re more than okay, you’re elated.

You admire Lando in his essence. He looks so pretty up there, face turned towards the sun with his eyes closed, soaking in his victory. He wipes under his eyes, and while some might question whether it's sweat or tears he’s wiping away, you know it’s the latter.

You cheer when the anthem ends, and then again when he throws the trophy up, nearly gasping in shock when you see it flying through the air. It would be such a Lando thing to break his first P1 trophy, but he catches it in time and places it securely on the ground, although it’s not necessarily safe there either.

You can’t seem to take your eyes off him, not when Andrea’s handed his trophy, or when Max gets his. And when Charles receives his prize, your gaze is still focused on Lando. But then again, he’s staring at you too. Your eye contact is so intense that Lando doesn’t see the champagne coming. Absolutely shocked at the cold beverage that’s sprayed on his face. And even if he had seen it coming, he would’ve had no time to react to how fast Max and Charles were targeting him.

He’s wiping his face, this time not because of tears (or sweat), but to get the slightly burning alcohol out of his eyes. His hands are slippery when he shakes the big bottle of champagne before slamming it. He can’t see that well right now, but that doesn’t mean he can’t aim well. He grins when he hears you squeak at the cold fluid, even though he doesn’t see your reaction with his head turned away.

Your eyes follow Lando’s every move as he wipes the champagne from his face and takes a sip before spraying the bottle again. You can’t help but admire him like this. He looks so happy up there, smiling in joy while he and his colleagues cover each other in champagne. His beaming smile and damp hair, which is curling more than ever, make him look so beautiful, too. You know you shouldn’t be thinking like this – he’s your best friend, but you can’t help it when he looks so pretty up there.

After he has his picture taken, he makes eye contact with you again. He nods his face towards the side, eyebrows raised, silently asking you to meet up with him and you nod in response. Quickly leaving the podium and making your way to the motorhome, you feel Lando’s eyes pricking your back. He feels so lucky, so incredibly lucky, to have you here with him. He can’t believe that you chose to fly out here for him, that you care about him so much that you’d fly around the world just to watch him work. He’s overjoyed to have you here with him to celebrate his first Formula 1 win; to have his best friends here, although he secretly wishes you were more than that.

Lando finishes his duties as quickly as possible, rushing through all the polite talks with the team members, celebrities and competitors so he can go to you. He gets antsier every time someone stops him on his way to his driver’s room, and when Zak stops him to have an extensive talk about his amazing performance, and how much he deserved it, he’s had enough.

“Sorry, Zak, but can we do this later? Y/N’s waiting in my driver’s room and I really want to celebrate with her right now. I haven’t been able to talk to her yet, and-”

Zak grins while Lando rants. He knows there’s more than friendship between you and Lando, and Lando’s current behaviour is only proving him right. 

“Of course, Lan. Enjoy the moment!” He says grinning, patting Lando on the back before pushing him in the right direction.

Lando thanks him before rushing off. Now that he’s finally out of the grasp of the needy people at the podium, he’s basically running through the paddock to get to you as quickly as possible. Completely overheating from the Miami sun, he unzips his race suit before entering the garage. He shakes hands with the team members he comes across, accepting their congratulations with a hasty smile, and hugs Oscar when he runs into him but doesn’t pay them much attention otherwise.

Lando doesn’t even take a moment to calm his mind before rushing into his driver’s room. You squeal in surprise when the door smashes into the wall, and Lando lifts you up into the air before you can catch a look at him. He squeezes you tightly to him as he twirls the both of you, your arms wrapped around his neck so you don’t fall.

You giggle at the feeling of his face pressed into your neck as he slowly settles you onto the floor. Not wanting to let go of Lando yet, you slide one hand over his back as the other combs through his hair while you stay close. The champagne covering his curls makes your hand sticky, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You can smell the sweet alcohol on him as he leans his head on your shoulder and sighs.

The big smile on your face refuses to fade as you whisper, “You won”. You can feel Lando’s cheeks pressing against your shoulder as a smile takes place on his face. Running a hand through his hair once more, you feel the happy tears rolling down your face again. You move your hands away from Lando so you can wipe your face as you sniffle. Lando’s head lifts as soon as he feels the weight of your hands disappear. Holding your waist and gazing into your eyes, he asks, “Are you crying?” with a teasing smile on his face.

You punch his shoulder and roll your eyes, “Shut up!” 

You wipe under your eyes again before sighing, “I’m just so proud of you,” you say, arms hanging limply at your sides.

Lando stares at you intensely, his silly smile still on his face. His gaze is so penetrating that you nearly feel the need to look away. Lando is oblivious to how piercing his eye contact is, only focused on the thoughts that are racing through his mind. No person would cry at the achievements of their best friend, right? Max wouldn’t be crying right now, that’s for sure. Does that mean that maybe you see him as more than a friend? He certainly hopes so. Lando can feel the adrenaline running through his body as he looks at you, it’s pushing him to do things he’s not sure will work out well. He doesn’t want to ruin your friendship, but he wants to kiss you more.

Lando smiles at you, wiping your cheeks clean while he watches you. His hand rests on the side of your face while the other slides down to your hip, where he pulls you in close. He banishes all the thoughts from his head and kisses you with full conviction, with no hesitation (or thoughts) in his brain as he lets his body take over.

His lips move against yours aggressively while his hands grapple to pull you closer. He grips your hip tightly and uses it as leverage to press your body against his while his other hand moves from your cheek to the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair. The feeling is heavenly, something he has wanted to feel for so long. It feels so right to kiss you, and to feel your body against his.

He’s completely lost in his passion and adoration for you as he kisses you. Meanwhile, you’re in shock. You didn’t expect Lando to kiss you, especially not as fervently as he did. Your surprise left you frozen, completely unmoving, apart from Lando’s hands pulling you nearer. The firmness of your body doesn’t mean the kiss is unwanted, though. In fact, you’re just about to pull Lando closer when he realises your unresponsiveness. His mind switches back on and races faster than his car a moment ago. Fuck – you don’t want this. You’re too polite to stop him, but you don’t want this. He just screwed everything up. Once it dawns on him, he pushes you away so fast you think you’ll have a whiplash.

Your hands are still up in the air where they were about to touch Lando’s chest as you stare at him in shock. He runs his hands across his face in frustration at his fuck-up as he avoids your gaze. He turns away from you, so you can only see his back, his very muscled back, as he sighs and mumbles to himself.

He turns around to face you. You can see the guilt in his eyes when he tries to explain, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that” 

You stay quiet as you process Lando’s confession. Why is he apologising? 

He sighs once more at your silence, running his hand over his face, again. He looks up at you through his lashes but doesn’t say anything. You’re about to respond when he continues, “No, fuck it. I’m not sorry. I love you.”

“Lando,” you tell him, breathlessly. You step closer to him and smooth your hands over his shoulders and towards his chest, “kiss me?”

You don’t have to say that twice. Lando grabs your waist as his lips meet yours in another rough kiss while your hands shoot up to hold his face. He pushes you up against the door as he nibbles on your lip. You moan softly at the feeling of Lando’s body against you, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You can taste the champagne on his tongue when you kiss him back just as passionately.

Your hands find their respective place in Lando’s hair again and you pull on the curls softly, earning a quiet groan in reward. The sound gets you hot, and it doesn’t help when Lando lets his hands wander over your body. He squeezes your ass gently before hoisting you up and you immediately wrap your legs around him in reflex.

Lando leaves you panting when he moves his kisses from your mouth to your jaw. He manages to pull another moan from you when he sucks on the skin behind your ear. Softly biting before soothingly licking the soft skin, most definitely leaving a mark behind. But that’s exactly his goal, his plan even, as he sucks love bites along your neck. And as much as you love the feeling and don’t want to think about anything but Lando in this moment, the thoughts of leaving the paddock later with the race winner, and the amount of paparazzi that’ll want a picture of him, penetrate your mind. So, you push Lando away from your skin.

“Lan,” you gasp, “we should stop.”

It takes a few seconds for Lando to get his mind back into the right headspace, a headspace in which not every thought is obsessed with you. He stares at you with hazy eyes, and you stare back. Dear God, it’s hard not to kiss him again when he looks like this, with his hair wet from the champagne and messy from your hands and his lips swollen and red from your heated kiss. You nearly let out another moan at the sight, but bite your lip to prevent it.

“Baby, don’t bite your lip if you don’t want me to kiss you,” Lando says hoarsely.

“Sorry.”

You’re both panting while you stare at each other. Neither of you is sure how to continue now. Lando admitted he loves you, should you say it back now? You do love him, but maybe you should wait until he says something. Does this mean you’re dating now? Is he your boyfriend, or do you have to ask first? It’s so unnecessarily confusing and complicated.

“I love you,” you finally admit.

Lando smiles at the confession, “You do, huh?” He says cockily. 

You punch his shoulder again, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like… I don’t know. You’re all smug about it, but you said you loved me first, so I win.”

He laughs at your response, “Sure baby, you win.”

You smile at him, “So, does this mean you’re my boyfriend now?”

Lando has a big grin on his face now while he stares at you adoringly, “Yes, if you want me to be,” he says sweetly.

“I want you to be,” you murmur, fiddling with the strands of hair that are falling into his face.

“Good, because I want you to be my girlfriend,” he responds, pulling your chin up.

You smile a big grin at his admission. 

“So, now that that’s settled, can I kiss my girlfriend?” Lando asks with a cheeky smile, to which you merely nod in response.

Lando pulls you closer by your chin, gently placing his lips back on yours. This time, you can feel him smile against your lips while he kisses you softly and lovingly. Nevertheless, the kiss is passionate and lustful. How could it be anything other than that when this was the best day of his life. He just won his first Formula 1 race and got the girl. There's absolutely nothing that could ruin this perfect day, he's sure of it.

[chuluoyi]

everything, but not anything

- gojo satoru x reader

you were his last remainder of the happiest blue spring in his life, until your untimely demise. and on the death's door, he finally found you again.

genre/warnings: angsty wangsty, consolation towards the end

notes: i said i can't create gojo fics without feeling depressed, so here i present to you, angst. it's inspired from a thread in twitter i read about how gojo was given everything but he couldn't do anything and my heart just incredibly hurts and―this happened. it's unedited because the idea popped into my mind at 1 in the morning

i wrote this while listening to this wonderful song. consider it the theme song for this piece. i highly recommend you to read this and listen to it!

[update] sequel -> found you

general masterlist

You were so pretty. So really pretty, in fact. And he likes pretty things. Perhaps that was what spurred him to spontaneously ask you out.

You declined him at first―after all, he was a special grade weirdo. And you half-expected him to give up soon enough, only that he didn't. He persisted like a cockroach, smothering you with his very being. Then like a sweet romance novel, you too finally fell for him, melting at his clumsy attempts to woo you.

And by God, you were happy together. To Satoru, it was the brightest, most vibrant page in his life. And with his very being, he would do everything he could to protect you. After all, he was blessed with the best, he had all means to protect you.

He should've known better.

It started with his failed star plasma vessel mission. Riko was dead, and at that time he was just numb. Later, he made excuses. He couldn't have foreseen that a sorcerer killer would join the fray and made a mess of things.

But then his best friend, Suguru, left. Satoru couldn't make excuses any longer. For that, he was wholly responsible. From then, he realized that just being strong wasn't enough. And throughout those dark days, you were with him, consoling him as you brought his head to your chest, letting him sleep in your arms.

"Don't ever leave me, okay?" he whispered at the dead of the night with hoarse voice. It made your heart sting. You nodded and ran your fingers throughout his hair, mumbling a soft "of course."

And you never did. You were always by his side.

Satoru was really grateful for that. To have the last years of your life by his side. Looking back, it was like a beautiful mirage.

He had hidden himself behind the facade of the strongest. The unreachable. Untouchable. It felt nice, still is. Before he had known it, he had drawn this line between himself and other people. Between him and you. He wasn't lonely, but he was at the very same time.

And perhaps he had gotten way too arrogant, and thus the heavens decided to humble him.

He couldn't prevent the Shibuya Incident from happening. Worse, he fell into the enemy's hand and got sealed, and just before he was trapped inside that accursed box, he saw you die. And even after the most excruciating 19 days of his life afterwards, he couldn't do anything about it.

Your face haunted him. The tears you shed for him still lingered at the tips of his fingertips. The blood from your mouth still soaked his vision.

"Satoru..." you croaked. You were afraid. Afraid of dying, but most of all, afraid of leaving him. You had promised him once, on the bunkbed of your dorms back in Jujutsu High, that you wouldn't leave him. Tears wouldn't stop falling from your beautiful eyes.

Satoru burned that image on his mind. He wanted to hate himself with every fiber of his being, but then you said the most damnable thing possible.

"Thank you... for everything..."

And you had a smile on your face. In your last moments, you decided to convey how much he meant to you in this life. How much you cherished him. You prayed with all your heart that it would reach him.

And once again, just like the first day he saw you at the training grounds of Jujutsu High, Satoru found you to be really breathtaking. You were beautiful even as you laid dying. Even as his visions were obscured as he fell into the darkness.

Inside the prison realm where time passed long and uncertain, he made himself numb once again.

You were his most cherished figment of the most precious memory held in his heart―the three years of his youth. He wouldn't have changed anything about it. He was devastated, severely so, but so did the sweetness aftertaste he felt.

Your feelings reached him, and because of that, even if the road ahead was long and hard and painful, he would stay on that road.

If it meant he could meet you again on the other side of this dream... he'd stay and move towards tomorrow, no matter how bleak it was.

When his comrades freed him from the prison realm, he gained knowledge that most people he knew were also dead during his absence. Nanami. Yaga. The students.

Perhaps it was his curse. To be blessed with everything, but not being able to do anything about it.

He had nothing more to lose when he fought against Sukuna. He gave it his all. Everything his life had led him to―he put it all on the line.

And suddenly―suddenly, he was back to the happiest chapter of his youth. Everyone was there. Suguru was there. Nanami, Haibara, even Riko.

And you.

On the other side of that dream, you were once again standing before him, in your old uniform, just like when you’d get ready for a class so many years ago, and with the smile he fell in love with. The smile he would gladly fight the world for.

"Satoru," you called, breathless, but just like before you left him the first time, you frowned and your eyes suddenly glistened with tears. "Why... are you here? How did you―"

But you choked back your tears when he ran to you and pulled you into his arms so tightly. You heard him grunt, and then to your surprise, slightly sob.

Now he is no longer Gojo Satoru, the strongest. He is back to a young sorcerer wanting so badly to live his youth to the fullest, happiest.

"You lied to me," he reprimanded you amidst his weeping. "You left. You freaking left―"

Your vision blurred. "I'm sorry..."

Satoru let you go to have a good look at you. You were no longer bleeding. Your insides were intact. Just a little crying because you couldn't help it.

"I love you, you know that right?" he blurted with the most sullen expression he could muster. He turned back into the child-boy you somehow fell in love with.

"Satoru," you breathed out, anxious. "You shouldn't be here―"

"I should," he cut you with a firm tone. "I have no regrets. I have done what I can, and now―"

"But the others―they need you! They need you, Satoru."

He drooped his head. He had thought it over too, but he had come to a final conclusion. "No. They don't."

Maybe it was finally the time to let go of it. It was time to just... pass it over. No more interventions. No more tipping the balance of the world itself.

Immediately, you understand what he means. Gojo Satoru has served his purpose. There was nothing left that he must and could do.

"You waited long, huh?" you whispered with tears, yet a smile bloomed on your face.

"I did."

"Then... now that you're here," you offered your hand towards him, and then looked at the faces of your friends. They were all beaming at you and him, waiting for this exact moment.

You stared at him fondly, lovingly.

"Would you... walk this road with me once again?"

Satoru snapped his head. He nodded at you with pure certainty, zero hesitation. "Yes."

He took your hand, grasping it tightly in his.

"Even when there's a possibility that you have to walk to the other side of a nightmare again?”

"I would," Satoru resolutely replied.

Because it's you, he would. He'd willingly and gladly cross the throes of hell and set out on this lonely yet hopeful journey, just to meet you.

You chuckled at him heartily, and Satoru felt the immense love he held for you as the two of you walked towards tomorrow, without regrets.

It may be his curse, to have everything yet nothing at the same time. But each time he would be faced with this decision, he'd remember that feeling and let go of everything just for this very chance to live a life with you again.

[alchemistc]

Buck's halfway through his third cup of startlingly bad coffee when Josh pushes the door to the breakroom open, looking mildly concerned in the half second before someone else looms over his shoulder.

He's too numb to do much more than take another sip of coffee as he watches Josh usher Tommy in.

The door clicks shut behind him. Buck wonders for a moment if Tommy's ever actually been to the new dispatch headquarters before. If he ever went to the old one, charming grin on his face while he waited for Abby to finish up so he could take her out, drive her home while her car was in the shop - but no, Tommy would have worked on it himself, maybe.

Had Josh recognized him, that first time, with half of his soot on Buck's face, and just never said anything?

The silence is tense. They're in a fishbowl, no room to lash out even if either of them wanted to because more than half the people working in this place can see them if they just tip their head to the side.

"How can I help?"

It's - his voice is strained, scared, worried. Buck doesn't have a single guess as to how he knows. Maybe Bobby. It's the only person he can think of who would have -.

Buck snorts. "I rebounded with a serial killer who just kidnapped my sister and my baby niece or nephew. I don't - I'm not sure what you want."

He glances up just in time to see the end of Tommy's grimace. Good. He's not sure how much more disastrous of a choice he could have made to try to get Tommy out of his system, but at least it hurts him to know. At least...

"Do you want me to go?"

Buck can't remember anyone asking, before. Usually they just... leave. Get up, walk out, disappear. Tommy bubbled Buck five times in three months. Buck went through seven bags of flour before he drove Eddie to the airport.

His voice shakes on his "No," and Tommy is there, all of the sudden, his hand hovering just over Buck's shoulder, like he realized halfway there it might not be welcome. "Do you still think I need to keep looking for someone better than you?"

It'd been seeing Tommy out with a guy that'd prompted him to stop fucking baking and make an effort to just...get over it But with Eddie away, and the rest of the 118 so wrapped up in their lives, there weren't a whole lot of outlets for that. And it's been easy to willfully misinterpret Tommy's breakup speech. Or - interpret it in the most hurtful way possible.

"Is this what you want to do right now?" Tommy asks, even and measured. "Will this help?"

"I want my sister back!"

Tommy takes a step back. His hands shift to his pockets, and Buck just wants -

"Why are you here?"

He tips his head up. Holds Tommy's gaze. Tommy flounders in a way Buck's never seen before.

He looks - tired. Good. White Henley under a flannel Buck had always told him brought out his eyes. The jeans Buck had stolen once or twice because they made his ass look good. His hair's grown in at the sides, and the sprinkling of greys are more obvious than the last time he'd seen it this length.

"I just... didn't want you to be alone."

Tears threaten at the corners of his eyes. He wants to laugh, but he's terrified if he starts he won't be able to hold in the fear. "When did that change?"

Tommy gnaws on his cheek. "You have so many people, Buck. You have -."

"I don't want emotional repression Tommy here, so if you're just here to keep me distracted until someone else can be here you should just... go."

Something flashes in his gaze. Anger, maybe. Terror.

"Please let me stay."

It hurts, to hear it. It hurts to hear the trepidation in his voice as he says it. Buck just wants to pull him in, tuck his face into the curve of his neck, soak in the warmth of his arms.

Buck spends too long staring at his knees. Long enough for Tommy to shift, to sigh, to nod his head decisively out of the corner of Buck's eye.

The word is stuck in his throat. Has been for months, since Tommy looked at him with teary eyes and walked away.

"I won't be able to let you go again."

He's already half turned away. Buck can only see half his expression as his eyes dip closed. He swallows. Nods, again.

Buck can't watch him push back through that door, so he stares at the toes of his boots until his vision starts to blur.

A second pair of toes swim into his eyeline. A hand shifts through his curls, snagging on knots, digging towards his scalp, and he can't quite bite back the sob. The arms that reach for him are warm, big and familiar, and Buck gives himself over to the panic and the fear that have been clawing at his chest for hours now. Tommy says something - whispers it into the air above Buck's head over and over, but Buck can't - he just -

He presses his face into Tommy's stomach, digs his fingers into the back of his shirt, sucks in horrible, gasping breaths. It's not enough. Nothing will be until he's got Maddie in his arms.

But it's more than he had an hour ago.

"Stay," he manages, and Tommy's fingers curl around Buck's neck and hold.

[latenightdaydreams]

Minotaur!König

Story from the poll!

MDNI🔞

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, sacrifice, virginity loss, p in v, breeding kink, captive

1.4k word count

🐂

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Eight of you, four men and four women, were selected from the people of Crete as virgin sacrifices. Your father came to you as you washed clothes, grabbing you by your arm and dragging you with him. A disappointment, never married and never left home. He had seen you being a sacrifice as giving your life meaning. No pleading could stop what has already been put into progress. The King wouldn’t change his mind over some young woman’s tears.

In front of a crowd, you stand with your wrist bound, tied at the waist to the other sacrifices. Family members mourn for their loved ones while others just look at the group with empathy, some even amusement. The man beside you stands shaking more than yourself, his eyes wide with fear. If it weren’t for the restraints, he would have probably run away by now.

You dissociate from the moment; your parents are nowhere to be found in the crowd; you’re completely alone now. This is how it ends for you, walking on trembling legs into the labyrinth. One by one, you were released from your restraints and sent into the darkness. A few people run, the adrenaline in their bodies taking over from fear of certain death. You stand, lingering in the pitch black as you let your senses get used to it.

The loud sounds of people screaming in fear echo off of every corner, you can’t seem to point where anyone is. You stumble in the pitch black, keeping your hands out to feel for anything. Once you find a wall, you walk with your fingers grazing the cold stone. Time doesn’t seem to pass through the labyrinth as you aimlessly wander deeper into its depths.

Everything became quiet after a while. No one has stumbled across the beast and your body begins to grow tired from hours of walking. You wonder if there even is a Minotaur, or if this is just some tall tale and you're meant to starve down here; in a way that almost sounds worse. There is no one around you, so you decide to rest. Your body slides down the wall you’ve been following, letting out a deep sigh.

A loud blood-curdling scream pulls you from your slumber. Your body jerks forward as another scream is let out, followed by a beastly grunt. The Minotaur. All you can do is sit there and listen as one of the people that you came down here with are devoured by him. Silent tears fall down your eyes, knowing that will be your fate, eventually.

Eventually, the screaming stops and you're left with only the sounds of footsteps from people rushing to try to find the way out. While you’re consumed with a hopeless feeling, you know you can’t give up just yet. You stand up and push yourself to keep moving forward.

There is an uneasy feeling that washes over you, as if you’re being followed. You keep looking over your shoulder and holding your breath just to try to hear footsteps but there is nothing. The wall leads you to a head end, another solid cold wall in front of you, forcing you to turn around.

“Hello?” You call out into the darkness before you step forward.

A low huff responds to you as König gets closer, his pale blue eyes seeing you clearly in the pitch black. He can sense your fear as he slowly approaches you, yet you remain still. You aren’t screaming or panicking nor attempting to flee. Soon enough the heat radiation from his massive 8-foot-tall frame radiates over your body, a welcomed feeling in this cold hellscape.

You’re surprisingly calm, accepting death as he stands before you. One of his hands reaches out, touching the soft fabric of the dress that drapes loosely across your body. He tugs gently, stripping it from your body. Instinctively, you move your hands to try and cover up your breasts, but he stops you; a low grunt comes out as if he’s trying to communicate with you, but struggling.

König wraps one arm around your waist, and pulls you to him. His coarse fur rubbing against your delicate skin as his musk consumes your nostrils.  He looks down at you, examining your expression before letting his eyes drift down your body. Another low rumble leaves his throat as his hand drafts lower to caress the supple flesh on your rear. König is still half man, his heart aches for companionship the same way anyone else might.

Almost as if he’s scared to hurt you, he lifts you in his arms and sits down with you on the floor. He nuzzles his massive head against your chest, his long tongue lazily licking across the side of your breasts causing your body to react with desire. You try your best to hold back small whimpers as he flicks over your nipple while his hands caress your whole body.

Underneath your lap you can feel his erection twitch, desperate to be inside of you. He lazily begins to rock you back and forth, holding your hips tightly to keep you in place. Your pussy already soaking wet leaves a trail of your sweet juices along his bare cock. A moan escapes you as your leg twitches from how sensitive your clit is, you’ve never been touched like this before and it all felt like heaven; even if it’s from a beastly man. You caress König, feeling his face up to his horns. When he feels your small hand tug on his horn, he lets out a low growl and thrust his hips up more against you.

In a swift motion he leans back more, lifting your body to position the head of his monstrous cock at the entrance of your virgin pussy. A sudden fear comes over you as you’re faced with the reality that you’re about to be taken by a minotaur. What happens if you tear in half from his size? Or worse, have to bear his children.

Your hands press against his chest as thoughts consume your mind. König holds you tightly, not willing to let you go. It’s not often someone is calm enough to let him approach like this and he’s desperate for your love.

“No.” His voice is gruff and low as he speaks, surprising you. “Mine.”

For a moment you pause, realizing he is more human than you assumed him to be. König pushes up as he sits you down; with his eagerness, your comfort isn’t on his mind. A loud crying moan echoes all around you into the tunnels of the labyrinth as he deflowers you. His eyes flutter closed as he feels how tight you are, your pussy fluttering as you try to adjust to having him inside of you.

His hips thrust up into you at a merciless pace, causing your pained moans to continue as loud grunts harmonize with you. It’s not his intention to hurt you, with his inexperience and strong desire mixed together he just doesn’t even think about any pain he could possibly be causing. The others can hear the thunderous slapping of his hips meeting yours, causing confusion across everyone.

König’s tongue leaves a wet trail across your neck as he tastes you, he can feel your body relax in his hands so his grip relaxes as well. Instead of trying to run from his cock, you bounce in rhythm with his thrust. He rests his head back against the wall and lets go of your hips, allowing you to bounce freely. Your hands reach out to grab his horns again, holding tightly as you bounce slowly at first, getting yourself used to the motion.

His legs jerk slightly, the sight of your breast swirling and the feeling of your pussy devouring his cock. The motions you make are so eager, it’s clear that you’re enjoying this; enjoying him. He’s finally found a mate, a wife, and he isn’t going to let you go.

Your hands hold tightly onto his horns as you bounce your ass on his cock. You surprise yourself as your pussy sits almost all the way down on him. His hands gently trace along your body, committing every piece of you to his memory.

As your movements slow to a stop, he can feel your silky walls clenching even tighter around him. He quickly moves forward to lay your body on the icy floor; he draws his hips back before slamming them into you. Your whole-body trembles underneath him as he watches your eyes flutter, such a beautiful sight to see.

Before he cums, he shoves himself painfully deep into you. The thought of keeping you down here and having a baby of his own excites him, even if it’s selfish. His cock throbs, coating your fertile walls with his seed.

[desireangel]

Infernal Desires | Part One

Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

Synopsis: When your family is caught up in treasonous scandal, the Prince Regent makes an offer that is impossible to refuse. To avoid what certainly would have been death by his sword, your family promises you to a man who is followed by whispers of violence and sin.

Warnings: mdni 18+! Strictly. Dark-ish ??? Aemond! Bad language, reader is implied to be from a certain family but not really, rushed & unedited. Sexual tension, allusions to sex, mentions of death and killing, Aemond gets angry handsy, hair pulling, mention of the noose bc Aemond would never tell just anyone how he feels. This is mainly a word vomit - I am once again incapable of limiting my writing to one part.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: aaand I’m back with a rewrite of an old fic I started last year! hopefully this is somewhat decent to follow along with - I wrote this while severely sleep deprived, stressed about procrastinating my uni work and knackered from work. Let me know if we are even interested in a part 2 or if I’ve missed any warnings!

It is a debt to be paid and an alliance to be made, that is all it is. 

Easy enough for them to say. After all, it was you who suffered from the mistakes of your family and not them. They may as well have left you to the dangers of King’s Landing with nothing more than a shattered dignity and the tears that trailed down your cheeks. 

Shit. Crying wasn’t going to do anything and while you never intend to present yourself as weak to anyone, there was nothing you could do to stop the angry tears that welled in your eyes. You wondered if your parents truly pained to see their daughter cry or if the tremble in your mother’s lip was nothing more than a pretence. 

Your father stared at the ground by your feet. “It was not meant to come to this.”

“But it did. Are you really going to barter me to–”

“We are not bartering you. Stop saying that,” He snapped. “All you will have to do is take the title as his wife and give him children. It cannot be that bad.”

The glare you sent his way was full of malice and rage. How could he say that? You were better than that, smarter than that and the thought of being reduced to who knows what that man had in store for you as his wife - they may as well have cut your tongue out and made you a slave. Knowing that your family, whom you loved endlessly, were so sure of selling you so easily to a cruel man like Aemond Targaryen caused a dull ache in your chest. 

It seemed hard to breathe through the betrayal, your chest heavy with deceit and heartbreak. Had you known what your father had been planning, you could have run away and found a way to survive without the comfort of your family lands. 

“What Prince Aemond has offered has saved us,” Jericho stood leaning lazily against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He stared at you, his little sister who would have died before leaving him to such a fate. “I do not expect you to understand the complex relationships between our Houses but consider this, dear sister. Would you rather him have the Vale burned to ashes? Have us hung from the walls of the Red Keep? I made a mistake. I know this, and I am sorry but this is the only choice we have.”

There was a tense silence. Jericho had ruined everything with little chance of repair and it was you who had to pay the price. You knew how the Crown punished Rhaenyra’s sympathisers and Jericho had damned the future of your family. What was happening is wrong - war is never worth the price it takes. You wholeheartedly agreed with that but there was something inherently stupid about putting the people you cared about at risk just to send a raven with a conditional offer of a bent knee. 

You blinked as you tried to make sense of it all. “Explain it to me. I do not understand.”

“Aemond Targaryen is Prince Regent but I was once his only friend,” Jericho said. You knew he used the word friend strategically. “He extended an olive branch. Repent our House’s treachery through our last daughter and a pin for the Vale on King Aegon’s map. You could not understand how generous that is. Refusing would have been a sentence of death.”

Friend? Generous?  You would have laughed if you could. You briefly wondered how Jericho had managed to barter with the Prince Regent before they had taken his head. Alas, it would be of no use to ask a question you would get no answer to. The men of these walls underestimated the capabilities of a woman’s mind and a woman’s strength. 

“All he gains is something to hold over your head, brother. Paying off your mistakes with my life? You have heard the stories - he has become a cruel man. Warming his bed when he sees fit and making his heirs will not fix what you did. Many have been executed for far less.”

Your father cleared his throat. “It is our only option. We have nothing more to offer in place and a ruined reputation. The family name holds the last of our power and without what little power we have left, your brother and I would lose the Vale. It is a miracle we have not already.”

“The Prince wants to dangle you over our heads? Fine. If that is what it takes for him to spare our lives.” Jericho’s voice was so rough. It was the first time you had seen him as anything other than gentle to you and you felt a heaviness at the sight of him so distressed. 

There was not much left for you outside of the empty empire that your father’s father had built for your family. At least you still had each other and your titles, and despite the situation that they’ve forced you into, at the end of the day, you all loved each other to death. It would have been a death sentence but you could have run away instead, could have found a life for yourself somehow. But how could you live with yourself knowing that you’d damned those you love because of your pride and fear of life as a princess?

So reluctantly and tearfully, you nod your head and silently agree.

Aemond wondered whether he was making the right decision by giving Jericho a second chance. If it were anyone else, he would have had them hung without a second thought. But you and your brother were different. 

It was a moment of weakness, an inexcusable lapse in his judgment to have spared Jericho’s treason because he remembered you and to have further justified his actions by claiming the Vale through your betrothal. While it was his first and foremost motivation and Aemond was bound by duty to take advantage of the opportunity, it was not the only reason he had suggested the idea at the Small Council.

There was hardly a person in Aemond’s life whom he could call a friend. There was not a soul in this world that Aemond could truly trust, not even Jericho who had been by his side for the first parts of his childhood. 

Nor you, who had at once shown him kindness in his youth despite the mockery that was often made of him. You had only accompanied your brother and father to King’s Landing on three occasions, and what started as your soft conversation and willing smiles for him had left his memory entirely until he heard word of Jericho’s treacherous message. 

Aemond, despite your attempts at friendship, had never returned your kindness. In truth, he didn’t know how to. And quickly, your smiles had turned to frowns and your attempts at friendly talk had become sarcastic remarks and quiet scoffs.

It was also a moment of selfishness and a decision made with nothing more than foolish curiosity. You had always been there, in the back of the picture and unnoticed by everyone apart from him. There was not a person in this world who had peaked his curious desire more than you and the two of you had spent the brief occasions together bickering and pestering one another. Regardless of your initial efforts, Aemond was never your friend. While he had never actually done you wrong before now, you were never really fooled by his deceiving nonchalance and forced manners. 

The indifference that you had for each other had no cause to fade. Even less so with the recent murderous, vile stories of Aemond the Kinslayer who killed his nephew and (while most wouldn’t dare utter the words beyond certain walls) who may have crippled his own brother with Vaghar’s fire. You had almost fallen to your knees upon hearing of your betrothal to such a man.

Aemond was now twenty and three but when it came to whatever distorted plot he was planning, he felt juvenile. Your brother and your father were the perfect pawns. You were the perfect leverage - perhaps a pawn yourself. As much as he convinced himself that having you in his possession would mean he would have invaluable power over your House to do exactly as he wanted within his twisted politics while he has the power to do so, the idea of having you in the palm of his hand, in his control and eventually beneath his body was exciting. 

He was never one for meaningless entertainment. But what was the harm in indulging himself this once?

It was a formality. Being presented at King’s Landing for the first time to your future husband, his family and to those whom he currently ruled over as the woman to be his wife. 

You had changed since the last time Aemond had seen you. It had only been two years but he would never admit to his surprise at just how different you had become from the cowering young girl he remembered you to be when you were just ten and four. 

He had rushed through the formalities of greeting you and your family, welcoming you into what would come to be your home. The lunch was painfully awkward as little was said between anyone. The Dowager Queen spoke formally yet kindly with your mother and shared a few words with you but you could barely engage with her conversation under the burning gaze of the Prince Regent who sat across from you.

It was over quickly, before anyone could start bickering about the traitorous reasons behind your presence. Aemond shortly convinced his mother that no escort would be needed, so long as Ser Criston Cole was there when you both were left to acquaint yourselves in private. You gulped as you were lead shamelessly into the Prince’s chambers. 

Aemond only set a glance upon Ser Criston and the raven haired man took his place outside the closed doors.

You were sure that the Prince’s chambers were as large as an entire wing of your own home yet you felt claustrophobic under his gaze. His eye was hellfire as he silently stared at you, leaning back in his chair and resting his fingers under his chin. There was little you could do but stare back at him, anxiously tapping your foot on the marbled floor.

In your eyes, Aemond had always been torturously beautiful. But here, as his gaze fell upon you and you shared the silence of his personal space, he was ethereal. It caused your breath to catch as you waited for him to address you first.

Shakily, you broke the silence. “Why am I here, my Prince?”

“You are to be my wife,” He drawled, fingers tapping on the desk that he lazily dragged his hand along. What a stupid question. “That is why you are here.”

“I believe you know that is not what I ask, my Prince.” You scowled at him. It wasn’t smart to talk to him in such a way, you knew that. He is Prince Regent, after all. A memory of your brother’s warning to be careful flashed briefly in your mind. 

His expression deceivingly calm, Aemond considered putting you in your place. He may be behaving in a way he does not recognise of himself but he would not tolerate your disrespect. 

Instead, he somewhat answered your question. “We will be married so that your brother’s treason shall be forgiven and your House will be sworn to the King. You will stay here, in my chambers. Do whatever the seven hells you please, it does not matter.”

In any other instance, Aemond would have detested the sight of you gaping at him, stumbling over your words stupidly as your wide eyes confidently held his own. You had changed. Or maybe he had just been blind to the perfect curves of your body or the way you looked at him like he ruled the realms, so submissive yet so full of fire. So tempting. 

He’d condemn himself to the noose before ever admitting to his thoughts. 

“What?” you almost gasped. There was no chance that you could stay in his chambers like this. You were sure the whispers of the Keep were already running amok with Aemond’s insistence on isolating the two of you behind the doors to his private chambers.

Aemond took pleasure in the way you seethed. “I will not make it so easy for you to return to scheming with your treasonous family.”

You could hit him. If he weren’t a Prince, you would have. “You are keeping me prisoner? For something I have had no such hand in?”

“No,” he stood from the table and in two strides, he was in front of you. So close that you could smell the woody oils he bathed in mixing with the smell of his musk and the leather of his clothes. You shuddered. “Maybe I am. Call it what you like. You can do as you please, eat as you please, wear whatever you please, you can explore these halls as you wish. I do not care. But you will listen to me and it will all be as per my will.”

Before you could respond, Aemond continued. “For all they know, I’ve made it clear to everyone that you will stay in the chambers that I have chosen for you, on the other side of that wall.”

Aemond’s eye was a violet-blue inferno as it held yours. He was closer now and you let your eyes drag across every part of his devastating face, swallowing at his beauty and wondering what lay under the leather of his eye patch. 

Struggling not to lose your breath, not to lean in to touch him and feel him, you held your head high and turned your back to him. “Fuck you.”

A gasp fell from your lips as Aemond’s hand found the back of your head in an instant, slender fingers weaving into your hair gently before closing into a tight fist and pulling back slowly so that you were forced to look up at the roof, the back of your head resting against his chest. His other hand wrapped around your waist, holding you back firmly against him. The tightness of his grip on your hair ached and left you dizzy, an unfamiliar longing for his hands to find more of you with the same fervour had you holding back a pathetic whine. 

Suddenly, you were burning from head to toe, a fire setting on your skin as he held you roughly against him, so close that you felt the feather light tickle of his breath grazing your hair when he spoke. He was scorching you through the leather of his tunic, your dress doing little to shield you from the heat of his body.

More than his anger, Aemond’s amusement made the air heavy. The way he unashamedly let his stare fall upon your lips, tucked between your teeth as you struggled to hold your glare, had your breath snatched from your lungs. 

Aemond dropped his head enough so that his lips lingered just under your ear, close enough that you could hear him draw in a breath, dragging his nose across the dip where your jaw met your neck. Your face burned at how shamelessly he had inhaled your soft scent.

“Is that how you talk to your Prince?” Aemond’s voice was low, dripping with a dominance that commanded respect. Placing his free hand on your left shoulder, he slowly turned you to face him, making sure to keep you tightly pressed against him.

Aemond was disastrously beautiful. The curve of his nose, the strength in his jaw, the way his scar painted the top of his cheek, the soft fall of his pin straight hair and the soft shine of his lips which you so badly yearned to feel. You cursed yourself for thinking such a thing as his low voice broke you out of your distraction. “This is my home. Right now, all of Westeros is mine. You are here because I said so, because I own everything. Everything. Including you. You would do well to remember your place while you are here, pretty thing.”

The fire in your blood was rage. You had never felt such desire that had your body craving another. It was anger driving you mad, it had to be. Despite your better judgment, you whispered once again, “Fuck. You.”

His jaw ticked and with a strong yank, you were flush against him. The pounding of your heart was violent and you were sure he could feel it against his chest but you were stuck under his burning gaze. Aemond was angry. And you couldn’t help but think that it suited him. It made him all the more desirable. 

Aemond was strong and hard against your body, tense as he held you so intimately yet so roughly. 

By the gods, you couldn’t even think. What was happening? 

“My Pr-”

“Quiet,” Aemond commanded. His deep voice, raspy with lust and with rage sent shockwaves down your spine. “What a mouth on you, my Lady. Fuck me, is that so?”

You muttered incoherently under your breath, the desire and the fear making your eyes flutter shut as you trembled against the Prince who held you so roughly.

“Hm,” Aemond chuckled when you let out a short whimper. He squeezed you tightly, his voice low and dark. “I could have you begging on your knees, crying for my cock all day and all night and you would never deserve it. You best careful, ñuha dāria, because I can ruin you.”

Another gasp fell from your lips and Aemond took pleasure in the way you squirmed against him, thighs pressing together as you felt the flush of his words through your body. He hummed, you were so reactive. Somehow, you fit perfectly against him, so that he could feel every little tremor he caused in your body, every goosebump that he placed on your skin. His gaze never left you, his resolve solid as iron. 

Your mouth watered at the thought of the things that Aemond could do to you. Thoughts you had never imagined yourself capable of harbouring, especially not for a man like Aemond Targaryen. It overwhelmed you - he overwhelmed you. 

But all you had to do was glance at the map that was splayed over his table and the weaponry he had discarded at the foot of it before you were trying to shove him away from you. Aemond stepped away from you upon noticing the panic in your movements. You barely noticed the flash of worry that passed through his features before he so skilfully replaced his mask. 

The rise and fall of your chest was heavy and you had the sudden urge to punch the sultry smirk right off of Aemond’s face. That was not okay. Right now, you didn’t even want to think about the way your body reacted to him, they way you would have let him have his way with you right there and then despite all the consequences that would rain down upon you. 

“I will not stay in here,” You closed your eyes to avoid his stare, chest heaving as you caught your breath and reminded yourself of the formalities of Aemond’s title. And of the possible repercussions for denying him so stubbornly. “My Prince, it is not appropriate.”

You hadn’t heard him make his way across the room until you heard the door open. Aemond hesitated, his resolve was not as strong as he had thought given the way his heart was beating as if he had run a mile. The strain at his pelvis was almost painful and his hands urged to be tangled in your hair again, squeezing your hips, feeling the warmth of your skin underneath your clothing. Perhaps you weren’t wrong and Aemond returned to his hardened self at the thought of being unable to control his desires. 

“Hm,” he drawled, stoic as ever and standing tall at the doorway and gazing down at you over his shoulder with a red hot spark in his eye. Aemond’s mind raced with a million words, many in the alluring language he knew you could not understand and they all tasted dangerous on his tongue. “You are not wrong. It is not appropriate until we are wed, ñuha dāria.”

[multifandom-worlds]

In The Shadows

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: secret relationships, non-canon, profanity

Authors Note: This is a reader insert fic, but the background is basically the reader is Draco Malfoy's twin sister. If I have forgotten any warnings, do let me know, please!

Your content consumption is on you.

“Why was she wearing your jersey, Mattheo? Answer me that: why does another woman get what’s mine?” You demand, walking into changing rooms. You knew everyone was out; you counted them yourself. Mattheo was standing up, waiting for you to arrive. 

“I could ask you the same question. Why are you wearing another man’s name?” Mattheo retorts, stalking towards you. He’s used to you cowering, becoming putty in his hand, but this time, you were defiant. You were not going to let him intimidate you. 

“I don’t think I’ve met someone with such pathetic critical thinking skills,” You shot back. “It’s not just “another man’s last name” like you so kindly said; it’s my fucking last name, Riddle. If you used your brain for once in your goddamn life, you’d see I’m wearing my brother’s jersey. Why am I wearing my brother’s jersey? Because someone is too fucking embarrassed to be seen with me that he refuses to let me wear his. I’m beginning to think you just want me for sex, and that’s is”

Mattheo stops his advances, caught off guard by your aggression. He was not at all used to you standing up for yourself. Not to mention reducing his love for you to merely sex. “...Don’t say that, love. You don't mean that you know I love you; it's just…”

“It's just what, Riddle? Your father? Do you realize who I am? Who my family is? I'm a motherfucking Malfoy. I am the daughter of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy, the fucking death eater.” You look up at him, all your insecurities manifesting into anger.

“No…your brother,” Mattheo says meekly.

You look at him dumbfounded. “My brother? You're worried about my brother? My brother couldn't punch his way out of a wet paper bag. Are you worried he'll tell our father? Baby, father would be happy I'm dating the literal Dark Lord’s son. That gives him a leg up, so to speak.” 

Mattheo raises his hand to cup your cheek before he hears the changing room door open. He immediately takes three steps back as Astoria walks in, his jersey in her hand. “Here you go, Matty.” She says, a nauseatingly flirtatious tone in her voice. She gasps when she sees you, grabbing onto Mattheo’s bicep. “What are you doing here? This is the men’s changeroom.” 

To his credit, Mattheo steps away from her but is not quick enough for your liking. “She was just...” he began before you cut him off, your jaw tight, and a look of pure hatred burned behind our eyes. 

“Leaving.” You spoke with absolute authority. “Goodbye, Riddle, good fucking riddance” You turn and walk away without even a second glance. However, you do linger at the door, silently hoping he comes after you.

You could hear Astoria laughing, “she actually believed she had a chance with you? She really is an embarrassment to her family. Now let’s go; I have a reward for you!” 

You walk away after that, knowing you’ll only break your own heart more. You walk away, the tears threatening to spill. How can you be sad about something nobody knew about? What do you say when people ask…what do you do? You move on in the shadows, just as you were loved in the shadows. 

You navigate your way through the Slytherin common room, staying near the walls and doing your best to avoid the partygoers. You have no desire to party; all you want is your bed. It was then that you felt a familiar, calloused hand grab your wrist. Turning around, you come face to face with Mattheo’s captivating smile. For a moment, you nearly forgot everything he put you through.

“I was wondering when you’d show up, Mally. A party is not the same without you.” He says, pulling you close and nuzzling his nose against your neck while wrapping his arms around your waist. You wanted to believe him, believe that he finally decided to love you publicly, but you could smell the fire whisky on his breath. He's drunk. 

“You’re drunk, Mattheo. Leave me alone; I’m not partying tonight.” You say, pulling away from his grip. “Go party with Astoria; she must be just dying to spend time with you since you’re single, after all.” 

He looks at you, confusion twisting his gorgeous features. “I’m not single? What do you mean, Mally? I’m dating you. I have been through the 7th and 8th year. I want to stay with you.” 

You sigh, stepping back away from him further, with tears prickling in your eyes. “That would mean so much more if you weren’t drunk, Matty. It’s over for us, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” You turn from him and slip effortlessly into the writhing student body. 

You collapse on your bed and release the sob that had been building in your throat all afternoon, ever since seeing Astoria wearing Mattheo’s jersey. ‘It’s better this way,’ you told yourself; this way, you can find someone who loves and appreciates you in the open, not hiding you away like some dirty little secret. You cried yourself to sleep that night with Mattheo's shirt tucked tightly to your chest, not wanting to wake up the following day.

The following days dragged on. You did everything you could to avoid your ex, but it was getting more challenging by the day. One night, after you and Mattheo had been partnered for Charms, you broke down to your brother, confessing everything. Your 2-year relationship with Mattheo, your “break up,” all of it. You cried in Draco’s arms for hours, and like the dutiful brother he is, he consoled you the whole time, quietly seething. How dare someone do this to his beloved sister? How dare someone reduce her to tears like this? 

You were almost asleep, floating just on the precipice of dreams while Draco was reading you a story, when there was a knock on your dorm door. You move to get it, but Draco stops you. “You need to sleep, moon. I’ll answer it.” He says softly, pushing your hair from your face. 

You heard the door open, and Draco stepped out into the hallway. What you didn’t expect to hear, however, was the conversation. 

“What are you doing here, Riddle? Haven’t you done enough?” Draco says, his tone angry.

“What are you talking about, Draco? I came to check on her, but she hasn’t been answering my messages; she’s ignoring me. I just want to talk to her. Is that so bad?”

“Why would you keep her a secret, Riddle? My sister is brilliant and incredible. She is more my father than I could ever hope to be. She is the greatest duellist this school has ever seen, which is why she’s the Slytherin Dueling Club Captain, and you threw her away for Astoria? All she ever wanted in her life was someone to see her for who she was, not what she could be. She hoped it was you, but keeping her a secret, that's not what you do to someone you love. Leave her alone, Riddle.”

Draco shut the door before you could hear Mattheo’s response. It warmed your heart that you had someone in your corner, your confidant, your protector. You now understood what Fred and George were saying - having a twin is the best thing. 

You pretended to sleep as Draco walked back over, but you felt his lips land softly on your temple. “Goodnight, little moon. I’ve got you.”

Mattheo catches you in the hallways while you are walking between classes with your brother several days later. “Mally, wait, please... talk to me. There has to be a misunderstanding. Please.” He looks like he hasn't slept in days. 

“For the last time, Riddle, leave me the fuck alone!” You yell while pushing him away from you, but he comes back like a moth to a flame. Clearly, you were going to have to tell him in a language he would understand. Once he got within arms reach, you punched him square in the nose. You could feel the cartilage break under your fist. “I told you, leave me alone, Riddle! You had your chance with me, and you gave that up.”

Mattheo holds his nose while looking at you in complete shock. Everyone in the hallway was looking at you in complete shock. You walk away, Draco hurrying after you, leaving Mattheo to deal with his broken nose himself. You could faintly hear a commotion happening behind you, but you didn’t dare look around. 

The rumours began mere hours later and steadily built up momentum as the days passed.

“Did you hear Mattheo Riddle got his nose broken by that Malfoy girl last week?”

“Did he actually? How did Tom react?”

“I still can’t believe Mattheo got his nose broken by a girl.”

You were growing tired of all the gossip about you. You heard from Draco that Mattheo had started withdrawing from everyone; clearly, he was, too. The guilt began to eat you up alive - was he actually that in love with you that your separation was this hard on him? There’s no way he loved you, not with how he acted; maybe he was just embarrassed. Hopefully, he was just embarrassed, but you couldn’t worry about that; you had bigger things on your mind - the Dueling Club tournament. 

You sit back, watching your team dominate, cheering them on and giving the newer ones points before they step into the ring. You have to sit with the other house captains, something about rules or whatever. You clock Mattheo, sitting a few seats down, but pay it no mind.

Slytherin and Gryffindors were neck and neck; this next duel would decide who won that year's tournament. You stepped up for your house, stepping into the ring amongst hoots and hollers. After some intense planning, Harry Potter steps into the ring. The whole room fell silent. The Chosen One, the boy wonder up against Hogwart's greatest dueler. This really would be a duel to remember.

“I guess we’re doing this, Potter.” You chuckle, taking your wand from your robes and holding it comfortably in your hand. You scan the room before your eyes lock with Mattheos, and you see a myriad of untold emotions. His eyes draw you in, locking you in place. The world beyond you slips away, melting into a sea of nothingness; nothing mattered to you more at that moment than Mattheo. 

Until, out of your peripheral vision, you see a spell coming hurling your way; instantaneously, you snap into action, quickly casting a barrier and returning the spell at him. “That was a good try, Potter,” You taunt, waiting for him to engage again. His eyes burn into you before slinging spell after spell at you. One or two of them connected, but it wasn’t enough to win.

“Fuck you, Malfoy! Fight back, you coward!” Harry hissed, growing more and more agitated as the duel commenced. He was getting sloppy, precisely what you counted on. He may be “The Chosen One,” but that doesn’t change the fact that he is a hothead and a thoughtless dueler. 

“Easy, Potter, don’t lose your head,” You taunt again, stalking around the ring like a predator stalking its prey. You watch closely, taking note of his actions as you patiently waited, waited for the right time to strike. 

Now.

You go on the offence, unloading a flurry of harmless attacks, each one hitting its target with deadly accuracy. Within seconds of your attack, that match was called, and Slytherin was named winner of the Tournament. Your whole house jumps up and swarms you, chanting your name. You were enjoying all the celebration when you saw Mattheo pushing through the crowd. You prepared yourself mentally for whatever argument was about to ensue, but when he reached you, instead of starting an argument, his lips collided with yours. 

The kiss was electrifying, hungry, desperate, and everything you needed it to be. Mattheo's hands danced their way down your face to the side of your neck, resting there as if they were always meant to be there…and perhaps they were. 

“You're mine, do you understand me?” He growls as he breaks the kiss. “No more of this ignoring me bullshit. I know where I fucked up, but I need you back, Mally. Please, no more hiding, no more keeping you a secret.”

You look at him, seeing the vulnerability he’s showing in front of everyone. He bites his lip, and his hands begin to tremble ever so slightly. You knew in your heart what to stay. 

“You’re a goddamn idiot, Mattheo Riddle, but you’re my goddamn idiot.” You punctuate your sentence with a kiss, sealing everything.

[cressidagrey]

The Ties that Bind - Chapter 1

Summary: 

Shadowsingers were made, not born. Made out of trauma and loneliness and desperation.

So when Cilla and Azriel meet and their shadows entwine, they both meet the only other person that could understand these particular childhood scars.

The last thing Azriel had ever expected from his mate, however, was for her to have a surprising connection to his brother.

Warnings: 

My usual amount of Rhys bashing, Low Self Esteem, Mention of child abuse, Azriel threatens to unalive somebody

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

There weren’t many Illyrians in Velaris. And even less Illyrians who clearly had no clue how flying worked. 

Azriel watched the spectacle from a safe distance away. 

He didn’t really have a choice about that after all. 

Not if he wanted to enjoy a cup of tea out on his porch. The porch of that little comfortable lake cabin right in the mountains of Velaris. 

He had settled in for a Sunday afternoon with nothing to do for once. No pressing issues, no intelligence to sort through that couldn’t wait for a while…just him and his thoughts…and her . 

It was a young female, probably just on the cusp between girlhood and growing into an adult, with the lankiness of her limbs not yet fully subsided. 

Azriel did give her credit for being smart enough to find herself one of the mountain lakes in the mountains of Velaris…which had been a brilliant thing to do because every time she threw herself off one of the cliffs on the other side of the lake, she plummeted right into that icy water, wings trying and failing horribly to keep her adrift. 

It was probably less smart to do this right now, however,  when winter was just around the corner. Nobody was stupid enough to go swimming now…not if they didn’t want to turn into an icicle. 

Still, every time without fail, she somehow managed to drag herself back out of the water, to dry land and up the cliffs to do it again. Azriel could respect that kind of single-minded determination. 

It reminded him of himself…of his own first few attempts at flying…after he had gotten out of that cauldron-forsaken cell. 

He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to this girl…what had happened to her that made her learn to fly now , when that was something that should have happened years ago…something that should have been natural to her…

She could extend her wings fully, so he didn’t think that she had been clipped…though maybe somebody had done a truly horrible hack job at it and that explained why her wings didn’t seem to hold her body weight…How did an Illyrian female end up in Velaris in the first place? 

Question over questions and he didn’t know the answers to it. 

It was peculiar…And it was making him sit up straight, watching her clamber up that cliff again, the grey dress she wore soaked with water and clinging to her figure. 

What had brought her here? Was this a…He didn’t think that she knew that he was there and watching her…He had warded this house with everything he had, had thrown every fucking glamour at it that he could, making it impossible to be seen if somebody didn’t know that it existed…and not many people knew that it existed in the first place. 

It had become his…little escape. Far away from the House of Wind or the River House…far enough that nobody would search for him here, but near enough that…well. 

If they needed him, Azriel was just around the corner. 

And he could get some sleep in the silence of the mountains surrounding him. 

Cassian and Nesta were never going to manage to be quiet. And quite frankly, that was a very particular kind of torture after last Winter Solstice. 

His High Lord had made himself very clear…and Azriel…well, that stubbornness that had meant that he had clung to Mor for 500 years…he couldn’t manage the same anymore. 

The very heart of him was exhausted. Exhausted from always, always not being the one chosen. Exhausted from never seemingly being good enough, never measuring up. 

So silently, quietly, Azriel had let it go. Let go of wishful dreams and stolen touches���Let go of that particular wish. 

He would never have a mate. He would never have a wife. He would just exist in his loneliness. 

It was better for everybody involved. 

Regardless of how envy burned deep in his chest…regardless of jealousy, regardless of what he wanted . Azriel should have figured out centuries ago that he never got what he wanted anyway. 

So why hope anymore? 

Why hope and have that hope dashed and have his heart broken again? And again and again and again?

Why not simply accept it? Why not try to make the best out of it? 

If he would end up alone, he could do it on his terms. Thus, that charming lake cabin with only one room he actually used. 

He liked it. Scratch that. Azriel loved it. 

Loved the quietness, loved how roomy and bright it was, the perfect antithesis to all of the years spent in that cell. 

And if he made this his home… his home …well, only he needed to be content here. 

His home. 

Nobody else needed to like it. Just him. His and his alone. The perfect place to be lonely all on his own. 

Master!   His shadows snapped at that moment and he startled. She hasn’t come up yet.

What? he demanded, his gaze immediately snapping up to the lake. 

No trace of her anyway. 

She jumped and hit her head. 

Why didn’t you fucking say something? he demanded harshly. Great. Now he needed to rescue her.

Definitely not how he wanted to spend his Sunday afternoon doing. 

She must have managed to catch an updraft, because he didn’t need to pull her from the depths of that lake. Though maybe that would have been better…It would have left her with fewer scrapes. 

Instead, she had landed in a heap in the shallows of the lake, water just knee high and Azriel hissed at the ice-cold water lapping against his skin as he gathered her up. 

She was unconscious, her skin pale and ice-cold to the touch. Nearly frozen solid. 

He pulled her into his arms, lifting her up and carrying her the few feet to dry ground, a hand immediately finding her pulse point. 

He looked at her face, at the black hair and skin that was pale and clammy and…

Oh. 

His. His . 

There she was. 

After 500 years, there she was. 

He touched her with shaking hands, with reverence. Cupping her cheek, feeling her rattling breath against his scarred hands, turning her to her side as she started coughing. 

Still unconscious…a wound on her forehead bleeding nearly sluggishly. 

The water she had inhaled came back up and he made sure that she didn’t swallow it back down nearly automatically, unable not to stare at her. 

His…His mate?

His mate. 

Just a slip of a female, small and delicate, cheekbones and clavicles standing out sharply. She could use some more fat on her, to be completely honest. She looked… emaciated , not just simply thin. Starved . 

And if her body hadn’t been the first clue…her wings were the second. He stared at the scars that crisscrossed where they protruded from her back…He knew scars like that. He himself had scars like that. Her wings had been bound to her back so tightly that whatever rope had been used had rubbed at the delicate skin covering the bones…rubbing it raw. 

He swallowed at that realisation, the fury in his chest bursting wide open. It wasn’t the only scar on these wings…there were more. No wonder she had difficulty flying. It was so bad that he wondered if she would ever be able to fly at all. 

Who had done this to her? 

If he ever found out, he would plunge Truthteller into their chest and make them regret ever having been born. 

His mate coughed again, sounding miserable. “You’ll be fine,” Azriel promised her fiercely. If he had a single thing to say about it…she would be fine. He would make sure that she would be fine. She was his now. 

His mate. 

The one person that he was allowed to care for…the one person he could pour all that attention and love onto that he normally held so tightly buried in his chest. His mate . 

She was his and he was going to make sure that she was treated properly now. 

“Come on, Sweetheart, we’ll get you warm and dry,” Azriel promised her, picking her up again. She weighed next to nothing to him as he cradled her into his arms and made his way back to his cabin. 

Warm and dry and he would do something against the wound on her head and the scrapes on the rest of her. He couldn’t do anything against how thin she was, but he could probably manage to scrounge up some soup or something… Anything and everything so that she would be fine. His mate. 

His . 

Azriel reached his cabin seconds later, putting her down next to the mattress he used as a bed.

He really should have invested in some fucking furniture, but with a regrettable lapse of judgment he hadn’t. 

He hadn’t because just for him, he hadn’t seen a need for it other than the necessities. A mattress was more than enough, no reason for a bed frame. No reason to put that mattress in an actual bedroom, if one corner of his living room and kitchen would work just as well. 

Well, he could change that. He would change that. His mate deserved a bed, and a proper closet and everything else her heart desired. 

He would make sure she would want for nothing. 

Get her out of her dress and underneath the blankets, he told the shadow sharply, who for once seemed to be silent in pure shock. 

He wasn’t going to touch her anywhere. Not like this. Not more than absolutely necessary. 

Instead, he got himself dry, a pot of water boiling on the stove, all the vegetables he had stocked in the cooling cabinet and the chicken he had bought to roast thrown in right along with it. 

Then Azriel raided his stock of healing supplies, bringing them to her bedside. 

Now, safely dressed in an old dry shirt of his and tucked under every blanket his shadows could find in the house, her skin was still cold but no longer icy. Thawing. 

He dabbed at the wound on her forehand and wrapped the scrapes that covered her hands…hands that were blistering and covered with a rash. Hands that were definitely used to harsh physical work. 

These weren’t the hands of a lady. These were the hands of somebody that worked for a living. 

Azriel tucked her hands under the blankets with the rest of her, and gently tucked a straw curl back behind her ear…and then came up short when he realised that…that her ear…it was pointed . Not the usual rounded ear of a pure-blood Illyrian. Pointed like a High Fae. 

Oh . 

She must be half Illyrian, half High Fae. 

Exceedingly Rare… but not impossible. Rhys was the proof of that. 

Master! He startled a second time, glaring at his shadows. Why did they keep startling them? And why were they screaming at him in pure excitement? 

Only then, he saw the tendril of shadows. Hesitantly twirling out from her hair. 

Not one of his. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he knew. 

This wasn’t one of his shadows, this wasn’t…

Oh. 

Was she…

Are they… hers? he asked, nearly hesitantly. Was she…just like him? A shadowsinger ?

He had never gotten to meet another one. He had never…There had never been anybody that had explained to him how they worked, how he could master them…all of it…he had learnt through hard work and determination and not often the feeling that he was truly going insane. 

He had never thought that he would get to meet another shadowsinger ever. He had thought that maybe it was just a quirk of fate that also in this one ability, he would be unique, removed from everybody around him…Given that was how he felt any day of the week. 

Yes, they are, his shadows answered excitedly, a few tendrils of his slowly approaching hers…that seemingly wilted away, hesitantly. He wanted to reach out and cradle them in his hands…make sure that her shadows and his mate understood that no harm would come to her from him. 

How high were the chances that his mate, the one the mother picked for him, would be a shadowsinger just like him? 

He swallowed.  

Ask them for her name? he requested from his shadow hesitantly, wondering if they were able to communicate with hers…if he could talk to her shadows…if she could talk to his…

Cilla, the shadows answered after a moment. Cilla . Her name was Cilla. 

Then very quietly:  They are begging you not to hurt her. 

Somebody thrust a knife into his heart and twisted. 

Of course, they would ask that. Of course. 

They didn’t trust him at all. Why should they?

She wouldn’t be a shadowsinger if she hadn’t spent years feeling so alone that the shadows started talking back to her. Why should she trust him?

I am not going to hurt her. I swear that to them on my life, he promised fiercely. He would not hurt her. Never. 

She was his mate . 

He would spend the next few centuries trying desperately to make sure that he was worthy of her, nothing else. He was not going to hurt her. Not if he had any choice in that matter. 

His mate. His mate . He was going to take care of her, even when it was the last thing he did. 

Nobody was ever going to hurt her again, not if Azriel had a single thing to say about it. 

He was going to draw his line into the sand just like Enalius had down all these millennia before him at the Pass. And whoever would cross it, they would rue that day. 

It was easy enough to tug harshly at the dormant thread Rhys had long ago left in his mind…easy enough to let his brother into the ante-chamber of his mind once he had his attention. 

I won’t be available next week. 

Are you asking me for a vacation, Az? Rhys asked with some amusement. No. He wasn’t asking. 

He was going to take the next week and get to know his mate and nobody was going to stop him. Unless she told him no. 

It’s not a request. This is me informing you that I won’t be available, Azriel gave back, his voice even. 

He could nearly hear Rhys’ mental sigh. Is this still about you and Elain? Rhys asked him, long sufferingly.  

There is no me and Elain, Rhysand, Azriel shot back. Rhys had taken care of that. Though he probably did owe his High Lord a bottle of some ridiculous expensive alcoholic beverage for that. No Elain, which meant he was free to conduct his love life however he saw fit. Which meant that if Cilla was willing to give him a chance…

Then what it is about? Rhys asked him. 

Azriel could tell the truth. But he had absolutely no fucking want to do that. Rhys had made himself very clear last Winter Solstice. And Azriel didn’t want anybody to meddle. Cilla was his mate and nobody else’s and the only thing that mattered was what she wanted. Not what anybody else thought about her or their Mating Bond or anything else. 

I have some things to take care of that need my undivided attention, he said, his voice hard. Making it very obvious that Azriel wasn’t interested in answering any questions about it. 

And you couldn’t tell me that weeks ago? 

No. 

Fine. 

It’s not like it would have mattered to him if Rhysand had disagreed. Azriel was still not going to come in next week. 

It wasn’t like took many days off in the last few centuries. He was probably long overdue for a vacation. 

A soft noise pulled him away from that particular line of thinking and he looked down at Cilla, her nose scrunched up, shifting slightly. 

“It’s alright,” he promised her, keeping his voice calm and easy. “Can you open your eyes for me, Cilla?” he asked and one eye blinked open…showing him a pair of dark brown pupils.

 “There you go,” he praised her, “Good, Sweetheart.”

For one moment she looked at him utterly petrified, not understanding at all what was going on. Just a second later, he felt her fear and terror pour all over the fledgling Mating Bond, that must have just snapped for her. 

One hand flayed out and one of his shadows caught it, her eyes jumping from him to the shadows and then back again. He watched as she seemingly tried to work through it, one of her shadows gently caressing her cheek, clearly calming her down.  

“You…You’re just like me,” she whispered, her voice rough from disuse, wings twitching with something. 

“I am,” he agreed softly. 

And then, he saw the shadow curl behind her ear, whispering something in her ear. And then: “Mate?” she whispered, staring at him, her eyes wide, the expression on her face wanting and desperate and a thousand other things. 

His mouth went dry. He managed a nod. 

And then to his surprise, she pounced. There was nothing graceful about it as she clung to him, nearly slapping her with one of her wings, as he pulled her against his chest. 

“I am your mate,” he agreed with a weak chuckle.

Hers.

[bachiras-toaster]

dating the blue lock boys as student council members : ̗̀➛

BLUE LOCK MEN x gn!reader

content. explicit, making out, bachira having a getting-caught kink, bottom!nagi hinted, blowjobs

ft. bachira, nagi, reo, isagi, rin

MEGURU BACHIRA

A person who’s face belies their hidden nature. He’s certainly the type of person to shamelessly abuse his power; he knows that no matter what he does, he’s talented enough for his position not to be shaken within the Student Council. Despite his childish and chatty personality, Bachira is arguably one of the scariest members— As stated by Isagi, because the whole ‘innocent’ bit is just as facade, and he can tear into the heart of any student and cause them to break. To any outsider, he’s the kindest ray of sunshine; to the rest of the Student Council members, he’s the hidden wild card of the group.

And when it comes to you, Bachira loves to fool around with you a lot, it’s a wonder how he’s never been caught up to this point. He’s obsessed with the idea of luring you into the Student Council meeting room and hanging out there when it’s empty, closing out the room to any people who could potentially be passing by, and kissing you in seats the two of you should not be sat in. Sometimes he’ll even kick other students out of free classrooms for ‘serious Student Council business’ just to make out with you against one of the desks. You tell him repeatedly that you shouldn’t fool around in school, but it’s like the thrill of getting caught makes it all the more enticing for him— Especially with his status.

NAGI SEISHIRO

Honestly, he doesn’t even particularly want to be a part of the Student Council. Nagi just happens to be exceptionally great, despite not even trying. Because of that, he was offered a position as a member. He only heard the benefits of potentially skipping classes, so he was eager to join, but he supposed he had forgotten that he would actually need to pay attention in the meetings that he attends…

He would much rather spend time with you than attend any of the meetings. You’d sometimes need to convince him to stop spending time with you and focus on his Student Council duties instead. You need to make promises to him that if he attends his next meeting, you’ll be sure to reward him with a session of him laying back while you do all the work as soon as the two of you got home— Which he supposed is enough to get him through an hour of talking from the Student Council President.

REO MIKAGE

Admittedly, he only joined the Student Council initially for the boost in reputation and because of pressure from his parents. But now that he’s there, he feels like he really can’t be bothered carrying out any of the duties he’s supposed to. The only thing he finds fun about being a part of the Student Council now is getting to brag to you about what kind of power he has in that position and how he can practically force the school to respect you.

Unfortunately, being the simp that he is, he can’t help but unintentionally abuse his power in order to appease you— Unlike Bachira, who will purposefully abuse his power. Reo would be more than happy to punish students who have wronged you, or manipulate certain events just so you can get the role that you wished. I mean, how could he refuse? After you give him everything he dreamed for and more in the privacy of your own lives?

YOICHI ISAGI

The entire school wonders how someone like Isagi ended up in the Student Council, especially since he didn’t exactly size up to any of the other members. On multiple occasions, he was mistaken for a secretary, or a coffee-boy— Anything but an actual, contributing member of the group. Despite this, he tries his hardest to prove himself to the rest of the members and the rest of the school that he’s worth standing amongst the academy’s finest, and he uses his power and status for the bettering of the institution. He’s fair and just, never once even standing on the path to becoming corrupt, and it’s all to ensure his own popularity and role.

Which is particularly the reason why he can get so nervous whenever you insist on doing it in the meeting room. He can feel beads of sweat tracing down the sides of his face as you unbuckle his pants, sinking down to your knees in front of him while you ensured him that it was okay. He would constantly look between the top of your head and the entrance of the room, feeling a hard-to-swallow lump in his throat as the possibilities of getting caught raced through his mind— It was one of his greatest fears. But it never stopped the two of you from repeating this action over and over again every time a meeting ended and you snuck in.

RIN ITOSHI

The Student Council President. Although it’s no surprise that he secured that spot, there’s a lot of speculation about whether his position was the result of nepotism since his older brother had been the previous President and his parents made up a large portion of the Academy’s donations. He finds that being called a ‘nepo baby’ is one of the greatest insult to him, and won’t be hesitant to shut anyone he even alludes to such a possibility. He works tirelessly to maintain the school’s image, and keeps up an almost pristine reputation for himself. He’s counted on as one of the most intelligent of all of the members, and can find himself getting frequently annoyed at the laziness, incompetency, and sometimes downright stupidity of his team. But they’re a group of people only he can insult; if anyone else tried it, they’d be dead.

Being the President of such a difficult to maintain group, he constantly finds that he needs to let off steam. If he ever decided to do it with you inside the school, he’d never do it while there would be other students possibly roaming around. He’d always wait for after-school, or even before classes begin in the morning, to have his way with you. What the two of you get up to depends on how he feels. If he just needs a wake up before lessons, it can lead to the two of you making out in his chair. However, on the days where he finds himself a little more pissed-off than usual after an after-school meeting, he’d pin you down against the desk and practically force those moans out of you. You’re a real stress reliever for him. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you.

[amuyyi]

warm enough .

synopsis; recovering from an expected breakup, you find yourself drunk at a nearby bar, encountering an unfamiliar girl who happens to know your ex.

trope; non idol!ningning x fem!reader, uni au, fluff, a little angst, a little suggestive, strangers to lovers, feat. kep1er members :3

wc; 4.8k

cw; a little suggestive but not really

a/n; fun fact this happened to me irl ! figured i could use my experiences for stories ! everything from the breakup to the bar kiss is based on my personal experience so lol have fun. also its kinda poorly written because i wrote some of it while on the plane + in china while being very tired and i dont feel like proofreading so im sorry ^^'

The breakup was supposed to be a mutual thing. A smooth and easy agreement between you and Jimin. You guys met in a cafe when your soon-to-be-ex girlfriend finally dropped the bomb on you. 

“I still care a lot about you, y/n. But I want to focus on myself and my future… I think you should too.”

You wanted to speak up, say that you didn’t want to let go yet. Just… hold on for a little longer. Maybe it’d get better if you guys just kept it going for another week. Another month. Another day?

 “What I’m trying to say is…”

You always hated this part.

“I think we should break up.”

Despite the older girl being the one to initiate the ending of the relationship, you always knew it was coming. Jimin was sweet, and you definitely did enjoy the little dates you guys had been on through the past year, but there was something missing. Every time she looked at you, it seemed like she was looking through your eyes into her own. Her mind was always elsewhere whenever you two were together, like she was searching for something you couldn’t provide. She never seemed to smile around you, never laughed loudly or hugged you with warmth. 

You really tried to be the person for her, you really did; but it was apparent that she was trying to convince herself you were the one as well.

It was shown in the way she bought you endless gifts with things you said you wanted, but never kissed you, In the way she would allow you to hold her hand, but never reached out herself, how she couldn’t bring herself to say “I love you” out loud. Jimin was cold.

You agreed that this was the best path to take, how you felt the exact same way and that it would be good for the both of you, but the tears that nonconsensually left your eyes said otherwise. You still remember the last words you told her before you got up to leave.

“I really hoped it was you.”

There's a saying or the other. “Your body will know if someone is right for you.” You came across it while aimlessly scrolling on social media once, and you thought it was an interesting but ridiculous concept. Countless people would share stories about how their hair would fall out or how they would break out into horrible acne when they were with their past partners, only being relieved from this when single or with their “match.”

It was funny, and you didn’t believe one bit of it until it actually happened. The tightness in your chest that followed you every time you two went out together, the stress of wondering if she actually enjoyed her company, the way you couldn’t truly relax in her presence– it all went away. It all left when she walked out of your life, and you’ve never felt more at peace with a decision. At least, for a little bit.

The breakup was the easy part. It was the recovery that ruined you.

You were the one to establish a rule of no contact, even after you both expressed wanting to stay in touch. It was your only way to hold on to the last sliver of pride you had left after spending a year chasing after Yu Jimin. The rule was established to allow you some time to heal, and you hoped to return to the girl as friends once you felt ready.

With this in mind, you then proceeded to spend a month barely eating, barely sleeping, and not leaving your apartment unless you needed to for classes. It was difficult to be on your own after dedicating so much time to her, falling behind, hoping that she would see you the way you saw her; but after about a month, you slowly felt yourself regaining your footing.

You started going out again, talking with your roommate, taking time to actually care for yourself. It was nice. Perhaps your progress would have left you comfortable enough to move on if you didn’t decide to go out that day.

There she was. Yu Jimin. After an exact 31 days of no contact with her, you finally cross paths. Quite literally, at that– but she wasn’t alone. There was a girl on her arm. She was pretty. Blonde with bobbed hair and a soft smile that made it impossible to hate her. Jimin was smiling too. This is the first time you’ve seen her smile like that, smiling as if she found what she was looking for after all of this time. She doesn't look past her. She sees her.

Jimin holds the other girl by the small of her waist the way she used to do with you, and she kisses her. She kissed her. Just like how she used to kiss you, but not exactly. There's love in her eyes. A warmth you’ve never seen before. In her eyes, there is certainty.

And that was the day your world came crashing down on top of you.

You tried to act normal as you walked past. You really did. Your eyes remain glued to your phone as your knuckles turn white. Her eyes didn’t even meet yours as you walked by. Why wouldn't she look at you? Maybe she's wondering why you won't look at her. That must be it. You hold your breath. As soon as she passed by, you couldn’t help yourself. You made the mistake of looking back.

…Nothing.

As soon as Jimin was out of sight, you cried. You ran home, scaring half the life out of your poor roommate, Xiaoting, as you collapsed in your bed. Everything hurts. Why did it hurt? You wanted this. You felt better without her— the tightness in your chest was gone. 

Instead, it was replaced by an indescribably painful ache. One that felt so deep within your soul it would never heal. Quietly entering your room, Xiaoting says nothing as she sits next to your limp body on the bed, rubbing your back comfortingly. The gesture only makes you sob even harder. 

She's been with you through it all. From the beginning of your relationship with Jimin till the end, she was there. Xiaoting really was a good friend.

From then on, Xiaoting’s one goal was simple: cheer you up. She would cook at least once for you every day despite not being the best chef, and she would allow you to rant about the same things over and over no matter how overbearing it got. Honestly, you started to feel a little bad. She shouldn’t have to bend over backwards for you just because you’re a little sad.

So when Xiaoting announces that you will be joining her at the bar with her friends tonight, you couldn't say no. Both because she stated it, not asked you, and that it simply was the least you could do for her. Especially after everything she’s done for you. Before you knew it, you were dressed up in your best (slutty) corset top and cargo pants with some hoops and over exaggerated makeup to accent the look. Xiaoting, as your best roommate and friend, matches with you, and you two make a big scene out of getting ready together; blasting music, doing each other's hair, borrowing each other's clothes, and more.

Xiaoting’s girlfriend Yujin had made herself at home for the pregame, and your mutual friend Hikaru soon followed. With Xiaoting as designated bartender, the four of you mingle, laughing and cracking jokes as the warmth of the alcohol and one another’s presence left you with a warming buzz. Xiaoting was an excellent mixer, and in combination with the chasers Hikaru bought and the drinking games Yujin proposed, you were all ready to go. 

Xiaoting and Yujin led the way, hand in hand as you and Hikaru trailed behind, drunkenly singing into the cold night air as you trek to the nearest bar.

Being a Friday night, the establishment had been as packed as expected, and you all squeezed your way past other visitors as you’re guided to a nearby table. Xiaoting starts off strong, ordering shots for the entire group before utilizing her combined charm alongside her girlfriend’s looks to convince guys to purchase drinks for everyone as well. You couldn’t help but laugh at the way the duo would bat their eyelashes innocently at lone men for drinks– but at least it worked.

Lazily, your eyes wander through the crowd, the alcohol in your system making it a struggle to see straight. Despite your inability to see properly, you still manage to catch a glimpse of your friends from the corner of your eye, and easily spot Yujin attempting to very publicly make out with Xiaoting as Hikaru struggles to pull her away. You stifle a laugh at the sight, and decide to leave the three to their antics whilst you look for someone to talk to.

It's been a while since you last struck up a conversation with a stranger. The last time you had put yourself out there was before you met… 

You shake your head. No. You are not letting your stupid ex ruin your night. Knitting your brows in concentration, you scan the bar. There were plenty of pretty girls to talk to, but you were feeling a little intimidated. Almost all of them came with at least one other person, and you didn’t want to intrude on anything…

 Your eyes landed on a lone blonde at the end of the table, scrolling through her phone with alcohol flushed cheeks. She seemed approachable. Worst case scenario, she simply shoos you off. Taking a deep breath, you approach the blonde, deciding to pull out your best conversation starter.

“Are you chinese? You look chinese!!” You exclaim, suddenly switching to mandarin in the middle of your sentence as you ask the question. Smooth.

The blonde girl looks as if she would’ve been extremely offended at the comment if you didn't just speak to her in her native tongue halfway through your sentence, and she quirks a brow at you, an amused smirk on her lips as she leans against the bar. 

“Yeah, I am! What's a cutie like you doing in a place like this alone??” 

You feel your heart begin to race. So far so good. “I'm not alone!!! My friends are just busy making out with each other and the other is trying to stop them!!” You also lean on the bar, though not as alluring as the blonde before you. More like you partially collapsed and partially slid on it.

She chortles at your response, “well that's not fair to you, leaving you here all alone.”

The sweet and somewhat sultry tone of the blonde makes (non alcohol induced) blush appear on your face as you laugh, “it really isn't! But whatever! My name is y/n by the way!! What's yours??” You scream over the music, sticking your hand out. It was an unexpectedly polite gesture considering your circumstances, and perhaps it may have seemed a bit comical as well with how drunk you were.

She giggles at the response, grabbing your hand then pulling you in, her lips dangerously close to your ear as she yells over the music, “Ning Yizhuo. But call me Ningning! It's cuter!”

You grin. Ningning was a cute nickname. You decided at this very moment you could trust this cute stranger with your life story and personal information she didn’t ask for, and begin to slur out.

“My friends dragged me out here because I was sad over my ex who moved on from me a month after the breakup even though we dated for a year and she's a big jerk for that even though I wish only the best for her but also I hope she dies!!!”

None of the words you spoke just now came out clear, and they seemed to trip over one another when leaving your mouth, but it was enough for the other girl to go from extremely relaxed to suddenly very heated. She stands up straight as her eyebrows knit together.

“To be honest I don’t think she ever really liked me in the first place! I don’t know!! Whatever it doesn’t matter!!!” You continue on, sounding absolutely pathetic as you let yourself feel through the anger you didn’t even know you were repressing, “I was stupid to stay with someone who couldn’t even look me in the eye when saying she loved me!! She was stupid to do the same!! Whatever!! I don’t know!!”

Ningning cuts you off with a raised hand before you can continue, “what the hell?! I hate people like that!!  You're wayyyy too hot to be treated that way! Who is she? What's her name?? I might know her!!”

Against your better drunken judgment, you decide to name drop your ex within a university bar. Because that is always a good idea. “Yu Jimin!! She's a engineering major !!!”

Ningning’s jaw drops as she stares at you, almost as if she were trying to find the correct words for what she has to say next.

“Girl, I know her !!!” She screams out after a brief moment of silence,  “we shared a class together once!! Oh my god I'm so sorry I didn't know she was like that!! You deserve BETTER!” 

Before you could even think of what to say in reaction to that heavy load of information, Ningning grabs your face, pulling you into a kiss. It was a very messy one, her lips almost missing your own during the exchange. Seems like she's not entirely sober either. 

Still, even in your drunken state you knew what to do. Your hands immediately find Ningnings hair as you pull her in closer, and you can feel her smiling as she grazes her tongue over the bottom of your lip. 

You open your mouth to let her in and the only thing that you can think of or even feel for that matter is Ningning and her tongue. She… was really good at this. Jimin never kissed you like this before. Her hands trail down your back to your ass before she squeezes it, smirking when you squirm against her touch.

She breaks the kiss, her face inches away from yours as she breathes out, “you deserve so much better…” Ningning gives you a quick peck on the lips before stepping back, taking in her work with a devilish glint in her eyes. You stare at her dumbfounded for a moment before whipping out your phone, fully talking in your appearance. Your hair and makeup were a wreck. How did all of that happen just now?

“Done by yours truly~” Ningning winks at you, quickly slipping your phone out of your hand and typing something in.

“Wh— Wait what are you doing?”

“Giving you my number, obviously. My girls are gonna wonder where I went.” She hands back your phone and looks at you with soft eyes through her drunken daze. 

“Take care of yourself, yeah?” Ningning kisses you one last time, giving your hand a squeeze before letting go. She disappears into the crowd of partygoers, a sly fox-like grin on her face.

“There you are!” 

You feel an arm land on your shoulder as you jump, twirling around and looking down to see a drunk Hikaru with a slightly less drunk Xiaoting and an absolutely hammered Yujin on her side.

“We should probably head back home!” Xiaoting screams into your ear, “Hikaru’s gonna knock out on the couch and Yujin will be with me!”

Her words barely make it through to you, the music and the alcohol and the adrenaline within your system muffling out every word spoken. Regardless, you still nod and trail behind your friends as you leave, not all too sure what just happened.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You lay in bed, eyes practically burning holes into the new contact in your phone. “宁宁<3” is what it said. 

So last night wasn’t just a dream. You really did just get a girl's number by doing nothing but spilling your secrets to a stranger. On top of all of that, your head was absolutely killing you, you swore you could feel your heartbeat within your brain. Still, that wasn’t important. Biting your lip, your fingers hover over the contact name. Should you message her? 

y/n [10:59]  — hey !! its y/n, the girl from the bar

y/n [10:59]  — thanks for keeping me company last night :)

ningning [11:06]  — i was wondering if u were gonna text me back

ningning [11:06] — and of course <3 jimin doesn’t know what she lost

y/n [11:08] — haha im flattered

y/n [11:08]  — but u barely know me??

ningning [11:11]  — that can change xx

Your eyes widen as you reread the text over and over again. Is she implying what you think she's implying? What if she's just being friendly? Can you even platonically make out with someone at the bar?

y/n [11:16] — are u asking me out on a date ning yizhuo ?

You wait. 

Oh god. What if she was just being friendly?

ningning [11:18]  — only if youll have me 

You feel yourself blush at her message, burying your face into your pillow as you squeal like a high school teenager in love. It was embarrassing in hindsight, but.. it felt nice to be wanted. 

y/n [11:19] —  of course

ningning [11:19] — perfect <3 

ningning [11:20] — dinner at my place tonight then? 

ningning [11:20] — If youre not too hungover.. 

ningning [11:20] — i got the best hangover cures ;)

you can't help but arch your eyebrow at the winky face she added at the end but brushed it off, more focused on the fact that your drunk hatred towards your ex landed you a date. 

You scramble to your feet and (metaphorically) kick down Xiaoting’s door, abruptly waking the girl from her nap as she screams out, “WO CAO!” She places a hand over her heart as she bolts up within her bed, immediately letting out a sigh of relief when she realizes it was just you. 

“Girl what the HELL is wrong with you?!” She hisses, laying back down and throwing the blanket over her head.

You, being the ever loving and best roommate ever, respond to this by jumping into bed with (on top of) the redhead and squeezing her as tight as you can while screaming “I HAVE A DATE!!!”

Xiaoting shoots back up, your arms still latched onto her torso as she looks down at you, eyes wide. “Wait, are you serious?”

You hear a low groan and a hand slapping your arm as you roll your eyes, slapping the arm back as the voice of Yujin grumbles out and shuffles deeper within the sheets.

Both you and Xiaoting look at one another and giggle before she quietly slips out of bed, quickly placing a kiss on Yujins head before grabbing your arm and leading you out of her room. Once outside, she firmly grasps your shoulders. 

“Okay, now tell me everything.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You nervously stand outside of Ningnings apartment, bag clutched in hand as you look back behind you. Xiaoting sat within her car on the side of the road, keeping an eye on you to make sure this girl wasn’t going to kidnap you or the other.

The two of you (and soon enough Yujin and Hikaru) had spent the day giving you pointers on how to go about the date. They had thrown an ungodly amount of clothes your way as well as telling you endless conversation starters and compliments to give another person. By the end of it all your head was overflowing with information that you were going to forget as soon as you head out the door, and all of your closet was sprawled on your bedroom floor and in the living room. Still, the girls seemed quite proud of their work.

All of you had consecutively agreed on an outfit that was nice, but not too nice. You wore a plaid skirt paired with a simple tank top and an off the shoulder cardigan.

Holding your breath, you ring the doorbell. You really hoped this wasn’t a mistake. When was the last time you were actually on a date with someone? You couldn't remember. After a few moments of silence, you hear shuffling followed by the door unlocking and Ningning poking her head out shyly. Her eyes light up at the sight of you before opening the door completely, revealing her outfit.

She wore an oversized plaid button up, unintentionally matching with your skirt alongside baggy jeans and some bunny slippers you thought were incredibly cute. Her hair was tied up in a messy but charming bun, held up by a hair stick with small gemstones dangling from the end.

This Ningning was completely different from the one you had met at the bar last night. Though, you suppose you were a different person now as well.

“You're here! Come in come in!” She grabs your hand and guides you inside. Flustered, you spare a quick glance behind you, and you can spot the silhouette of Xiaoting throwing a thumbs up from her car before Ningning closes the door behind you.

“You look gorgeous today, by the way,” Ningning compliments, her thumb rubbing over your fingers as she walks you through her apartment. The gesture makes your cheeks warm, and you find yourself easing into her touch like putty. It was a touch that was loving. Kind. Intentional. 

Her home was cozy, with white walls paired alongside warm lighting and paintings and other wall art lining the interior. There was an appetizing aroma that wafted through the air, and you had remembered that Ningning had offered to cook for you.

“What have you prepared for us tonight, chef Ningning?” You ask, squeezing her hand as she grins, “Well it's not much, I'm not a really good cook but I decided to make us some dumplings! A little basic, but it's the only dish I feel like I’ve actually perfected.”

“I hope this is the hangover cure you mentioned” you comment lightheartedly, and you sense a playful energy in the way she looks back at you.

“You'll find out soon enough.”

You once again find yourself quirking a brow at her vague answers, but she simply smiles at you innocently and you find yourself smiling back. It was hard to not be amused by her.

Ningning guides you to the kitchen, which was cleaned perfectly for your arrival. On the center of the table were multiple bamboo steamer baskets, as well as a large tea pot and a simple glass bottle with various native wildflowers as a centerpiece. 

The other girl pulls out a chair for you, and you teasing grin at the polite gesture, “how romantic, Ninging~”

She rolls her eyes and giggles before settling down herself, instantaneously pouring you a cup of tea as she gestures at the baskets, “go on, dig in. I’ll be personally offended if you don’t.”

Chuckling, you open up the baskets, releasing clouds of steam before revealing multiple handmade dumplings with various fillings and differing folding styles. Your eyes widen, and you simply comment, “wow,” before taking the first bite of the food.

To say that it tasted amazing was an understatement– you practically felt like you were thrown back to the motherland with a single bite, and it wasn’t long before you were filling your plate with more.

The two of you had spent the rest of the evening getting to know one another more. You had learned she was a computer science major and going onto her third year of uni, as well as the fact she was from Harbing whilst you shared that you were from Shanghai. 

“Big city girl, huh?” Ningning amusedly comments, sipping on her tea as you roll your eyes, “yeah… But I'm not rich or anything before you ask.”

The blonde feigns rejection as she snaps her fingers, “damn. I was gonna ask you to buy drinks next time we head to the bars, I think you owe me. ” She smiles at you, and it's warm.

You liked this. You liked how easy it was to talk to her. It was never this easy before.

Soon enough you had ended up on Ningning’s couch, browsing through movies aimlessly as the hefty meal threatened to send you into a food coma. The blonde lay comfortably in your arms underneath a blanket, her eyes occasionally fluttering shut as you continued to search for something to watch.

“Hmm, what about… Velocipastor?” The name completely throws you off guard, prompting you to click on it, skimming over the description as you feel the vibration of Ninging lazily humming beneath you. 

“Oh that movie is really good, trust me.”

“... Really? Are you sure, Ning?”

“Yeah yeah…” Her eyes were already shut as she spoke, nuzzling in closer to you as you chuckle, putting on the movie as you wrap your arms around her, pulling her in closer. 

Honestly, the movie seemed to be an excuse for the girl to be physically close to you– maybe get a nap in? You weren’t even sure if she was watching the movie at this point. Still, maybe it was for the best. Velocipastor was definitely not well funded within its production, that much could be seen. Plus, you couldn't complain about having a cute girl in your arms.

“Does your head still hurt?”

Ningning’s soft voice rings out, startling you. Honestly, you were getting pretty invested in the film, you had thought she already fell asleep.

“Mmm, a little. I don’t think your hangover cure worked.”

“Oh, the dumplings weren’t the cure.”

Your head cocks to the side as you tear your gaze away from the tv screen, looking down at the girl nestled on your chest as she looks back up at you. There was that all too familiar glint in her eyes again.

“Then what is?”

A mischievous grin curls on her lips before she leans in, connecting her lips with yours. Still a bit sluggish from the night before alongside a hefty meal, her kissing was a bit sloppy, but it was soft. Much softer than before.

You feel yourself almost immediately sigh into the kiss, and you would have found it embarrassing if she didnt guide her hand up your chest, to your neck, and into your hair, soon deepening the kiss. 

Not expecting things to escalate so soon, you couldn’t help but let out a soft whimper as your hands landed on her hips, nails digging into her sides desperately as she laughs against your lips, pulling back. 

“You’re really cute, y’know?” She purrs, using her hand to brush a strand of hair out of your face, and you can see the hint of pink spread across her lips as she smiles, drinking in the sight of you.

Before you even have a chance to respond, Ningning tackles your jawline, trailing kisses down your face and onto your neck. You try to respond, but when she starts to nip the side of your neck, the words you wanted to say somehow managed to melt into complete mush.

“Mmhmmhgh…” 

The sound that escapes your lips allows you the chance to actually feel embarrassed, and you slam a hand over your lips, looking away from Ninging. Your response elicits another laugh from the blonde, and you swear you could listen to the sound forever. 

Her symphony soon quiets though, and Ningning looks you straight in the eye, her gaze softening as she opens her mouth, struggling to find the right words to say.

“Look, I know we just met…” she trails off for a moment, almost a bit shy to continue, “but if you want to give me a chance and see where this goes, I promise I’ll treat you so well.” 

Her eyes are filled with genuine desire for you, and you couldn’t help but feel… Isolated? Targetted? For the first time you feel like you’re seen, and you don’t know what to do about it.

She presses on, “I’d really like to see you again, and I know you’re going through a lot right now but I want to be there with you every step of the way. I want to see where this takes us.”

“I want you, y/n.”

Your face heats up instantaneously, and you swear your eyes were threatening to bulge out of your skull right then and there. You look at her in silence as you struggle to find your words, and after a few seconds you finally croak out,

“I… I want to see where this takes us too, Ningning.”

Her eyes brighten at your response, and she beams, pulling you into a tight hug on the couch before interlocking her lips with yours once again. You giggle into the kiss, and throw the blanket over the two of you as the movie on the tv buzzed on. For the first time, you found someone warm enough for you.

[anantaru]

— taking care of his wounds

including xiao, scaramouche, diluc, childe x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff & angst, crack, mentions of blood, sweet n cute

— xiao

"you do not have to do this."

"but i want to!"

deep down inside, it was imperatively embarrassing for xiao to have you mend his wounds and scratches— especially considering the fact that you were seeing him this way for once, a shelter of vulnerability and weakness, as he always seem to put it.

a good for nothing who cannot even be strong enough to defend himself, let alone the person he fell in love with.

keep in mind, you were very much aware of your boyfriend and his cruel views on himself, precisely the hurting words chosen by him, which he would insult himself with on a daily basis.

as punishment? one can only guess or say that much, but there was a translucent underlining that only a handful of people were able to take a grasp on.

"and you‘re my boyfriend xiao." that happiness in your voice, he couldn't get enough of it. but you always add the right words into the mix, catching a bolstering blush on xiao‘s handsome face the sweet moment he picks up your chosen name for him.

'boyfriend' was he worthy of such a name? he shivered, it took all his self control to not run off from this vulnerable moment.

"i‘m also worried." and you sigh so sweetly against him, melting your skilled fingers into his flesh and filling all the cold emptiness within his heart. "i don't want you to worry." his voice almost breaks in midst his sentencing but it's low, his words mumbled, "you could find someone better than me."

it's a graven fear the man held for what felt like an eternity. to see you leave one day due to his weaknesses.

because every time he experiences you taking care of him, yes, xiao does turn embarrassed— his eyes twinkling open wild, but he feels that static, as if he could actually reach the heavens behind the sky.

he suddenly hisses when you began to wrap a small cloth around a bigger wound on his hand, sneakily sealing your lips over his roughened up knuckles to kiss each and every one of them.

"there will never be someone better than you, xiao."

— scaramouche

"how childish."

scaramouche's face was mounted in a discomforting tinge while he gazed at the cute, little, not to mention pink, band aids covering the majority of his face and chest. "shut up."

you shake your head, laughing at your boyfriend's bright, assessing eyes while he hopelessly attempted to wholly conceal the agonizing pain bound within his facial features, keeping them in check with a hard look, brows criss crossed and squeezed together, "you're using too many of those."

"i wouldn't have to if there weren't that many scratches all over you."

but above and beyond, there it was; a crucial, meaningful expression that sneakily slipped past his own eyes— your current state, when you lock away the smallest amount of warm tears glinting nervously, finishing it with a soft smile, not wanting to make scaramouche feel even worse.

what confused you, and, frankly, scared you in the first place was the severe rarity of this situation— it was uncommon for him to get this beat up, this littered up with scratches and bumps, you can still remember the mere seconds earlier, when he showed up in front of your door step— dirty clothes ruptured and ripped, his bottom lip popped open and blood sliding down his chin, eyes low lidded, barely any life behind them.

by all means, scaramouche was doing better now, with the help of you and your quick responses doing wonders. needless to say did he too, catch a glimpse of your distress when you suddenly had stopped mending his wounds.

"hey." he pokes your left cheek, once, twice— "hey," and his comforting, warm voice ever so softly slips past your ears.

"i'll be okay, besides, i will take it as an insult if you think that is enough to end me."

and judging by the hitch of your breath, scaramouche felt a rambling burn deep inside, at nothing but that distraught look on your person. He opens his eyes wide, steady as glass, before sloping his head towards you, a faint, transient smile lightening his bruised face when you lean in to kiss his lips, tenderly, but compelling enough to lift the worry off your shoulders.

— diluc

patience— and the adequate plenitude of pressure were the very two notions you had channeled tonight, with your trembling hands slowly dapping the blood off diluc‘s injuries.

you truly cannot remember the last time he had shown any signs of recklessness in his usual behavior when it came to fending of intruders, so whatever must‘ve happened today had to be of graven importance or a powerful enemy catching him off guard.

"thank you." he suddenly speaks, but averts his eyes, and although his voice was raspy and chill, diluc managed to quickly snap you out of your stinging thoughts. you move to his face, tilting his chin up to catch an ideal view on the main bruises around his left cheek, allowing you to tackle those as well, "for doing this i mean."

at his words, you stop your hand, smiling serenely, almost angelic.

"you don't have to thank me for this."

"—but, do you want to tell me about what happened?"

diluc's face twitches when you retorted back to brush a splotch of dried blood from his jaw— you noticed how his lip was busted open, this thought again, of someone hurting the love of your life, it compared to sharp needles jabbing at your skin, over and over until drilled in its entirety.

but he didn't, diluc would never tell you about anything dangerous, not even when he showed up to your home, looking like that. "i rather not." there it was, that brave smile he'd manage to put on whenever he found himself in a situation like that, regardless, worry gnawed away at you, your gaze piercing through him like a freezing blast of ice.

"yet worry not." all of his attention was on you as he slants close to take your cheeks in his roughened palms, feeling them shake against your skin awakened a murky, dull feeling where you wanted to just cry in his arms, "i'd never let someone hurt you."

sigh, deep down, you wonder if diluc will ever comprehend that seeing him like that was already hurting you, was already pulling the hot air off your seized throat and clenching your heart with dread, feeling as if you could not breathe.

instead, you smile kindly at him, foreheads resting against each other, overcome by a dark sense of silence.

— childe

"hah! you should see the other guy!"

excessive boasting upon boasting, your sweet childe was out here acting like he had just experienced the best day in his entire life— a certain smile, brighter than ever witnessed before, if it wasn‘t for his black eye and bloody nose breaking the illusion he attempted to portray.

however, in contrast, childe found it exceedingly cute and appealing whenever you were severely worried and concerned about him— as is someone was ever able to greatly harm nor scratch the overenthusiastic harbinger. "you really shouldn‘t be this reckless sometimes."

you sigh deeply, then shake your head, mending the bigger wounds with a wet cloth first so they were clean and ready to be wrapped up.

but, important side note, you being brightly concerned for him made his heart flutter unexpectedly and childe suddenly expels a large wave of pride, "but you love it when i'm reckless."

"i do not."

"you don't?!" his smirk fades.

"i want you to be save." you kiss the corner of his mouth, and a vast deal of weariness sweeps over you, claiming your energy with it when you remember that this wasn't possible.

ajax was a harbinger after all.

his voice, now thick of seriousness, greets you closely, "don't worry about me." he speaks so idly, listlessly and without a care in the world, as if he doesn't care about his own wellbeing. and it left a bitterness littering on the tip of your tongue.

"because as long as you have everything in your life, i too will be fulfilled." with that, childe kisses you, all around passionate, needful and telling. on the assumption that he longed to show you his determination to protect you in a different way than solely using his own choice of words.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[penkura]

No One Better

Note: Ahh I didn't know how to go about this, but here it is! It's another in the OP Men as Dads series, but this one is ONLY Zoro and his son. I just had this idea after seeing this OC template on Pinterest, and I had to do it, I couldn't not. I have thoughts floating around for other characters in this same vein of calming down their children, and I will post them separately like this most likely! For now, please enjoy Zoro being a wonderful, soft dad to his little boy. 🥹 I want to have his babies so bad, where is my irl Zoro omg

Your son may be Zoro’s child too, but he’s a big crybaby when either of you are missing from his sight. He could be happily sitting in your lap or on Zoro’s chest, but when Keitaro notices one of you isn’t around, he immediately pouts and begins to cry. At first it’s legitimate tears, until he learns that he can get you with crocodile tears because that’s your baby boy, of course you’re going to run to him when he cries! You figured it out quickly when he instantly started to smile and coo at you the first time he cried crocodile tears to get your attention, Zoro didn’t believe you for a few weeks until your ten-month-old did it to him too. He just loves you and Zoro so much, he wants you both around him all the time.

Zoro is able to calm him down very easily, just by talking to Keitaro gently. An older woman on an island you stopped at was surprised to see how easily Keitaro calmed down and went from nearly sobbing to happy little giggles when Zoro just took him from you and started asking him what was wrong, why was he so upset all of a sudden (he couldn’t see Zoro standing nearby, that was the problem). The woman was highly impressed and said her own husband hadn’t been that good with their children, it made you smile and thank her for the compliment, since you knew Zoro would never.

Keitaro is big enough to sit up on your lap during a party between your crew, the Heart Pirates, and the Kid Pirates when the three of you run into each other. Members of your (now permanently) allied crews coo and fawn over your son, the youngest of all the crews, and he adores the attention he receives from all these new people. Once everyone goes back to drinking and playing games, you choose to stay to the side with Keitaro, keeping him from the alcohol and making sure he stays happy while everything goes on, and he does, looking around at everyone and giggling when he sees Luffy do something funny.

Keitaro is happy and calm until he realizes he doesn’t see Zoro anywhere, making your nearly year old son start to pout and fuss. You try your hardest to calm him down when he really starts to cry and kick his legs because he’s frustrated, quietly speaking to him and placing kisses on his little head to help.

“Hey, little guy,” you feel beyond relived when Zoro comes over, resting his arms on your thighs and getting nose to nose with your son, which starts to calm him down, “What’re you crying for?”

Keitaro slowly calms down, looking at Zoro cross-eyed at first before his eyes fully focus on him, starting to smile and coo again as he puts his tiny hands on Zoro’s face. It makes Zoro smile in return as he takes your son from you, intending to give you a small break.

“Let’s give mama a few minutes to enjoy the party too, yeah?” Zoro gently tosses your son in the air a few times, Keitaro letting out squeals and giggles in response.

You slip away to the girls for a while, Ikkaku giving you a smile and telling you how lucky you are with Zoro, causing you to look back at them with your own smile. Keitaro has his thumb in his mouth as he lays against Zoro’s chest where he can see you, content and slowly falling asleep, while your husband rubs his back to help him relax.

“He’s really the best dad to Keitaro, I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 2

summary ;; Your burning determination to prove your father wrong and Jake's wish to teach you a lesson both end up in a pyrrhic victory. PART 1 | PART 3 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; im speechlessly overwhelmed at the sheer amount of love you guys showed me these past couple of days. like. literally never had something like this happen to me before. i got too excited to finish this chapter to give back to yall, there was an attempt to proofread but... i hope it's not too bad, please enjoy! as always, if you see any mistakes, im sorry!

The path further into the floating mountains was all the worse to navigate thanks to the lack of light, the only useful guides you had were the faintly flickering bioluminescent lights from the forest deep below. The branches twisting around each other to create a naturally built bridge from mountain to mountain benefited from this, contrasting as a clear obscured line to your eyes against the glow underneath. 

The easiest part of your journey, in hindsight, was just skipping along this line. 

You weren’t exactly happy about this.  

The more you left behind, the more you were freaked out that Neteyam or anyone else was onto your intentions already and hot on your trail right this moment. Imagining father making a beeline to you in the air with Bob, a cruel, merciless whistling arrow, made you all jittery and almost puking kind of nervous, pulling at the depths of your stomach. 

Your rationality told you that it was a half an hour walk to your spot from the tent, and Neteyam would be hurrying the more he thought he wasn’t able to catch up with you along the way, so you had around twenty minutes until the whole family was panicking and raising the clan to look for you. 

Tuk had gone missing once thanks to some hide and seek game with Lo’ak (she’d hidden so well and was waiting for her siblings to find her already, blindly sticking to the game for an entire day, not out of stubbornness but childish purity), and this was exactly what had gone down —

the resentful part of you questioned if father thinks of you highly enough to resort to that. 

If something happened to you, he would maybe urge your brothers to search for you for a while, and drop it then — leaving you to your own devices happily. 

Maybe. 

Were you even worth it in his eyes for a search party? You wondered if he cared enough that you disappeared. 

But that was a stupid, childish thought you knew you fantasized about a lot — perhaps this was why he’d called you immature. This was no mindset for a strong, independent, confident hunter. The thought father was right, even a miniscule bit was bitter on your tongue, worse than what he called black coffee. 

Disappearing so you’d find out just how much he cared was unfair to mom, for one. 

She had lost so much in such a short amount of time, the stories she sang poignantly about were hard to listen to without tearing up. Her home. The trees of voices, all the lost ancestors. Her father. Uncle Tsu’tey. Her first ikran, Seze. Loss upon loss you think there’d be nothing left to give anymore, but sky people’s fire was always hungry, always willing to waste more to grow bigger. 

You wouldn’t forgive yourself for making her cry in your pursuit to punish father. Never. 

You weren’t a child.

Just wanted to be one, sometimes.

Wanted father to babytalk you, pet your head longer than a passing touch as he walked away hurriedly to attend to other matters, make beads for your braids the way he always did from pretty stones he found on ponds, carve you little trinkets when you graciously had to give up your toys to Lo’ak and Kiri’s greed. 

Your neck piece was all them in fact, he’d see it if he ever paid enough attention, or perhaps it was all insignificant to him, five kids meant countless belongings for each individual child had been passed down from his hands, it would be a miracle for father to recognize you still wore his clumsy creations. But again, it had been too long since he’d even looked at you affectionately, he wouldn’t See. 

He’d transferred those habits entirely to Neteyam at one point in time. 

Your older brother would always ruffle Lo’ak’s hair and tease him the way father used to, comfort him in his own playful way, and even though the younger looked discontent at being babied, you knew he was happy Neteyam was quite literally his shadow to look after him through tough times — including shielding from father’s line of fire. In return, he was suffering from being a foil to the older son, you understood the struggle because you were going through the same comparison, you just weren’t obsessed with catching and living up to father as much as Lo’ak did. 

Win some, lose some, I guess.

Plus, Neteyam was trembling under the massive planet-weight pressure, he had to set the standard, he had to live up to the older brother title. He was becoming more of a father figure to Tuk as days passed and the Olo’eyktan became more transparent from his family’s life as a dad to five. 

Besides, Lo’ak made trouble enough for two people to go around that you felt bad for your big brother, Kiri was thankfully more mellow (despite frequently hanging out together with him and Spider) compared to him that Neteyam could breathe, not having to divide his attention. 

You were in awe of her about how disconnected she was from all the changing dynamics. She had her own problems you could never understand, more spiritual than your grandmother, and ever the ethereal soul who you thought would disappear into Eywa if flesh wasn’t holding her down to Eywa’eveng.

You were the teeniest, tiniest bit jealous of her (and Tuk) holding the softer sides of father, the boys thought he was deliberately softer because they were girls — but you were also a girl, so why weren’t you allowed in?   

Well, thanks to that, you’d gotten closer with Neteyam and known him better after the whole clan had settled on High Camp, so it wasn’t all that bad. You could badmouth father all day long sitting on some rock and make him laugh abashedly, guilty that he was smiling along with the trashing of the father’s name he respected so much — it was therapy, as Norm had taught humans frequently sought back on earth. It got you trying some things with Neteyam, becoming more of a companion and ranting buddy for him who he could be honest and open with, so that he didn’t have to worry about taking up a larger role in your life to fill father’s missing presence. You were concerned about him more than he could be concerned about you. 

That got you contemplating if father had noticed how comfortable his two oldest children were with each other that it was always Neteyam who he sent after you. A girl could dream, no? For one moment, it wasn’t because it was Neteyam’s responsibility, but because father was paying attention to how his kids got along.

The image of him pushed you to be frantically fast to reach your destination as the fear returned with might. If he caught you right now when you had no ikran to prove him wrong, the punishment he was sure to give would be way more humiliating, you at least wanted something in your name to taunt him with if you were going down anyways. 

A smile crept up your face at imagining him discombobulated and speechless, unable to pick out one thing that you did wrong. 

The carelessness that came with your speed combined with how dark it was to see where to clutch and put your feet on caused you to slip up countless times when climbing, the sharp rocks scraping the insides of your palms and insides of your forearms, lifting your skin up. What you cared about more than the pain was that the blood was now tracking material for your family to sniff you out — you couldn’t exactly wipe the rocks clean, so you carried on with a hammering heart, more afraid of father ruining your perfect moment than whatever ikran that would soon be going straight for your throat. 

At least you were able to wash the blood off your hands in the waterfall. 

Downside? You couldn’t see shit. With your bare back flushed straight to the wall of rock and your feet feeling out the thin edge, the shrill cry of ikrans and the roaring of water was about to overwhelm your senses too much to pay attention — 

and you slipped. 

The shriek that ripped out of you at the sensation of falling and the drop of your stomach alone almost made you pass out, and for a split second it was a good thing that you wouldn’t feel the moment you died, but your body, once again, was one step ahead of you, it twisted in the air the last second and your hands gripped the ledge. 

The wet rock and your blood made all that your life was hanging on slippery as you dangled into the abyss, swaying with the strong winds at this height. 

You didn’t know if it was the adrenaline or the nervousness, but something made you laugh out loud, and the bubbling laughter continued until you were able to pull yourself up safely at the ikran rookery, finally. 

Looking around like a fish out of water, how you hadn’t cracked your skull open shooting down to the forest below was a total miracle. 

You’d made it?  

No one was there to witness what you just pulled off in total darkness. Your whole body was shaking, and you weren’t even chosen by an ikran yet. This was happening. Shit. This was totally happening! 

Your excited and terrified, “Hell yeah!” went unheard apart from your aerial crowd. 

But. 

One among them answered your holler with its own that cut into the night like a battle horn. It was the closest one to you that was apparently watching you the whole time, starting to roar at you and twitching on its feet, shadow in the night informing you of its movements.

You’d seen from Neteyam and Lo’ak’s iknimayas that you only had a few seconds to pull your shit together until it attacked, this was meant to be dangerous, serious, you could end up as a late night snack to them if things went wrong, but you couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear that it had chosen you.

You were chosen. 

It wanted you as its rider. 

If only father could see you now. The sensation of being the one — being special was unmatched. Now you could somehow get the fraction of the high he must have felt as Toruk Makto.  

The, “Let’s fucking go!” that left you kept echoing into the night as you lunged at it, dodging to the left when it snapped at your head, hooking one arm around the ikran’s slender neck and clamping your legs around it the moment it started thrashing around wildly. 

You didn’t know why father had made a big deal out of it. You formed tsaheylu in no time, breaking Neteyam’s record — and you didn’t even have the rope to hoop around its neck and jaw. 

Firstborn daughter excellence. 

Confidence restored and triumphing wildly to the pulse of your heart, the flickering smile on your face in wonder turned into a full-fledged smirk. At that moment, nothing mattered. It was just you and your victory. Proving father wrong. 

Feeling the ikran’s lifeforce through the bond, a shiver went down your back as his beady eye looked up at you, pupil shrinking and expanding rapidly while you both took a minute to catch your breaths after the fierce wrestling. 

“Gotcha,” you panted. “You’re mine now.”

The adrenaline made everything sparkle and shine, your spirits soaring high and unbothered about literally anything else in the world, and for one glorious moment, lost in the memories of your brothers’ iknimayas boasting with cheers from the clan and sometimes encouraging, sometimes fearful screams of your parents, your spirit sought them out to be soaked in the same pride — forgetting that it was night and nobody was there to celebrate you. 

You were all alone. 

The smile dropped from your face and crashed down like paper thin porcelain upon the slightest movement. 

Right. 

You’d forgotten you were doing this out of spite. It snuffed every twinkle of magic away from the previously shimmering milestone of your life. 

Your ikran felt the crushing disappointment through your connection and chirped at you, almost like an excited sibling pulling on your arm to show you something, weirdly comforting. Mom’s ikran was a spitfire, but also nurturing — this one felt different somehow, you felt him bouncing from wall to wall in your head, hyperactive and cheerful.

Flying! He wanted to fly! 

The first flight sealed the bond, after all. 

You weren’t alone even if none of your family members were here to share the joy — you had your new buddy. And the drop of gravity was thrilling this time, not the terrifying chaos that had your asshole shriveling up as it was when you’d missed your step. 

The flights with mom were something you looked forward to, drying up in frequency as you aged, you’d missed the wind on your body and the greenery dancing below as you maneuvered in the air — but mom reserved nighttime rides for father only, and after the move to High Camp, the skimpering chance you could get your way if you begged cutely enough was gone too. You’d never flown at night. 

The sight was out of this world. The stars leaving a glowing trail above you, the forest pulsing with faint purple, green and blue lights underneath, everything was elevated in beauty because darkness let them shine. 

You made loops in the air with your ikran, got as high in the air as you could before your breath thinned, and scraped at the tips of trees before shooting up again, all the while laughter you’ve never screamed before bubbled out of you. 

And you were all alone. There was no mom to gleefully taunt your ikran with hers to get both of you dancing in the air. There was no father to watch on with a small smile he was fighting. There was no Neteyam to stop you from dipping too close to the ground, and no Lo’ak to challenge you to get closer to race with him — no Kiri to complain how all of you were being so childish, how stupid this was all the while she was the worst of you all, instigating all the chaos. 

No Tuk in your mom’s lap whining about you guys leaving her off the fun. 

Instead, there was the scent of a bogey in the air, snapping you out of the haze of sorrow.

When had you ventured out further into unprotected territory? 

Linked with your thought process, the ikran stopped advancing forward and started beating his wings downward to stay unmoving, you observed the surroundings to get a better feeling of where you were, and noticed this was around the old shack, artificial lights were gliding between the leaves and branches that obscured your view of just who was roaming the grounds at night, definitely not a natural part of the forest’s flora.    

Father’s voice materialized in your head, drilled into you and your siblings’ heads over and over again. If you come across any threat at all, do not engage, fall back and inform me. Got it? You call for me first.

And that split second of being afraid was your death sentence — that father would be so angry at you for your ignorance, amateurism, carelessness and idiocy that he could throw you out of the family for almost leading the demons to base simply by being there that they could figure out what direction you’d come from. That moment of weakness was enough for someone to snipe you out, and get you falling down from your ikran straight into the forest below, the cries of your new friend falling silent on your ears as you did your best to hug giant leaves to cushion your fall to the best of your ability. . 

 Barely any time was left for you to shake the disorienting motion sickness off, you couldn’t even attempt to run into the accepting, protective hands of the forest before whoever just shot at you was onto you, harshly gripping your arms and raising you up. 

Father’s gonna be so mad if he finds out. Shit, I gotta get out of this. 

But… Avatars? In full camo, armored, even. You hadn’t heard of this from anybody in camp!

“Damn! Didn’t actually think you’d be able to land the shot from all of that tree, man! Up-top!”

Two of them high-fived, you were actually going to be sick. 

Thumb between his belt and stomach, another Avatar strutted towards you. The saunter and confidence meant that he was their leader. “Now, now… What do we have here?”

“A native.” You were being pushed down on your knees, one hand being grabbed and shown like a trophy. Just how many were there? You couldn't calm yourself enough to focus! “Four fingers.”

The speaker this time was a woman. “How unusual. Those monkeys don’t leave their coven at night.” 

“Where were you flying, little bird?” The leader, a sleazy smirk on his face, leaned down to take a good look at you. “Leading away from the nest, perhaps?”

“She don’t understand, Colonel, don’t bother. Ya think Sully could ever manage teaching one word of English to those?”

“Watch how she learns in three seconds.” He yanked on your queue so hard you saw white light in this hour of darkness — and when your vision came back, a screen with your father’s face was being shoved to your face. “Jake Sully. Toruc Mactoe. Where is he?”

You screamed when he pulled with increasing strength, keeping up with the act you didn’t understand. And the state of pain and terror massively helped, contributing to you looking frantic and lost, only knowing that you were being zapped to your core. 

“Seems like I don’t need to ask you.” His fingers snapped your head back to get a good look at your earpiece, late to notice you had it on at all because of the dark. “Can directly ask the man himself.” 

All you could form to think was, ‘Father’s gonna kill me for this. He’s actually gonna kill me this time.’

You weren't terrified of what the Avatars would do to you. You were afraid of him.

One empty shell from the reloaded machine gun flew away, tinkling hollow when it fell down, and rolled until it stopped in a small pool of water that had formed on the jagged ground of the cave systems. In the scarlet and orange glow of the campfire he’d haphazardly put together right outside of their home out of impatience after Neytiri had basically thrown him out, Jake almost mistook the liquid for blood. 

An ominous cloud of dread settled on his shoulders, a paranoia every father tended to go through.

“Big Brother, this is Devil Dog. State your status, over.”

Neteyam didn’t miss a beat to answer, thankfully. “Devil Dog, this is Big Brother. I’m still en route to Foxcove, over.”

“How much longer?”

“Ten minutes at best, sir. Over.”

What he wanted to say was how come he hadn’t met you halfway, but it was empty talk. No need to stress the boy out. “Devil Dog signing out.”

This girl was half the reason for the wrinkles on his forehead, Jesus Christ. He was basically waiting you out like a father sitting in the dark to ambush his daughter who had snuck out at night, for that single glorious moment of yeah that’s right, you got caught, after the light would come on to ruin that moment of relief of successfully making it back in. 

His mate had scolded him to be nice and understanding, a Marine was anything but, the closest he could compromise was not being as mean to you than he had to be. Sassing, “So how was your Iknimaya?” like he planned was out the window — Neytiri was spot-on to say the girl would simply give the same mean energy right back at him, and that could only mean another erupting volcano of a fight and a good night’s sleep ruined for him, overthinking where he went wrong and how else he could have salvaged the situation. 

He’d just make you tend to the ikrans for a week for some patience practice, cleaning shit for hours on a daily basis would certainly throw the temporary whim of the rite of passage hyperfixation out of your system. The possibility of you shouting you hated him was unavoidable, but Jake had to get his point across, no matter how terribly it nauseated him to hear something like that from his child. 

It was strange to remember he couldn’t care less for what people thought of him in the past. Some shithead he wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about hated Jake’s guts? Good. He was living in their head rent free, it was fun even — Neytiri too, Jake absolutely enjoyed her hating game at first. 

Being legitimately resented by his very own child, though, was a heartbreak he didn’t expect to hurt him the way it did, knocking air off his lungs the first time he heard it. A burning stab right in his heart that wouldn’t go away until he had to hear it for himself you hadn’t meant any of what you said.

Because that said hate actually stemmed from hurt Jake must have inflicted. Because you could actually despise him, and never allow him to reconnect with you again if he could ever manage to garner the courage to reach out to you — a mightier challenge than hunting Toruk in the sense it actually scared him.   

His teenage daughter. Scared him. 

Jake didn’t know what to do about it, he couldn’t even show what exactly this made him feel, too ashamed and proud for it in the first place. 

The growing distance between you and him was an uneasy, frightened bird he tried to shush and calm in his heart in favor of other pressing matters that drilled small holes in the depths of his stomach, and over time, those little holes had fused together to create one big pit with greater gravitational pull than the sun — until Jake didn’t know how to stitch them back together anymore. 

He told himself he would talk to you later, for sure. The morning after every argument, every fight, every jab from you he snapped at he would try to make amends for, definitely. 

And then he didn’t. 

“What is this, are you palulukan ambushing prey? I told you to make up with her, not prepare for hunting.”

Jake shook his head, dropping the machine gun back inside the crate. The warmed metal was some sort of consolation to his nerves. Marine habit. Always felt safer with a gun near. (Or was it the American in him?) “Neytiri,” he acknowledged, bobbing his head. “I’m just passing time.”

“What do you think will happen when she comes back and sees you waiting for her like this?”

Ah, like the old times when Jake couldn’t do one thing right in her eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” he said playfully, but with no mirth behind it, closing the crate with a muffled thunk. With nothing to do with them, one elbow went to his knee and the other hand’s fingers started a rhythm on the lid he’d just shut. 

His mate’s hand gingerly came down on his shoulder, kneading the nerves. “Just talk to her, Ma’Jake.”

“I don’t know how to,” he admitted, he covered her fingers on her shoulder with his, and she immediately held his hand back. “Don’t know what to even tell her.” He gave an exhale from the deeper, tired parts of his soul, gazing at the path leading away from their tent. “With Neteyam and Lo’ak, it’s easy. I tell ‘em what to do and they—”

Neytiri took a seat next to him, gathering their hands together. “Suffer just the same.” Jake was about to brush her off, but she didn’t relent. “What you’re doing is hurting them.”

This now was about all of their children rather than you, specifically. Neytiri was trying to get him to see the bigger picture first before moving to cover what he did wrong with each child of his, they had had this conversation countless times before. 

Here we go again, Jake thought.

“Doesn’t matter if that’s what it takes to keep them safe.”

“Does it?” Neytiri leaned in, and calmness washed over him despite the disturbing nature of what she was saying. “Does it keep them safe? Or push them to act out more, get in worse situations?”

He grimaced. “I have to—”

“You feel like you have to.” His mate shook their clasped hands, rattling his bones. “I keep my children safe with trust and honesty. Transparence, Ma’Jake. So that they listen to me when I mean it because they See me. You shut them out.” Her lips bared to show her pearly teeth as she was practically beseeching him. “You don’t get your children’s trust by treating them like a squad.”

“They trust me plenty.”

“They trust Olo’eyktan. Toruk Makto. What about their father?”

“I make sure they’re safe.” Neytiri dropped his hands with an agitated snarl, she thought they were back at the beginning again, he couldn’t make her truly understand no matter what he did. He poured his heart out through their tsaheylu everytime, but her values and beliefs were wired so differently from his at the end of the day. “I make sure they stay where I want them to stay for their own good.” Jake shook his head, his voice soft, hushed. No force behind it when Neytiri was heated in return. “One day they’ll understand.”

“They won’t if you never tell them.”

“Tell them what?” Jake asked. “That I’m being harsh on them to prepare them for war? You think they’ll take it seriously after this?”

“Na’vi were in war long before you. There will be wars after you. No parent sullied his child’s happiness for the price of becoming a warrior. You still don’t get our ways even after all these years.” 

“The sky people’s way,” Jake emphasized with his arms. “I have to teach them how they think, what they go through, so they know what they’ll be facing, okay? I can’t simply teach them by telling them.”

“You’re deluding yourself, Jake. Contradicting.” Neytiri was gentle in her cruelty, the flickering flames burned less than her amber eyes. “Tuk and Kiri are getting none of this. I know your heart isn’t allowing you. Why can’t you do the same for your other children?”

Because he had gone too far already with the older three. 

Trial and error. 

He couldn’t take back the things he did and say back — and quite honestly? Jake was being pulled from all sides to sit down and rethink his parenting. All he thought anymore was how to protect his family, frequent nightmares of losing his children in gruesome ways were haunting his every step. 

A father protects his children, that’s what gives him meaning. 

Jake had his own desperate ways to do so.  

He opened his mouth to say something back, anything, but was interrupted by the communication line coming on. “Dad.” 

Jake immediately knew something was wrong, body sitting ramrod straight. If the frantic breathing and barely controlled voice wasn’t any indication of it, his eldest’s behavior was. Neteyam didn’t slip up in the codenames like Lo’ak did, dropped all formalities only when he was borderline panicking.  

“Dad. I’m sorry, dad, sir, I can’t find her, dad, I’ve looked everywhere around here, I thought maybe she was hiding underwater, behind rocks—but I can’t, I can’t—.”

“Slow down.” Jake could barely contain his own panic rising from the state his son was in. The boy wasn’t able to see it, but he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in as if Neteyam was right in front of him, and started gesturing with his hand. “Slow down, son.”

“Dad—”

Jake tsk-ed. “Neteyam, slow. Slow.”

Neytiri took his elbow. “What is it?”

He told her to wait with his gaze, and turned his attention back to Neteyam. This could only mean one thing, he was praying to be wrong — needed clarification. “Now tell me calmer. What’s going on?”

“She’s never been here. She never came here in the first place. There’s no sign of her. No trace. I’ve tracked.”

Jake’s instant response was fear. Domineering, ice-cold, cutting fear. Bodily and emotionally both. You were clockwork, similar to him in having unchanging routines and patterns. Angry? Went for a walk. Depressed? No talking to anyone until it passed. Happy? Wanted to go to the forest to spend time with your siblings and always craved sweet fruit. Didn’t want to be around anyone? Hid in the little bioluminescent cove with a pond two little mountains away, always. Always.  

Neytiri sensed this, observing the change of demeanor in him.“Ma’Jake?”

“Okay, son.” He seized back control. One missing child was enough. “Stay right there and don’t move. I’ll contact you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jake,” Neytiri hissed finally, at the end of her ropes.

“She didn’t go to the cove,” he said, face icy neutral as always, but his eyes showed dizzying concern. Neytiri put a hand on her mouth as Jake wasted no time in changing channels. “Night Owl, this is Devil Dog. Come in.” He couldn’t even wait two seconds before trying again. “Night Owl, what is your status? Where are you?” 

Silence.

The more fear dug deeper into his skin, the more his anger and annoyance soared up, his tail was whipping the air erratically, the finger on the earpiece could send the metal right into his brain with how hard he was pressing on it. “I know you can hear me. This is no time for playing games. You know what you did to your brother? Do you know how panicked he was, not being able to find you—” 

Then Jake remembered what Neytiri advised, he didn’t change strategies because she was right next to him to dig his eyes out, but because his heart was picking up its pace by the second. “Tell me where you are, I’ll leave you alone, I promise, alright? If you’re somewhere open, get to safety, I’m only asking this from you. Or else—”

“Don’t.” Neytiri raised a warning finger at him, voice just above a whisper so they could hear their daughter if she decided to cut in. “Threaten her.”

He couldn’t stop her from snatching the communication device off of him. “Ma’ite, it’s mom. Can you talk to me at least?”

His ears twitched at picking up on you responding, not quite making out the words.  

Jake’s eyes shut close for a long time as his whole eyebrow line migrated upwards, he physically had to get a few steps between him and the earpiece so the obliviating worry that’d almost blinded him wouldn’t cause him to say something he’d greatly regret later. He could feel himself deflating. A migraine could be coming anytime soon.

You wouldn’t even acknowledge his existence but the moment your mother interrupted, you did? Fine. Fine. He didn’t care. Jake could live with it. At least you were alive.

A rippling shudder shook him the moment that thought hit him, an image of you lying dead in a ditch, pale blue, flashing in his mind, he had to run a hand down his face. 

When Jake looked back, irked by the silence, he found Neytiri standing completely stock-still. And all of a sudden, her petrifying glare was on him, ears pinned all the way back, hands gradually starting to tremble. 

“Neytiri?” 

She wordlessly handed him the device, and with a deep frown, Jake put it back in his ear. 

“Hi there Corporal, you hear me? Yeah, I know you do. As much as I’m charmed by the fatherly love I could give you a big old sloppy wet kiss, we have unfinished business.”

And the ground disappeared right under Jake’s feet, plunging him into hell itself.

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul @eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily

[sapphicantics]

Shambles

Pairing: Regina George x fem!reader

Summary: After Regina’s life goes down in shambles, she calls on the one person who’s always there for her.

Contents: lots of self-hate from Regina, vulnerable!Regina, sweetheart!reader, reader’s an angel, hurt/comfort

Word count: 951

Author’s note: Personally this came out a lot shorter than I would have liked, but it is what it is 🤷‍♀️ Based on the TikTok audio “you came, you called.”

— — — —

Regina George does not do vulnerability.

Vulnerability means weakness and being weak is not a trait that she possesses.

She’s the apex predator and people cower at her feet, tripping over themselves to please her.

Of course, that’s all before Cady fucking Heron steals her throne, steals her friends, steals her boyfriend, ruins her life, and gets her hit by a bus.

Now she’s stuck at home with this ugly ass spinal collar on, she has to take this pain medication that makes her loopy as hell, and she has to rely on her mother for help with the simplest of things.

Embarrassingly enough, she thinks the worst part of it all is that she’s alone.

She knows she shouldn’t care about that, knows it shouldn’t matter that nobody came to see her.

She wishes she could say she didn’t understand why no one came, wishes she could say they’re the rude ones, the mean ones who don’t care, but she can’t. She’s never been an easy person to approach before so why would she be now, after everything’s been taken from her and her life’s been turned to shambles?

Her eyes sweep over the flowers scattered about her room, pity gifts left at the front door by her classmates who clearly don’t mind spending money on her anonymously, but don’t have the courage to show they care in person.

She knows it’s her fault she’s by herself.

She glances to her phone on the blanket next to her, wondering if she really has to be.

The phone goes straight to voicemail and Regina releases a shaky breath as she speaks. “Hey, I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now, but I’m having a tough time and I didn’t know who else- I didn’t have anyone else to call. I can’t do this — I don’t want to do this alone. I know I deserve this, but please I…,” the phone beeps, her voicemail reaching the time limit before she can finish. Still she whispers into the quiet room, a single tear sliding down her cheek. “I need you.”

Exhaustion starts to creep in and for once, despite hating how tired her meds always make her, Regina doesn’t fight it allowing her eyes to slip shut and sleep to take over.

She wakes sometime later, her back throbbing in pain and a groan escapes her as she attempts to push herself into an upright position only succeeding in aggravating her back more.

“Careful there,” a voice — one that is decidedly not her mother — calls from beside her before a pair of hands are helping her into a more comfortable position. There’s shuffling next to her and she tries to turn and see who it is because there’s no way it’s who she actually hopes thinks it is, but her brace is making it impossible to turn her head so she stays facing forward until finally you step into her field of vision.

Regina blinks, trying to determine if you’re actually standing in front of her or if her medicine is making her hallucinate. “You came.”

“You called.”

It’s a simple response, one that falls easily from your lips and succeeds in making Regina spiral, thoughts of why, why, why, swirling through her head.

Why’d you come running just because she asked you to?

Why’s it so easy for you to come running to her?

Why didn’t you abandon her like everyone else?

Why do you tolerate her after everything?

“How many do you need?”

The question pulls Regina from her head and she looks to the orange pill bottle in your hand before returning her gaze back up to yours. “Just one.”

You nod, shaking the bottle until the pill falls into your palm and you help Regina take it, cupping your hand under her chin while she takes slow sips from the water bottle in your hand.

A single drop escapes her mouth and slips down her chin and you wipe it away with your thumb, your hand warm against her cheek and it takes everything in Regina not to lean into the touch.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says after a few moments of silence. “You should’ve ignored me.”

“Never, Regina.”

“I’m not a good person, you know. You shouldn’t be wasting your time on me. I’m not worth it.”

“Being mean doesn’t make you a bad person.” You shake your head at her, cupping her cheeks in your hands. “I’m not wasting my time; you’re worth everything to me.”

Regina can’t stop the tears from falling at that. You’re good to her, to everyone really, but always, especially to her; you’re too good to her and she doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve you. She knows that, there’s a part of her that has always known and refused to acknowledge it, choosing instead to bask in it like she always does, but now that she has, now that she’s had all this time to reflect, it’s too much for her.

She’s so mean, she’s such a bitch, and you’re so sweet, you’re an angel even when you shouldn’t be, like now, with her, and she’s consumed with so much guilt.

The tears come harder, a pained sob escaping her.

Carefully, you take her into your arms and she squeezes you tight to her, burying her face in your side. Crying hurts, but she can’t stop. You card your fingers through her hair and scratch lightly at her scalp, whispering soft reassurances to her.

“I’ve got you, Regina. You don’t have to do this alone anymore. I’m here, I’m right here.”

You press a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’ll always be here for you.”