#or if someone is in their right mind but they literally are unable to move like. i'm not just gonna let you lay in shit

[postcardsfromheapside]

I need to be salty for a hot second about people who are upset about aspects of Lucanis' romance.

I'll put everything else under the break for spoilers, but in general, I am so disappointed in a large portion of this fanbase who apparently thought "disaster" meant "romantasy," but also it's in keeping with how a lot of people seem unable to put things in context.

One of the complaints I keep seeing run past is that the scene where you commit to a relationship with Lucanis seems pefunctory, or out of the blue, there's nothing really romantic about it, it's too similar to the platonic route, etc, etc, ETC.

I romanced Emmrich, but I've seen other people's versions of romancing Lucanis. I'm just going to kind of word vomit here, and hope I can come up with something cohesive.

As someone who id's with Lucanis for "generational abuse" and "dumpster fire disaster bi" and "using socially acceptable drugs as coping mechanisms in place of addressing your problems" reasons, it's been really fucking annoying watching the almost deliberate misinterpretation of his character even after Mary Kirby dropped several explanations on social media. It's like a large part of the fanbase saw all that and turned into the "yes yes, very sad...anyway!" meme and went right on fetishizing him...then got mad when he didn't turn into the seductive Dom with wings they were hoping for.

You commit to Lucanis after (what I consider) a very intense scene inside his "mind prison." He's struggling so much internally that Spite wrests control of his body from him in front of witnesses and begs Rook to help them. Lucanis would never ask Rook to do so on his own, he's terrible at asking for the help he truly needs. Spite drags Rook into the Fade Ossuary and demands they free Lucanis from his self-imposed prison. And whether you're a friend or would-be lover, Rook slowly talks Lucanis out of a host of self doubts regarding his family and friends. Can he trust himself not to hurt other people, now that he's saddled with this affliction? Has he disappointed the people he cares about most? Do these new people he's coming to care about actually trust and care about him? The rooms are filled with fragmented thoughts that peter out into regrets. You're literally seeing Lucanis' fractured and complicated emotions.

One of them tore a hole straight through me: "You'd have to kill me...And Spite would die."

You'd have to kill him to get rid of the demon. And he'd regret the death of the demon that's protected him and given him strength, through a brutal year of betrayal and torment. I don't know if y'all remember the scenes in the Ossuary of the failed experiments and the corpses you had to pass to get to his jar of blood. It wasn't fun.

When you break out of the mind prison after helping him bond with Spite, it's intimate and momentous, even on a platonic route. You've seen desperate and lonely parts of him he'd never willingly show anyone.

As you're convincing Lucanis that it's okay to leave his mind-prison, you tell him you understand that it's easier to deal with problems like the Ossuary and Zara than healing and living with Spite, potentially hurting people he cares about. But he wants to. It's Rook's job to help him see a path out, a way for him to make the struggle easier so he can begin to heal himself.

I need to stress: you aren't "fixing" him. You're acting as his lighthouse, regardless of whether you're a friend or a lover. Sometimes people need help. He's still going to have to do the work to get there.

As a friend, it was extremely rewarding to come back to the kitchen and see him doing exactly as I'd hoped: moving on with the business of *living*. He made a nice dinner for everyone he's come to care for, and a special dessert for Neve. Cooking is where Lucanis finds creativity, and comfort, and connection with his friends and family. He isn't very good with words, but he will note everything you consume, and try to make you feel loved by expressing it that way.

Which is why I think it's important you don't dismiss the commitment on the romantic route. He remembers YOUR favorite drink and makes YOU a special dessert if you're romancing him. Lucanis isn't going to get poetic. You've already made him feel raw. You've seen the ugly, embarassing parts of him. What is he supposed to say? Usually it takes Spite reaching through his body to actually be direct. Instead, Lucanis reaches for food, his favorite medium, to try and apologize for inadvertently showing you those things, to thank you for helping him despite seeing what he considers the most shameful parts of him. Your commitment is letting him know that you value him, that he has nothing to be ashamed of, that you understand what he's trying to express with his struggling communication skills, which appear to get better as your relationship progresses from there.

It's weird that some of y'all don't feel that this is heartfelt and important, because you'd rather him act out some sensuous fantasy trope. It's also weird that some of you haven't figured out that many scenes in RPG's can be similar on platonic and romantic routes with tweaks to shade context.

(Also just in case this comes up: cooking is not his "love language" - that whole concept was invented by a misogynistic weirdo and we should remove it from our ideas of communication)

Anyway, this guy is my Rook's bestie and I'll go down swinging for him, you should appreciate the fuck out of him and stop acting like his writer didn't craft a perfectly funny little weirdo who is bad at showing people his tender parts and terrible at interpersonal relationships.

[elprupneerg]

While I had lots of fun yesterday and learned lots of cool new things, it also really really sucks that my attempts at making the day’s activities safer for me to participate in failed as badly as they did. Ouch. Owie. Oof. Ouch. And etc

[artdcnaldson]

NEED art and patrick to find out I'm a virgin and offer to teach me how to kiss and how to fuck and use eachother as examples and guide me and tell me I'm doing a good job and reward me for being such a good student and come back later and quiz me to see if I remember everything they taught me ugh obsessed with them individually and as a unit

This has lived rent free in my mind for literally forever. I can’t stop thinking about it, it haunts my every waking moment.

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: Making out, Handjob lessons, guys being pervs, not a love triangle they just all want to fuck each other

A/N: unedited bc I wrote this while on the clock okay whatever. Enjoyyyy and if u want me to continue this lmk >:)

“I think it’s sweet,” Patrick said, and you could hear the amusement in his voice, practically dripping from every syllable. “The last American virgin. You belong in a museum.”

You rolled your eyes and tossed your empty Taco Bell cup at him— the ice rattled and it leaked a puddle of condensation onto the ground. “You could try not to be a dick about it.”

Art’s dorm room was hot and sticky thanks to a faulty AC, which meant the three of you lounging on the floor by his open window, sucking down soda watered down by melted ice cubes. You were down to a T-shirt and shorts, they were down to their boxers. It wasn’t lost on you that it was an intimate situation to be in— barely dressed, crammed into the shoebox of a dorm. And of course Patrick had dug his fingers in until you admitted your secret— you had made it all the way to college totally unfucked.

Patrick leaned forward, smiling the smarmy smile that tended to wear at your last nerve. “So you’re a virgin, but like,” he leaned in, so close you could feel body heat radiating from him. He dropped his voice, just above a whisper. “How much of a virgin, really? You’ve at least gone to third, right?” You glared, but shook your head.

“Second?” Art supplied, suddenly jumping in with an eager sort of curiosity.

“What? No, I don’t even know what that means,” you admitted. You sighed before you spoke up. “I’ve only ever kissed one guy and one girl, and it was during a game of spin the bottle, like, junior year.”

“How?” Patrick asked.

Your brows furrowed. “How? I spun the bottle, it landed on the person, I leaned in, put my lips against theirs, and that was it.”

Patrick sighed. “Just fucking show me how.” He looked at you expectantly, inching even closer.

With an annoyed sigh, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his— mouth closed, lips firm. When you sat back, Patrick and Art were both grinning.

“What?” You asked with a frown.

“That’s how you kiss on the playground in elementary school,” Art said, unable to contain his laughter. “C’mere.”

You crawled forward, stopping in front of the blond. His hand settled on your jaw, coaxing you forward.

His lips met yours softly, sweetly. It was easy to lose yourself in the feeling of Art’s mouth, in the gentle brushes of his lips against yours and the way he held your face so tenderly.

The feeling of his tongue pressing against the seam of your lips was strange, but you welcomed it, letting him lick into your mouth.

Each pass of his tongue against yours drew you deeper and deeper into it, into him. You moved into his lap without realizing it, kissing him with sweet, timid laps of your tongue.

Art pulled back first, his cheeks soft and pink and so pretty. “See? That’s how you’re supposed to kiss someone. That was really good.”

You laughed softly, and moved off of his lap sheepishly. Patrick leaned forward, brushing your hair back, holding your face in his hand.

“Okay, show me what Art showed you,” he instructed, then leaned in.

Kissing Patrick was different than kissing Art. He was hungrier, more insistent. His tongue pressed into your mouth like he wanted to chart every inch. You did your best to match what he offered, to kiss the way Art had just shown you, sweetly, like you really meant it.

And you did mean it. Patrick’s hands moved along your side, up until they cupped your tits through your shirt. You moaned softly into his mouth— the sound was muffled, met with a moan of his own. He gave an experimental squeeze of your tits and you whined softly. So he did it again, amused by the pretty, sweet noises you mewled out.

Patrick was getting hard, pressing against your thigh. It was a new sensation that you were hyper aware of as you unconsciously ground yourself against him.

You pulled back first, cheeks burning hot after you remembered Art was right beside you. You tucked unkempt hair behind your ear, smiled bashfully. “How was I?”

“Good,” Patrick said.

At the same time Art supplied, “So good.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Okay. Cool.”

Art was squirming, fidgeting, holding a pillow over his lap. Patrick was less covert— opting to openly adjust himself, drawing more attention to the fact that he was hard. You rolled your eyes and stole the nearest cup you could find, sipping at watered down Mountain Dew.

“Do you want me to leave?” You teased, raising an eyebrow. Your teeth dug into the plastic straw as you looked between the two of them.

Art stammered, mortified, but Patrick just smiled dizzyingly over at you. “I can teach you something else. You got to first base, so why don’t you steal second?”

You rolled your eyes, but heat flared behind your cheeks. Jesus Christ, he was such a smug asshole. “I still don’t know what that means,” you said, feeling a little embarrassed.

He grinned and mimed jerking off. Your eyes widened, and you laughed softly. “That would be weird,” you said, half-believing it. “Like, if I did jerk one of you off, that leaves one of you just watching.”

You glanced at Art, who looked just as interested as Patrick did, and your heart stammered nervously. “What if I show you how you do it on Art? Look at him— he’s the perfect little practice dummy.” Patrick reached over, pinching at Art’s cheek until the blond kicked his shin.

“Show me?” You echoed. “Like… you’re going to do it to him, and I do it to you?”

Patrick nodded, leaning into Art’s side, his smarmy smile dissolved into something needier. Art swallowed hard, lips parted slightly as he looked over at Patrick.

Patrick’s lips met his slowly, hungrily. You watched wide eyed as Patrick deepened the kiss, as Art eagerly accepted the other boy’s tongue into his mouth.

Patrick threw the pillow out of Art’s lap and sent it careening into the desk on the opposite side of the room. Your eyes widened at the sight of Art, hard and tenting his boxers. Patrick palmed him in his large hands making the blonde whimper into his mouth and buck up, seeking friction.

You swallowed hard, biting down on the straw as you watched Patrick tug at the elastic of Art’s boxers. Art lifted his hips to allow Patrick to tug them down his thighs, just enough to expose his cock to both of you.

“See,” Patrick gasped, leaning back from their kiss. Art chased his lips fruitlessly, mouth ajar, waiting for more. “He’s so fucking easy. Come feel.”

You moved closer, looking at Art for permission. When he nodded, you reached out, letting your fingertips graze the soft skin of his shaft. He exhaled a shuddery breath, eyes fluttering shut. Patrick’s hand covered yours, guiding you to squeeze around his length.

He was warm under your touch, silky soft, pulsing in your grip. Your heart hammered just at that— at the feel of him in your hand. “Feels nice, huh? Knowing how much he wants you.” You nodded, then slid your fist up, testing the waters. Art moaned softly, throbbed in your grip, aching for more. Patrick smiled like the cat who got the cream. “Hands off, just watch me.”

Patrick spat into his hand and replaced your hand with his own. The second Patrick curled his fingers around Art and started stroking him slowly, the blond was mewling for more. “Fuck,” he moaned, his forehead knocking against Patrick’s, mouth open, panting. “That’s good, feels good.”

You watched Patrick rub his thumb over Art’s tip, eyes widening as Art really whimpered for it, hips thrusting up into Patrick’s fist, chasing more of the pleasure the brunet offered.

“You get it now?” Patrick asked. You nodded quickly, and he tugged down his own boxers. “Fuck, okay— fucking show me.”

Your heart hammered with nerves, but you nodded. You held your hand out and spit into it, mimicking what Patrick had done before you wrapped your hand around his cock.

He felt bigger in your hands, but you didn’t say that. One, you worried it might piss Art off, and two, he didn’t need the ego boost. And he was slick, beading precum at his tip so each pass of your hands felt slicker and slicker.

And you couldn’t help but want to be an asshole. “You’re wet like a girl,” you said with a smirk, gliding your thumb over his tip.

And he was shameless, nodding with a sly grin. “That means I like you.” He panted, moaning softly. “Besides, I bet your fucking panties aren’t dry right now.”

Well, fuck. You tried to ignore the rush of heat in your belly that those words caused, to focus only on the glide of your hand on Patrick’s cock— up and down, copying his pace on Art, copying the ways he’d squeeze and twist his hand.

Art was moaning, rutting up into the tight sheath of Patrick’s fist, the muscles of his abdomen tensing and relaxing in unsteady jerks beneath his soft skin.

“Fuck— switch, switch,” Patrick said quickly. Art whined when Patrick stopped touching him, but it was ignored. “Want you to feel it when he comes.”

He guided your hand back onto Art’s cock and nodded for you to move. “Fuck, your hand’s so soft,” Art groaned. “Faster, faster, fuck—“ He was practically begging. You swallowed, increased the pace, squeezed him a little tighter.

Art was touching Patrick— jerking him off while you brought him closer and closer to finishing. Patrick leaned in, kissed you deeply, pulled Art in too until the three of you were a mess of tongues and lips and spit and hands.

Art came first— coating your hand in warm, slick cum, throbbing in your grip. He was panting into your and Patrick’s mouths, moaning softly as you continued to slowly work him through it. Patrick came next, once Art redoubled his effort, focused on making Patrick add to the mess covering your hands.

Patrick was loud, pornographic, messy. Art brought a cum covered hand between his lips, cleaning it up. Your eyes widened.

“Art, c’mon, you’re scandalizing her,” Patrick said, like you weren’t even there.

“Shut up,” you said, shoving him. He laughed and pulled his boxers back up. Art followed suit, and the three of you were left gross and sweating in the heat. You wiped your hand off on one of their discarded shirts and gave a sheepish smile.

They sat there, expectantly. Waiting for you to make the next call. There was a level of want in you, need, but the thought of asking for them to take care of it was mortifying. “Do you want to watch a movie or something now?”

[izvmimi]

unable to ever bask in peaceful quiet for too long, you rouse from your unintended sudden nap, where izuku holds you close with one arm to keep you from rolling from atop him to the floor, and the other hand scrolls on his phone, ever preoccupied with the latest news, considering how often it's his responsibility to deal with it. as you move, he shifts to accommodate you further, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you're fully up and looking at him.

"did you like your nap?" he asks, softly.

you didn't remember falling asleep, but it's not uncommon for you to doze off the minute you lay on top of him, and he chuckles as you mutter something about not knowing what the hell happened. but then your eyes quickly grow wide, and as if this were a normal topic of conversation to transition to upon waking, you're back to laying close on him, pressing your chin to his chest as you ask,

"how many lifetimes do you think there are where i haunt you as a ghost?"

izuku blinks rapidly, stunned by the sudden question, but you are nonchalant, your feet swinging in slow flutter kicks as you wait for him to respond. as he thinks, your fingers card gently into the curls of his hair, examining each one as if they were nothing but fine silk.

"excuse me? what exactly were you dreaming about, love?"

your eyes shift back to him. "it's not that odd of a question. what's your guess?"

his phone falls somewhere in the crevices of the couch cushions, but izuku doesn't bother to dig for it, now focused on your question.

"doesn't that involve you dying before me?"

you shrug. "yes but that's a moot point."

his eyebrows furrow together. "that's not a 'moot point', i expect there to be very few universes where you die before i do."

you roll your eyes playfully.

"what, because you'd 'never let me get harmed'?" you tease.

his lips pull into a frown, and now he's cupping your face. "are you doubting me?"

you sigh, and shake your head. "listen, there're a lot of things that could happen you'd have no control over like critical illness, a car accident, a boat capsizing-"

"you'd literally never be on a boat without me-" he interrupts.

"still not the point," you insist, pressing a finger to his lips. he pauses, but then makes a pretend motion to bite it and you retract your finger with a sharp, playful look.

he holds you tighter.

"i don't like this game," he finally says. you ponder for a moment, but his eyes are pleading for you to stop imagining your death even for a hypothetical situation, and you decide to free him from the thoughts for just a moment. laying your head against his chest again, you let your arms find their way around his waist and let out a long exhale.

"the point of it all is that i'd never let you go, okay? even if i die," you murmur into his t-shirt. you can feel the rumble of his laughter through his body so close to yours; you revel in the way he rubs your back gently, and agrees.

"same, but i don't think i'd go straight to haunting," he muses. you scoff.

"even if i immediately fall in love with someone else?" you ask.

his hand abruptly stops its petting motion.

"...never mind, i'm haunting."

you're the one to break out in laughter this time, as he peppers more kisses to the top of your head, and you continue to lay together until you fall right back asleep.

[pucksandpower]

Mad World

Logan Sargeant x Vowles!Reader

Summary: no matter how cruel the rest of the world may seem, Logan will always have a home with you

Logan stares blankly at James Vowles, unable to process the words coming out of his team principal’s mouth.

“I’m … I’m sorry, what?” Logan stammers, his heart pounding. This can’t be happening.

James looks immensely uncomfortable but pushes on. “Alex needs your chassis since his is too damaged and the team does not have a spare. You’ll have to withdraw from the race weekend.”

The room falls into an oppressive silence as the words sink in. Logan can feel his chance at remaining in Formula 1 next year slipping away with each agonizing second. Why is he being punished for a crash that wasn’t his fault? The questions swirl dizzily in his mind.

James regards him with remorseful eyes. “I’m sorry, Logan. There’s no other way ...”

The words hit Logan like a punch to the gut. He stares at James, numb, his mind spinning. After a long silence, he nods mutely and forces out, “I … I need a minute.” His feet move without conscious thought, carrying him blindly down the corridors as burning tears blur his vision.

Logan’s heart pounds in his chest as he rushes through the hallway, tears streaming down his face. He can barely see where he’s going as he barrels toward his driver’s room. His breaths come in ragged gasps, the weight of James’ words crushing him.

How could they do this to him? After everything?

He fumbles with the handle, finally wrenching the door open and slamming it shut behind him. Logan leans back against it, sliding down until he’s sitting on the floor. Sobs wrack his body as the reality sinks in — he’s out for the weekend because of someone else’s mistake.

It’s not fair. None of this is fair.

His career, his dreams, his entire future flashing before his eyes, slipping away because Williams can’t get their act together. Why did they even re-sign him if they have so little faith? The questions swirl in his mind, only compounded by the hurt and anger burning in his chest.

Logan stays like that for who knows how long, gasping for air between cries that feel like they’re literally tearing him apart from the inside.

He’s so consumed by emotion that he doesn’t hear the tentative knock at first. When it comes again, louder this time, he jolts slightly, raising a hand to wipe uselessly at his tear-streaked face.

With trembling fingers, he pulls open the door, and you’re standing there. The mere sight of you breaks through the haze of devastation, if only for a moment.

You step inside without a word, wrapping your arms around him, and the dam breaks again. Fresh sobs spill out as Logan crumples against your chest, clinging to you like a lifeline while you softly hush him, guiding the two of you to the couch.

You maneuver him gently until his head is cradled in your lap, your fingers combing soothingly through his hair. “I came as soon as I heard,” you murmur, voice thick with shared pain. “I can’t believe they would do this to you because of their own mistakes. It’s not right.”

Logan tries to speak, to voice the turmoil inside him, but all that comes out is a strangled, “Why? I don’t … I don’t understand. It’s not my fault, so why am I being punished?” His words dissolve into hiccuping gasps. “They must not have faith in me at all. This … this is it, isn’t it? The end.”

You shush him again, cupping his face to brush the tears away with your thumbs. “Don’t think like that. The team is the one in the wrong here, not you.”

But the storm won’t be quelled so easily. Logan sits up abruptly, putting distance between you despite how his heart aches at the loss of your touch. “But soon I won’t even be a driver anymore,” he chokes out, meeting your eyes with his own reddened, devastated gaze. “You shouldn’t … you deserve so much better than me, Y/N. Better than someone whose career is over before it even started.”

“Logan Sargeant, don’t you dare say that.” You’re on your feet in an instant, hands on your hips in a stance he knows all too well — the fierce protectiveness that still makes his heart flutter, even now. “I am with you because I love you, every amazing, incredible part of you. Not because you’re an F1 driver, but because of the person you are.”

He can only gape at you, stunned into silence by the intensity of your words, the unwavering certainty in your tone. You step closer, cupping his face again, making him meet the blazing love and conviction in your eyes.

“I don’t care if you never race again, though you know I believe in you with everything I have. I’m not going anywhere, do you understand me? We’re in this together, always, no matter what.” You press your lips to his brow, his cheeks, finally claiming his mouth in a searing kiss that leaves him dizzy. “I love you,” you breathe against his lips. “I love you so much, Logan.”

He’s dumbstruck, overwhelmed by the ferocity of your devotion, even in the face of his lowest moment. How did he get so lucky as to have you in his life? In a heartbeat, Logan is kissing you again, tears of a different kind streaking his cheeks as he murmurs the words over and over. “I love you, I love you, I love you ...”

Eventually, you guide him back until he’s lying down on the couch once more, placing a small pillow under his head. “Get some rest, babe. You’ve been through the ringer today.”

He catches your hand before you can move away fully. “Where are you going?”

The fiery look in your eye makes his stomach flip. “I need to go have a … conversation … with my father.”

Logan lets out a teary laugh at your protective fierceness — one of the many things he loves most about you. “Yes ma’am.”

Leaning down, you brush one last lingering kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

As you turn and head for the door, Logan feels his heart swell watching your receding form. For all the hurt today has brought, he knows more than ever that he’s the luckiest man in the world to have you by his side.

As Logan drifts into an exhausted doze, his last conscious thoughts are of you — his forever, his everything — and how lucky he is to have such an amazing love in his life.

No matter what happens next.

[rafey-baby]

hidden 3

c/w: hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, outlaw!rafe being his usual self, mentions of murder, pogue!reader having some sexual awakenings & some backstory on rafe, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.3k

hope u enjoy xx

part 1 part 2 & part 4 part 5

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  

The following morning, her eyes groggily open in her own bed— covers tucked over her shoulders and head comfortably propped up by her pillow.

She finds herself perplexed, doesn’t know how she ended up here since her last coherent memory from last night is sitting on the passenger seat of Rafe’s truck and letting her heavy lids close for what was originally supposed to be a few minutes.   

Her sock-clad feet pad over to the living room where Rafe is rummaging through some of his papers and whatnot; appearing as busy as ever.   

“Why don’t I remember coming home last night?” she stops to stand next to him.  

“Cause you sleep like a fuckin’ rock. Had to carry you to your room,” he sounds disinterested, not even bothering to lift his head from the piece of paper he’s pinching between his fingers.

Upon closer inspection, it appears to be some sort of a contract—letters unfortunately too tiny for her to be able to read from where she’s standing.  

“Oh. Thanks?”  

Instead of leaving her passed out in his car like she would’ve assumed, he tucked her into bed? Maybe he owns a heart, after all.   

“It’s whatever,” he dismisses her while reading something over; seemingly deep in thought.   

“Do you— do you need help with that?”  

“Nah, I’m good,” his hand lifts up to scratch at the back of his head before scribbling something down. 

“Right…” she trails off, apparently rooted in her spot and unable to move.   

“Did you want something or what?” his tone is suddenly exasperated, eyes finally flickering up to peer into hers along with his brows raising expectantly.   

“No, I just…are we going somewhere today?” she can’t help but feel a little out of place in her own home with him there; almost as if she’s waiting for his next command to know what to do. It makes something peculiar swim in the pits of her stomach.   

“Nah, just have to go over these. Can you, I dunno, go to your room or something? You’re botherin’ me with your staring,” he grumbles and shifts into a more comfortable position on the couch; not sparing her another ounce of attention.   

“Sorry,” she mumbles, a frown taking over her visage.   

Honestly, she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to do now. Normally, she’d go to work at the surf shop near the beach but since Rafe so kindly took her phone and texted everyone in her contacts about a family emergency that would take some days to sort through, she can’t exactly do that.

And besides work…well, she doesn’t really have much else going on in her life. It’s sad, really, how a literal criminal forcing his way into her house is the most exciting thing to happen to her in the past few years.   

All things considered though, she doesn’t mind living a quiet life in the Cut, just sometimes wishes she didn’t feel so…lonely. And don’t get her wrong, she has friends, she just sometimes yearns for something deeper than fun boat adventures or getting high with her feet dangling over the dock while a tangerine-colored sunset paints over the horizon.   

She’s always had this dream of traveling around the world or simply just somewhere that wasn’t the Outer Banks but her parents never had the money for it. Therefore, she settled and learned to earn a living by herself in order to keep a roof over her head.   

And she’s been content with her simple life, even considers herself to be happy but then she sat on Rafe’s lap and at the realization of him getting hard from her unconscious rubbing against him felt butterflies in her belly, maybe for the first time in her life. It was something she thought only happened in movies yet there they were; their fluttering wings poking at her core like some vicious reminder that she hadn’t let someone make her feel good in ages.   

Truth be told, she grew tired of guys not being able to make her come because they didn’t understand her needs; didn’t even bother to find them out which is why she sort of lost hope for the whole thing altogether. But then Rafe steps inside her home uninvited and is nothing but mean to her and suddenly she... 

It's wrong.  

It doesn't make any sense yet she still can't help but feel a certain pull towards him whenever he's close. And she doesn't like it one bit; wants to forget about it as quickly as the thought breaches her mind.  

It's far too complex for her perplexed mind to grasp onto, which is why she confuses it for insanity; simply decides that she’s going crazy. And maybe she is, because why else would she suddenly care for Rafe? Why is a hidden part of her heart beginning to harbor gooey, fond feelings for a killer who’s technically holding her hostage?  

She’s sure her muddled brain is going to explode if she thinks about the matter any longer; instead opting to take a long, scalding shower due to the clothes she’s been wearing since yesterday starting to stick to her sweaty skin and making her feel even filthier than she already does.  

Unfortunately, the steaming water doesn't quite wash away the ache between her thighs.  

She’s in the middle of pulling a shirt over the damp strands of her hair when harsh knuckles rap against her bedroom door and Rafe enters a second later; not even bothering to wait for a response.   

“Change of plans—” his words die down on his tongue when he notices her current state.   

“Rafe, what the fuck?” she quickly adjusts the hem over her waist, painfully aware of the fact that she’s not wearing any pants and his eyes are now fixed on the lace of her panties practically on show for him.  

“Why are you just barging into my room like that? I could’ve been naked!” she complains before snatching a pair of shorts off her floor; tugging them over her hips.   

“Shit, wouldn’t have minded if you were. Got a nice ass for a Pogue,” he shrugs while sporting an irritating smirk that makes her glare at him.   

“And you’ve got no manners for a Kook. Except, I’m not surprised,” she rolls her eyes when he feigns shock; exaggeratedly dropping his jaw.  

“Puppy’s getting angry, huh? Where’s this attitude coming from? Thought you were still scared of me?” he belittles her with a condescending tinge in his laugh.  

And she’s about to respond when out of the blue the ring of her doorbell reverberates around the house.   

They both tense.   

“You’re expecting someone?” his tone turns bleak, frigid; inducing shivers to litter across her arms as her head turns towards the source of the sound.   

“N— no. I’m not,” she stutters because truthfully, she doesn’t have a clue as to who could be at her door in the middle of an ordinary Tuesday.   

“Did you fucking call someone?” he takes a threatening step towards her and she panics.    

“No! I promise, I didn’t. I don’t even— you literally have my phone, remember?” she tries to fruitlessly defend herself.   

“I swear, if you’re lying right now—”   

“I’m not, okay? I didn’t call anyone!” She reassures once more, although it seems like he’s not even listening anymore. Therefore, she tries to be logical. ”I should— I should go and see who it is, right?”  

The icebound water in his eyes bores into her as he weighs out his options.  

“Right, right. Yeah, you should do that," he finally settles on. "But if you even consider telling them anything, I swear I’m gonna fucking find you, you understand?” He grits out into her face and she flinches when she can feel his harsh breaths hit her mouth with each syllable.   

She quickly nods before teetering towards the entrance of her home and twisting the lock with precarious fingers.  

Soon, she’s standing in front of two men wearing police uniforms.  

“Oh, sorry for the wait. Was um…in the bathroom. How can I— uh, help you?” she tries to appear unfazed; inhaling slowly and doing everything she can in order to not look as guilty as she feels.  

“We apologize for the inconvenience but we’ve been assigned to ask around the island in order to locate a criminal who’s potentially a threat to our entire community,” one of them says and she thinks his jaded eyes are peering into her soul and seeing right through her rickety facade.  

“Have you seen this man recently?” the other guy dangles a picture of Rafe in the air. She takes a moment to properly look at the photo as to not answer too quickly.   

“N— no, sorry. Can’t say I have. Why? Who is that?” she bats her lashes in confusion as her poor heart thuds in her ribcage. She wonders if they can hear it.  

“This is Rafe Cameron. You might’ve heard about Cameron Development? He became the owner after his father’s death a few years back. And now we have reason to believe that he’s the main suspect for the murder of a fellow officer,” he states with a serious expression.  

“Oh, that’s…that’s terrible,” her eyes widen in shock because she had no idea Rafe was a Cameron. Of course, she’d heard everyone talking about what had happened with Ward Cameron and the rumors surrounding the gold but she’d never cared enough to dig through for more information about the rest of his family.   

“Seems like the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree considering what Ward did to Sheriff Peterkin,” the one with the piercing stare snickers and her brows furrow because she doesn’t think the topic is all that hilarious.   

“I remember watching that in the news when it was all happening. Didn’t you guys also arrest an innocent Pogue with no actual proof?” her question is sharp because the whole case still itches her in the wrong way.  

“That was— listen, I wasn’t even here back then, it was all very tragic. But the investigation on this case is still ongoing and we have a reliable witness claiming they saw Rafe dragging something heavy near the ocean the night before we found the body washed up on the shore. And according to multiple sources Rafe was the last person seen with our coworker at the island club a few hours prior to his death,” the guy explains and she momentarily wonders if they’re even allowed to share this much classified information with her.   

“Right. Well, I really wish I could help you but I unfortunately haven’t seen him,” her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek and she wonders if they can tell that she’s lying.  

“At this point, it seems like no one has. We’re suspecting that he might’ve fled the country. Anyway, we’ve got orders to search every house but honestly, we don’t think he’d be on this side of the island. So, we’re not gonna waste our time on that. Call this number if you notice anything out of the ordinary, though?”   

“Yes, of course. I really wish there was more I could do to help. Hope you guys find him soon,” she offers them a tight smile.   

“We’ll do our best,” they assure her before the door finally closes.   

Her back slides down against the wood as her labored breathing begins to slow down. She closes her eyes in a moment of relief until she feels Rafe’s presence interfering with her peace.   

“Who knew you were such a good liar? Shouldn’t believe everything you say too easily then, should I?” his gaze travels down her form and he genuinely seems impressed.   

“You killed a cop?” she decides to ignore his teasing.  

“Relax. He was a sleazy bastard who was helping me with some side business and became too greedy. What can I say? Don’t like being used. But believe me, he was not a good person,” he answers her question, maybe for the first time ever.  

“Right, right,” she tries her very best to understand where he’s coming from but she doesn’t think she’s ever going to be able to justify ending someone’s life with such indifference. In her opinion, he doesn’t have the right to decide whether someone gets to live or not; no matter how good or bad of a person they are.  

“Listen, I didn’t mean to do it, it just…happened, okay?” he tries to explain himself and he almost sounds vulnerable. She nearly feels bad for him.   

“You know, I could go to jail for helping you!” she snaps when frustration bubbles to the surface instead.   

“Calm down, Pup. You’re not going to jail, alright? And watch that fucking tone, yeah?” his hands rest on his head as he begins to pace around the hallway.   

“I just— cops don’t care about Pogues. If they find out I lied to them they’re gonna put me behind bars cause unlike you, I don’t have the money to bail myself out,” she tries to pointlessly reason with him.   

“Already told you, nothing’s gonna happen to you, okay? Now can you shut the fuck up so I can think?” he demands, halting his movements.   

“Did they, uh, tell you anything?” he speaks up again and she tells him everything she remembers from the brief conversation while he mulls over his situation.  

“Right, right. So, they don’t actually have any real proof about me killing the guy? Just speculation,” he confirms.   

“I guess, yeah? But I don’t know if they even know all the details about the case,” she offers in response and can practically hear the wheels turning in his head.   

“They didn’t happen to mention who the witness was?”   

“N— no, why?” her voice wavers as she swallows around the question.  

He lifts his head to inspect her reaction when he seems to have finally conjured up some sort of a plan to clear his name.   

“Think I’m gonna have to pay him a little visit. And you’re gonna help, aren’t ya?” 

She would very much like to find out whatever sin she committed in a past life that weighed so heavily that it made her end up in a position as wretched as this one. 

[pastorpresent]

Since Logan moved in, it was finally deemed that their singular double bed was an unrealistic sleeping arrangement for three people. It had barely worked when it was just him and Al, but Logan was fucking huge and most of the time the older mans attempts at sleeping on the lumpy, cocaine stuffed couch would end up with him on the floor and aching the next day.

Wade saved up and managed to find a sofa bed that would actually fit in their tiny living room (which he only did so Logan would stop bitching, obviously. He only worked an extra thirty hours ish because Logan was pissing him off with his moaning, and Wade was prepared to kill anyone who suggested otherwise).

Originally, it was supposed to be for Logan - but him being the annoyingly gracious gentleman he was, he offered it up to Al since it was now the most comfortable sleeping option going. (Wade once tried to tell him to give it up, that Al didn't have a good side to get on, but then he'd been proven wrong by the fact that Al was fucking smitten by the bastard. Wade was convinced they were conspiring against him.)

It left them both sharing the double bed and, again, Logan was fucking huge. Even if Wade made every effort to restrain himself and lie strictly on the very edge of the bed, nine times out of ten he'd wake up the next morning curled around the big hunk of muscle.

It felt... so fucking good. Wade wasn't a cuddler, funnily enough, but there was just something about it being Logan specifically. He'd genuinely never felt safer than he did wrapped up in his arms, listening to the quiet snores of the older man and feeling his heart beat right up against his own.

And it's not like it was a conscious thing he was doing - he was literally asleep! Plus Logan never objected, and he always cuddled back, and sometimes there was a tiny and disgustingly hopeful voice in the recesses of his mind asking if their position was due to Logan pulling him in rather than Wade's unconscious and persistent disregard for personal space.

They'd had this unspoken, completely-undiscussed-for-any-period-of-time-whatsoever arrangement for about two months when one night Wade woke up to agonising pain.

He blinked blearily, brain still half asleep as he struggled to comprehend what was going on, and his first thought was Logan. If someone had broken in, what if he was hurt too? What if they'd found a way to kill him? It felt like he was dying, with the horrific sharp stabbing in his sides scratching his heart and popping both lungs like balloons, leaving him unable to breathe properly as his chest sucked inwards. What if he was truly dying? And worse still - what if they'd found a way to kill Logan?

There was a soft growl that tapered off into a small whimper just inches from his face, and he forced himself to calm down and focus.

They were locked in their usual embrace, but when Wade looked up at Logan's face, it was screwed up. He was shaking his head rapidly, breaths coming out short and laboured, his eyes still tightly closed.

It was then he realised what the source of his own pain was. Six adamantium claws piercing through both sides of his body, ripping up his organs into gruesome confetti.

Shit.

Logan thrashed a little, his claws deepening, and Wade cried out a little at the explosion of pain. He lifted an arm and clamped it down onto Logan's forearm to not only steady himself, but to try to get the man to wake up from whatever nightmare he was having. Wade knew too well about how violently real they could feel. It really wasn't a stretch or exaggeration to say that seeing the frightened look on Logan's sleeping face, usually the only time he got to look some sort of peaceful, was more hurtful than any of the physical pain Wade was currently experiencing.

When he gripped Logan's arm, he was shaking like a leaf.

"Logan," he called, struggling around his rearranged insides, tightening his grip on the man's arm in an attempt to ground him.

Logan snarled, embedding his claws deeper until they were peeking out the opposite sides of Wade's body, his warm fists pressing against skin, and if Wade could bring himself to focus on anything other than the blindingly white shot of pain or the emotional turmoil on his best friends face he may of mourned his now tattered Hello Kitty sleep shirt.

Logan's claws hurt sinking into him even when he had the suit on, but he'd never experienced their wrath without it - and it was much worse.

"L-Logan," he called out, coughing up blood and chunks of flesh onto the already destroyed bed sheets and yeah- he'd probably need to change them now, considering he was bleeding out most of his body's blood all over them. He just hoped the mattress wasn't completely fucked, because his paycheck probably couldn't stretch to new sheets and a new mattress.

Logan let out a sound halfway between a moan and a sob, and there was a wetness beneath his lashes. Ok no - this needed to end now.

"It's W-Wade, Logan. M' right here, you're s-safe, 'ts ok," it was getting really difficult to talk, especially loud enough for Logan to hear him above his own sounds of distress.

He ran his fingers up and down Logan's arm, scratching lightly. His own body was feeling dangerously weak, and he knew he was about to die from blood loss probably - which usually took a good few hours to regenerate from.

He couldn't have that. He couldn't leave Logan like this, so he needed to pull him out of it soon.

He hesitated for only a second before inching himself closer, gasping and writhing at the agony it caused, and let his head drop against Logan's, moving his hand upwards with a soft grunt to stroke a hand through his hair.

"T's me. L-Logan 'ts ok, y-you're ok," he has to turn his face away to cough wetly into his shoulder, wincing at the metallic taste of blood.

"Lo, please," he pleads quietly, and he isn't sure what does it, but Logan wakes up.

His eyes shoot open, and dart around rapidly, chest heaving, and then they zero in on him. On the bloody mess of their bed, and their current position, and Wade really is getting tired now. His eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand pounds, and he let's the hand he was running through Logan's hair go limp, allowing it to fall against the older mans pillow.

"G'd job, big guy. K-knew you'd come back f'r me," he slurs out, his head lolling back despite wanting nothing more than to keep it pressed against Logan's. He can feel himself slipping.

"Wade. WADE! Fuck, Wade!"

The claws retract out of his body suddenly, and it feels like a punch to his insides. Logan screams, or maybe he does, he's not sure anymore.

He wants to comfort Logan and tell him it's fine, that he'll be healed up and ok in an hour or two, that it wasn't his fault, because he already knows the man will blame himself for this which is beyond fucking stupid.

He can't do or say any of it. His insides are trying to heal, but they'd been so torn up it wasn't all that fast.

"Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, Wade stay awake, alright? Keep your eyes open, you asshole. I'm so sorry, so fucking sorry," Logan's panicking, he can hear it in his voice. He's really panicking now, and Wade can't figure out how to communicate that he will be perfectly ok soon enough.

"Baby, please. Please, I'm so sorry."

Did Logan just call him baby? He must really not look great.

He manages to lift that shaking hand off of the pillow behind Logan's head, and lifts it enough to cup the back of his neck, stroking his thumb over the shorter hairs there. Logan wraps his arms around him like he's about to dissapear, pulling him in flush against his warmth, all but cradling him, and he can't tell if the wetness on his shoulder is Logan crying or blood.

Blood seems more likely. The beds covered in it. Wade's covered in it too, and he feels like he should be trying to push Logan away so he doesn't get covered in it as well.

It's the last thing he remembers before the world goes black.

//

When he wakes up, it's daylight - which isn't all that surprising. Regenerating your bodies blood cells was a right bitch, and he'd never had to do it on this big of a scale before.

He blinks his eyes against the harsh lights, and goes to sit up only to be stopped by a soft, perfectly manicured hand against his chest.

"Easy, Wade. Just stay lying down for a minute until your brain catches up," Vanessa advises gently and - Vanessa? What was she doing here?

"Where's Logan?" He blurts, not quite caring if it's rude. He needs to see him. He'd been trapped in that shitty nightmare and then had nobody to talk it over with, since Wade's stupid body decided to give up on him.

He hates the brief look that flashes over Vanessa's face. The twist of anger and disgust, and he doesn't fucking get it which only makes him hate it more.

"What?" He demands, and as much as he was healed up, his lungs still burnt a little when he sat up, brushing her hand away.

"You don't need to worry about that now, Wade. He can't hurt you again. He's gone," she hissed, and Wade had heard her be less seething with grabby customers at the bar.

Her words made his stomach plummet, and his newly generated blood flow went cold.

"What the fuck do you mean 'gone'?! Where the fuck is he?"

The TVA had always offered to send his Logan back to his own timeline. Everytime Logan had dismissed it, said this was his universe now. The idea... fuck, the idea of him back in his own? Where everyone calls him the 'worst wolverine' and he spends all his time alone, shunned by everybody for reasons he's more than made up for... no. No, fuck, please say he didn't go back there.

"Wade, calm down-"

"No! I don't want to fucking calm down! Where's Logan?!"

It's loud and harsh, and he startles himself a little bit because he's never, in all the years he's known her, yelled at Vanessa - but he feels so off balance. Like everything around him is just... wrong, somehow, and he needs to understand why in order to fix it. He needs Logan.

Vanessa removes her hand, mouth opening then snapping shut. Her expression goes from shocked to tight and hard in an instant, but she only holds it for a moment before deflating entirely, shrugging her shoulders.

"I don't know. He called me upset and said he'd hurt you really badly and that you needed help. By the time I got here you were starting to heal but... it was really slow. We patched you up and Logan told me what had happened and... and I lost it, I told him to go and to stay far away from you. No ones heard from him the last couple of days since he walked out," Vanessa looked somewhat guilty, but it didn't quell Wade's anger.

"Hang on - a couple of days? How long was I out?"

"Three days. Colossus said you'd pretty much lost all the blood in your body, and ended up putting you on a drip to help your body regenerate it faster," Vanessa explained, and Wade swallowed.

Three days? He must've been worse off than he'd thought. He knew he couldn't die from it, but to be on the brink for so long sounded... unpleasant. He did feel a pang of sympathy for her then, dealing with that. It's not like his immortality came with a guide book, and so for him to appear so very close to actual death for so long it was likely more than unsettling.

"Look, it wasn't Logan's fault-"

"Wade-" Vanessa tried, her voice exasperated as if she'd been anticipating this.

"I'm serious. Logan didn't mean to do it, he didn't even realise," Wade argued.

"If he knows he could be dangerous he shouldn't of slept in the same bed as you! He- he shouldn't of been doing that anyway!"

The room went painfully quiet after her explosion. There was far too much to unpack in the meaning of her words, and frankly Wade didn't have the time or the energy.

"I'm going to find Logan."

She didn't argue with him when he got up this time.

//

It didn't actually take long for Wade to track him down. With his past history of profession, tracking people down was sort of a specialty at this point.

Didn't hurt that Logan was hard to fucking miss, and even harder to forget. Wade would know a thing or two about that, maybe.

He was just relieved he hadn't high tailed it back to his own universe, even as he pushed his way into the seedy bar and well - if even Wade would describe it as fucking seedy...

He spotted Logan immediately. Hunched over the bar on a tatted bar stool, adorning his old leather jacket ('why don't you get a new one? This ones like, peeling.' Logan had shrugged, adjusting the fabric on his shoulders, 'I like this one.')

The bartender was refusing to serve him another shot, and Logan was begging in that sort of gruff but all together desperate kind of way, promising to leave after this one.

It was so fucking nostalgic of their first meeting that Wade almost wanted to go over there and pull his gun, just for nostalgia sake.

It was equal parts depressing too, because Logan had come so far. In terms of coping with his shit and the alcohol, and yet here he was, back to a literal caricature of square one, ground zero, and it only made Wade that much more pissed at the whole situation.

"You know I won't kiss when you have whiskey breath, peanut," Wade made his presence known in the only way he knew how. Obnoxiously.

He slid up to the bar next to Logan, taking the unoccupied seat to his left.

Logan stared at him for a long moment, eyes scanning over the entirety of him frantically as if he was checking for non-existent damage.

"I'm fine, big guy. Sheesh, you think you're the first to try bleeding me dry? I still don't shut the fuck up for long," he joked, because joking just seemed easier. Nevermind the fact that it was mostly a lie - no one had ever tried that method of murder yet, or at least not purposefully.

Logan was still looking at him with that pained look. It was one he recognised - much akin to the expression he wore the night when he had told him all about the xmen of his old universe and what had happened to them.

"I'm honestly okay. Look," he reached out to grab Logans hand, bringing it to his clothed side to prove he was still all in one piece, but when Logan realised he yanked his hand back so harshly he stumbled off his stool, his face utterly horrified.

"Logan-"

"Don't, Wade! I can't touch you. I can't," Logan stressed, eyes wide.

"It was an accident! Fuck, you were asleep! You didn't mean to do it, and I've healed up completely!" Wade emphasised, but Logan ducked his head to avoid his gaze, swallowing thickly.

"I... I can't fucking risk it, alright? Not again. Jesus, we didn't think..." Logan tapered off, his eyes growing distant, "we didn't think you'd come back from it, bub. I really thought I'd... I'd killed you for good."

Logan wouldn't look at him, but even the emotion in his voice had Wade's newly repaired heart shattering all over again.

"But you didn't. Give me your hand."

Logan frowned, "Wade I'm fucking serious, I can't touch you again. I shouldn't even be anywhere near you after what I did," he argued, and Wade scoffed.

He unholstered one of his guns, relieved that the place was rough enough that doing so barely earned him a sideways glance.

Logan watched him wearily.

Wade jabbed the barrel of the gun against his own torso, turned upwards for a direct shot to his heart.

"What the fuck are you doing?! You're barely healed!" Logan blanched, trying to grab for the gun. Wade clicked the safety off in response, stopping the older man dead in his tracks.

"Let me have your hand and I'll holster it. If you don't, well... I'll just need to shoot to prove I'm not some delicate damsel. I know I have the looks to qualify as a Disney princess, but they won't take me, so you're stuck with me. And that's gonna be a lot fucking harder if you're going to go the running away and avoiding touching me like I'm some sort of plague route, sweetness."

There was a few beats of silence, and Wade really hoped Logan would just take the first option. Lodging a bullet into himself right now sounded fucking painful.

"You're fucking crazy, bub," Logan muttered in disbelief, but reluctantly held his hand out in offering.

Wade put the gun away, grabbing the large, calloused hand in his own scarred one. Logan's was scarred a little too, the only place on his body to show any sort of lasting damage. Little white scratches across each knuckle where the metal retracted out of his body repetitively.

('Does it hurt?' Wade asked one day when they were sat watching mindless TV, staring down at the marks between Logan's fingers. Logan doesn't ask for clarification, or even glance away from the screen, 'everytime.' Something in the way he says it upsets Wade so deeply his chest literally aches for a moment.)

He takes Logan's hand and snakes it beneath his shirt, (he can't even bring himself to make a stupid innuendo about it) guiding it over his healed skin.

Logan flinches, eyes shutting momentarily, breathing slightly shaky, and Wade can feel the tension in his arm, wanting to pull away but not. Trusting Wade, even if he doesn't trust himself.

"It's okay, see? There's nothing there anymore. Feel."

He let's go of Logan's wrist, and the older man gently, so annoyingly gently, runs his finger tips over his sides that were once leaking out oceans of blood between them.

"It doesn't change the facts that I did it. I did it again, and I lucked out again, but if you didn't have your powers..." Logan went to pull his hand away again, but Wade held it firmly in place, searching his face.

"But I do, so we're not worrying about anything else."

He wants to ask what Logan meant by 'again'. He wanted to know everything about the man in front of him, but Wade knew the secrets would come with time. Or not at all, and Wade could make peace with that too if it's what Logan needed.

"I'm really glad you're ok, bub," Logan murmurs after a beat of silence, his gruff tone softer.

Wade smiled, "I'd be better if you'd come home and continue our marathon of keeping up with the kardashians."

Logan side eyed the bar, before turning his entire focus back to Wade, nodding wordlessly.

They left the bar together, and while Wade continued his usual tirade of adhd fuelled conversation, Logan just watched him with a secret smile he'd later swear wasn't there.

And if he occasionally brushed an arm against the mercs side just to make sure he was truly still in one piece, Wade didn't say anything.

[blitzyn]

pervert

miguel o'hara x spiderman!reader

request : none

Synopsis: A game of cat and mouse goes to shit, and you find yourself bound in Miguel's webs.

a/n -> literally nobody asked for this but he's been stuck in my mind for decades and i wanted to get something out for my bbg <3 also super sorry i disappeared again, writers block straight up bitch slapped me and left me in a ditch, plus ive been losing interest in writing for genshin or just the game in general, unfortunately.

wc -> 3.3k

cw -> very dubcon, mean dom miguel, degradation, bondage?, face fucking, google translated spanish, spit as lube, anal fingering, anal sex, slight and brief choking, (semi) public sex??, not beta read

Exhilaration filled your veins as breathy laughs escaped your throat, weaving through buildings and rubble with the precision of someone who has experienced this type of chase countless times before.

And that's because you have. You've been in a near never-ending game of cat and mouse with the esteemed Miguel O'Hara, always close enough to feel the swipe of his talons in the air but too far to catch. No matter how many times he's cornered you, you always find a way to get past him; it was predictable at this point.

That pissed Miguel off like no other, hellbent on capturing you to put an end to your snide remarks, to put you in your place. While that usually would've enticed you in any other circumstance, you weren't too keen on letting him dig his claws into you now that you were chest-deep in this predicament — and his wrath.

"Stop running, already!" he shouted, the sharp edges of fury evident in his voice.

"I'm not running!" you respond, peering back at him with a smug grin. True to your words, you, quite literally, were not running. You were swinging with the agility of a seasoned acrobat, twisting and flipping through debris while looking like you were having fun. You offered him occasional glances and nearly laughed each time. Seeing him, a grown-ass man, almost constantly on all fours was amusing, but hearing him curse and grunt and growl made electricity shoot down your spine in a way that nearly got you caught several times.

Adrenaline filled your body and threatened to burst through your chest each time you evaded him. "Missed me!" you laughed, juking away from his swipe.

"So close!" you flip over him with a taunt. "Try again next time!"

"¡Voy a matarte!¹" He growls, and it was hard to ignore the shudder that rushed through your body. You slightly winced at the feeling. If you don't get your shit together when he spoke Spanish, then you were asking to get caught.

But it's not like you'd mind — Actually, yes, you fucking would!

You click your teeth in annoyance. Despite how hard you tried, you couldn't remove Miguel from your thoughts even though he was right behind you, hunting you down like a wild animal. Your mind strayed toward his broad shoulders, beautifully tiny waist, fat ass (that you'd give a lot to slap), and the massive piece of rubble being hurled at your body.

You blink out of your stupor, feeling your senses going off rather violently. Oh shit.

Everything seemed to move painfully slow as you stared at the debris with wide eyes, noticing Miguel's red web attached to it as he brought it down. You flung your arm out in an attempt to attach your webs to something and swing away, but was unable to pull yourself fast enough as the debris pinned you down to the roof of a building.

"Fuck!" you thought as you grunted and squeezed your eyes shut, agony tearing through your entire body. Swiftly, you pushed against the ground to shove the heavy object off of you, groaning with effort. Just as you managed to stand back up, you heard the familiar thwip! of his web wrapping around your waist and arms to yank you to him.

"Caught you," he said, voice rough and breathless as he panted hard. He loomed over you menacingly, hands curled into a fist.

You struggled, kicking and straining against your binds. "Come on, Miguel." You offer a tense grin. "We both know this won't last very long."

"Ay dios míos,²" he growled, dropping to a knee to roughly press a hand on your face, his fingers digging into your cheekbones. "¡Cállate!³"

...

Woah.

You stared at him with wide eyes, feeling your cock stir in your pants. Oh fuck.

It was hard to ignore your ever growing attraction (and hard-on) for him that seemed to intensify when he deactivated the hologram of his mask. Sweat beaded at his temple while his eyes narrowed at your bound figure, fangs peeking out from behind his lips as he caught his breath.

Even when you were the target of his anger, he was still breathtakingly hot.

You opened your mouth again to shout at him — probably to let you go or something along those lines — but Miguel wasn't having it.

"Why is it so much to ask for you to keep your fucking mouth shut for once?" he hissed, squeezing your cheeks tight enough to ache, but it only went straight to your dick. "Is that all you can do? Run your mouth until someone gets sick of your shit and shuts it for you? Huh?"

You whimpered, meekly shaking your head in denial. Tightly closing your eyes, you swallowed hard and squirmed, secretly trying to will away your hard cock straining against your clothes.

"You're so annoying! Stop moving," he demanded, reflexively looking down to adjust his position over you. His eyes raked over your body for a moment before zeroing in on your erection, pausing in surprise.

.

..

...

"Oh, you pervert."

Your eyelids snapped open at his words, mortification seeping deep in your chest as you shifted your head away from him in shame. Despite everything, you could only feel yourself getting harder under his intense gaze.

"Is that why you made me chase after you?" He forced you to look at him again, your face aching at his manhandling. "Because you wanted to fulfill some dirty fantasy of yours?"

He let out a dry laugh. "You couldn't find anyone willing to satisfy that depraved urge, so you turned to me. Just how desperate are you?"

You shook your head again, letting out muffled words. He mercifully removed his hand from your mouth to allow you to speak, sliding lower to rest on your throat. "I was just playing..."

"Yeah?" He tilted his head mockingly, momentarily adjusting himself to grope your painfully stiff dick. "And this was your master plan? To get off at the face of danger? You're more of a degenerate than I thought."

"N-No, I didn't—" you moaned, reflexively bucking your hips up into his hand.

"Stop lying." He squeezed the hand around your throat just enough to force labored gasps from you. "It's stupid how you don't think I've seen the way you look at me — how you think I haven't noticed you eyefucking me."

A furious blush rises on your cheeks as your cock twitches in his hold. It doesn't go unnoticed.

He laughed again, staring at you in mock disbelief. "You're enjoying this."

And this time, you don't deny it.

"Can't say I expected anything higher from you." He rolled his eyes in exasperation and removed his hands from your throat and dick to place them on your thighs. Effortlessly, he pried them apart to slot himself in between your legs, pressing his crotch flush against your ass.

Groaning, you lifted your hips a bit in an attempt to grind on him. With a growl, he swiftly slapped a hand on your abdomen to push you back on the ground.

"Don't move," he said, glaring at you with a mix of arousal and irritation in his eyes. "I've had enough of you getting your way." He leaned forward, a wince crossing your face when he pressed some of his weight onto your stomach. "It's my turn."

"My way—?" You cut yourself off with a huff when he gave you a stern look.

A thought seemed to pique his interest when he suddenly decided to kneel beside your head. It was nigh impossible to tear your eyes away from his crotch, the area beginning to glitch with a dim, pale blue glow at the strain from his hardening cock.

"Let's put your mouth to better use." He grabbed a fistful of your hair and deactivated the hologram covering his dick. It landed on your face with a quiet slap before his hand guided it to your lips.

You hesitantly parted them, only for them to be forced open wider to make room for his cock. You let out a surprised sound at the entry, but he was entirely focused on making you take him completely.

He was gracious enough to take it slow, relishing in the sounds of your gags and sputters and every deep inhale.

"Thaaat's it," he drawled out, sighing heavily when he felt your tongue rub against the underside of the shaft. "Fuck..."

Your eyelashes fluttered as he buried your nose into his pubic hair, uncontrollably drooling over him while you sucked and licked what you could. You felt him harden in your mouth, forcing himself deeper into your throat while it tightened and spasmed.

He increased the speed of his thrusts, absentmindedly shuffling closer to your face. A shiver ran down your spine when he slithered a hand on the junction between the back of your head and neck to hold you firmly.

A garbled whine left your throat as you subconsciously jerked your hips upwards, searching for some form of relief for your aching cock. You strained against the webs around your torso and arms, utterly intoxicated with his taste, his scent, his sounds—with him.

With a groan, he shoved himself as far as he could inside your throat and held you in place, ignoring how you instinctively struggled against him. A high-pitched ring sounded through your ears as your head spun, chest tightening with the need for oxygen.

Shuddering, he finally pulled out of you, watching with satisfaction as you coughed and gasped for air. A mix of saliva and precum connected your lips and the tip of his cock, to which you quickly licked away. You let him inspect you with a hand still buried in your hair, gaze locked in on your drool slicked chin and swollen lips.

A quiet hmph left him before he turned to place himself back in-between your thighs again, this time extending his talons to tear a path in your clothes from your ass to your crotch.

"H-Hey! Hold on—" you protested and kicked his arm away from you.

"Shut up," he cut you off, swatting your foot away while grasping your painfully hard cock again. "Don't act like you don't want this."

"G-God..." you moaned, furrowing your brows as you stared at him. A squeak left your throat when he suddenly pressed your legs to your chest, a quiet ptuh! escaping his lips alongside a glob of saliva that landed on your asshole.

Retracting his talons, he let go of one of your legs to press two fingers against your hole, shoving them inside you abruptly. You winced at the sting his thick fingers made as it mixed in with the arousal that burned in your gut. He separated them in a scissoring motion, moving in and out at a pace that had you yearning for more. His fingertips brushed against spots so frustratingly close to your prostate, you were sure he was purposefully avoiding it to mess with you.

"H-Hurry up," you demanded, the ache in your balls beginning to prove to be something you could hardly handle.

He gave you a sharp look. "Tell me to hurry up again and I'm leaving you like this."

You stared at each other for a moment longer before you looked away in defeat, muttering under your breath. He ignored you and added another finger, the wet squelching blending in with your soft moans. His hard cock pressed on your thigh, and you briefly wondered how he wasn't fucking you within an inch of your life already.

Quickly enough, you were able to realize that he wanted to make you wait. He wanted to give you a hard time — just like you did to him.

"C-C'mon, Miguel." You breathlessly chuckled, straining against the webs around your torso.

"What?" He raised a brow, satisfaction seeping into his expression at your growing desperation.

You opened your mouth again when he unexpectedly jabbed his fingertips onto your prostate, sending a violent surge of electricity through your body. "Fuck!" You cried out as a spurt of precum leaked out of your dick and enlarged the wet spot on your clothes. He continued targeting the gland, refusing to let you get a word in your sentence. The coil in your abdomen tightened into an almost unbearable degree before he abruptly removed his hand from you entirely.

"God, just fuck me already!" You jerked your hips upwards in a futile search for stimulation.

"You sound just like a whore," he commented, tone full of condescension. A heat washed over your body at his words as you stared at him with wide eyes. You tensed when he leaned down, lust and mirth swirling within his red irises. "Is that all you are?"

"What?" You found yourself unable to look away from him. "N-No, I—"

He shoved his cock inside you mid-sentence, tearing a loud moan from your throat. He held your thighs to fold you in half, using his body weight to pin you down. You panted hard as you tilted your head to the side and squeezed your eyes shut. It was hard to focus on anything else but his dick filling you up so perfectly.

Miguel released a gutteral groan, grinding his hips against you. He dug his fingertips into your legs hard enough to bruise, but that was the least of his worries — not when he had you below him. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he leaned back (mercifully removing some of the pressure on your chest) and watched himself move in and out of you, pulling out almost all the way before he slammed himself back inside.

"Ohh, fuck!"

"This is what gets you — mierda⁴ — all compliant, huh?" He taunted, abdomen flexing with every thrust. "The moment you get some dick inside you, you're like a trained mutt."

You opened your eyes to weakly glare at him, to deny what he said, but the moans spilling from your lips did nothing but prove him right.

"Te gusta cuando te trato como si no fueras nada, ¿no?⁵" He leaned back down, hooking his arms around the back of your knees as he pressed his chest against yours, curling his wrists around your thighs to grip the flesh. His breath was hot and heavy against the shell of your ear, lips so close you could feel the vibrations of his voice in your ear drum. "Aren't I right, you dirty little pervert?"

"N-No! S'not right!" You cried out, the burn of his cock stretching you out mixing in with the pleasure so deliciously it was almost addicting.

"Deja de mentirte y admítelo, puta,⁶" he hissed, widening his mouth to graze a fang along your neck threateningly, which sent a shiver down your spine. "Admit it — that you're a depraved whore."

"Admit it." He emphasized each syllable with a thrust, ramming into you hard enough to fuck the breath out of your lungs.

"Shit—fuck! Oh, god!" You sobbed, arching your back into him. You nearly came at the feeling of his abdomen rubbing your aching dick. "I'm a whore! M'your whore!"

His cock throbbed fervently at your words, rewarding you with groans and grunts directly into your ear. Your ass slightly stung at the force of his thrusts as he fucked his anger into you, but neither of you cared.

"Fuuuck!" You drawled out. "Miguel, m'so close! Let — ngh, ah — Let me cum!"

"Yeah?" He cooed in your ear, gently licking the shell. "You gonna cum f'me?"

"Yes, yes—!"

"Then beg."

He stopped moving so unexpectedly that it left you disoriented for a few moments as you stupidly stared at him with wide, watery eyes. "W-What...?"

"Beg to cum," he leaned away from you to get a clearer look at your face. "I'm not repeating myself."

You took a moment to catch your breath (and secretly savor the feeling of his dick twitching inside you). "God, please, Miguel! I need it so bad. I need to cum — please let me cum! I'll be good, I promise! Fuck, Miguel, please let me cum! Please, please, please!"

The sight of the tears along your lash lines sent electricity down his spine as his breath hitched. "You'll be good?" He dryly laughed. "I don't think I believe you."

You opened your mouth in defense when he suddenly slammed himself back inside you, tearing a moan instead of words from your throat. He fucked you hard and fast and deep, grunting in a way you could only describe as animalistic.

But you loved it. You loved how he controlled your body so effortlessly, how he treated you like a cheap fuck toy. You mentally deemed all those chases worth it in the end.

The heat from less than a minute or two prior returned full force as you tilted your head back in ecstasy. You babbled out incoherent words of (what Miguel suspected to be) praise, straining against your binds once again.

You screamed out when the coil in your abdomen finally snapped, electricity shooting down your spine as your cock spurt cum underneath your clothes. You weren't able to process the stain in the fabric when you realized that he hadn't slowed down, deciding to fuck you through your orgasm to chase his own.

You stared up at him, admiring the slight flush on his cheeks, how his brows furrowed in concentration, and even his eyes that shone with disdain towards you.

You could feel his dick throbbing inside you, and you quickly realized that he was about to cum as well. The ecstasy you were granted slowly began to merge with the pain of overstimulation, but it only made the hazy bliss you were in so much better.

"Yes, yes, Miguel!" You gasped out as your legs trembled in his hold. "Cum inside me, please, I want it!"

He grunted at your words, fucking you with a few more harsh thrusts before he suddenly pulled out. It took you a moment longer than normal for you to process the uncomfortable emptiness as he let go of one of your legs to quickly jerk himself off.

"What—No! Please, Miguel!" You pleaded uselessly, wincing when he tightened his grip on your thigh and unintentionally extended his talons. They penetrated through your clothes and pierced your skin, drawing a bit of blood, but that was neither of your concern at the moment.

"Ay, solo cállate ya,⁷" he growled, releasing your thigh to press his palm against your mouth to silence you. You let out pathetic whines and whimpers, but Miguel was focused on achieving his orgasm.

With a final few strokes, he finally came with a loud groan as his cum spurt onto the floor. He angled his hips to make sure none of it landed on you, much to your obvious dismay. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back and stared at your bound body, trembling and helpless. It was satisfying to see you in such a state.

He reactivated the hologram over his softening cock before binding your legs together in a way that hid the large hole in your pants to prevent anyone from figuring out what the two of you did.

He sighed heavily and slung you over his shoulder, standing up to look around and figure out where the fuck he was.

"You have a really nice ass," you commented after a moment, unable to keep your compliments to yourself.

He groaned. It was gonna be a long trip back to HQ.

Translations:

1: "I'm going to kill you!"

2: "Oh my god."

3: "Shut up!"

4: "Shit..."

5: "You like it when I treat you like you're nothing, don't you?"

6: "Stop lying to yourself and admit it."

7: "Oh, just shut up already."

cross-posted on ao3

[serpentandlily]

Untouchable III - Azriel x Reader

Untouchable - Azriel x Rhysand'sSister! Reader ✨

Summary: For as long as you can remember, you have always had feelings for Azriel, your court's spymaster. But after centuries of watching him pine after your own cousin, hoping he'd eventually move on, your wish came true. He moved on-with Elain, your brother's mate's middle sister. Unable to watch him fall in love with someone else again, you flee from Velaris, from him. But things are a lot more complicated than that - more complicated than you ever imagined.

Warnings: angst

a/n: Okay all your comments/reblogs have literally made me dieeee laughing. Y'all are so funny lmao. Hope you enjoy this one! I had lots of fun writing it <3

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III ➻❥ Part IV ➻❥ Part V

➻❥ Part VI ➻❥ Part VII ➻❥ Part VIII ➻❥ Part IX ➻❥ Part X

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Part III

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The cool night breeze kissed the flesh exposed by your silk nightgown as you sat on the railing of your balcony, dangling your legs over the edge. You could faintly hear music and the sound of laughter as Velaris came alive around you. You blew a loose strand of hair out of your face as you gazed up at the bright moon glowing down on you in the night sky. 

“I need some advice right now, Mama,” you whispered into the night. “Everyone seems to be finding their place in this world but I…I don’t know where I belong or what I’m even here for. And everything has been falling apart recently and I could really, really, use one of your hugs right now.”

After the disastrous training session this morning, you had spent the rest of the day watching over Nyx. Being with him made you feel better. Your nephew was a reminder that there were more important things in your life than a certain shadowsinger and his crazy mood swings. 

But now Nyx was asleep and you were left alone with your thoughts once again. 

Azriel had been so rough with you today, so cruel. And your heart panged with the thought that he would never dare treat Elain, or even Mor, like that. You let out a sigh and drew one knee to your chest, resting your head against it. Would this heartache ever go away? Or were you cursed by the Mother to forever yearn for a male who would never want you? 

Somehow you could sense him before you even heard the flap of wings. A thud sounded behind you and the smell of night-chilled mist and cedar flooded your senses. His presence felt heavy and dark and you refused to turn around despite the way it put you on edge. 

Silence. Nothing but tense silence filled the air. If it wasn't for Azriel's looming presence behind you, you might've thought you imagined him coming. You waited a breath...then another. Still nothing. You felt him take a step closer to you; his shadows eased their way between your arms, over your shoulders, through your hair. You could feel his warm breath on the back of your neck. 

Another moment went by and you couldn't take it anymore. You blew out a low breath. 

"I didn't snitch on you if that's what you're thinking," you scoffed, your gaze never straying from the moon. "You can blame that on Cass. So if my brother sent you here to apologize, save it."

Silence once more. Your grip on the edge of the stone railing tightened. Why wasn't he saying anything? Why did he come here? 

"Rhys didn't send me here." You almost jumped at the sound of his voice, your heartbeat rising. "In fact, your brother forbade me from seeking you out."

Yet here he was, going directly against his High Lord's orders. Your brows furrowed but you refused to turn around, refused to look at him. So much had changed between the two of you in the last twenty-four hours.

"So why are you here?"

"I hurt you." His voice was as dark as his shadows.

You glanced down at your bandaged hand. The image of his cold face as he struck down on you with his sword replayed in your mind. But you weren't sure which had hurt more. The slice down your palm or the words he had spat at you. 

"You did." 

"Y/n..." he whispered your name. You felt his hand ghost over your shoulder, as if he were about to touch you, but his touch never came. "I'm sorry. I was...I was angry and I took it out on you—”

"You weren't just angry, Az," you cut him off. "You were angry with me. Why? What did I do to earn your ire?"

You finally turned around and gasped as you caught sight of his face. He had a black eye, his left cheekbone was surrounded by black and purple bruises, and his bottom lip had been split open, though it looked to be already healing. His hair was tousled as if he had spent hours running his hand through it, some pieces hanging down his forehead. 

"I deserved it," he said, darkly as your eyes searched his face for any more injuries. You knew your brother had been behind them. "You've done nothing wrong. Like I said, I wasn't angry with you."

You let out another scoff and jumped down from the railing. The ground was cold against your bare feet as you brushed past Azriel and strode towards the glass doors leading to your bedroom. 

“Where are you going?”

You waved a dismissive hand in the air. “I refuse to entertain a conversation with you if you’re going to blatantly lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” he ground out through his teeth. 

You whirled around, crossing your arms. “Then why did you say all those things to me? If you were just angry, why not let off steam by sparring with Cass like you always do? You targeted me.” 

“I didn’t mean any of the things I said, y/n.”

“You still said them.” 

“Fine,” he snarled. He stalked towards you looking like a fallen angel straight from Hell, wings and all. You couldn’t help but take a step back. “Do you want to know why I’m so angry, princess?”

You gasped as he pressed a large hand flat against your sternum and pushed you against the wall, holding you there. Your eyes widened as you stared up at him. His expression was dark, his jaw clenched. 

“I’m angry because you let that undeserving, piece of shit male put his hands all over you,” he growled. “I'm angry you even let him look in your direction.”

You glared up at him. “Why should it even matter to you?”

“Because it does.” He slammed a hand against the wall beside your head causing your heart to pound in your chest. “It fucking does.”

“Why?” Your voice was a mere whisper. 

Azriel sucked in a breath, his head dropping into the crevice of your neck. You didn’t think your heart could beat any faster or you might possibly die. He splayed his hand out on your stomach, holding you in place. 

“Azriel?” you questioned, uncertain of what he was doing. He had never acted so erratic around you. You went to take a step forward but he slammed you back against the wall with the hand on your stomach. 

“Don’t,” he said through gritted teeth. “Don’t move.”

Your breath got caught in your throat. He trailed his nose up your throat column, barely brushing against the fragile skin. Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his touch, at his closeness to you. 

“Az,” you started, placing your hand on his chest. “What are you—”

You stopped talking as he laid his hand over your much smaller one. He closed his eyes, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Don’t touch me.”

But his hand squeezed yours, keeping it in place. You were so confused—so utterly confused by his behavior. He pried your hand off his chest after a moment and you let your arm fall limp.  

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” His voice was so low, it sent a shiver down your spine. His hand gripped your hip so tightly, the fabric of your nightgown bunching in his fist. 

When his eyes opened again, he looked wild—feral. His hand slid up your waist, grazing the side of your breast, until it lingered on your throat. Heat started to coil inside of you. Fire burned a trail through your veins. You couldn’t find any words, your mind suddenly empty of every single thought except one.

Azriel took a deep inhale and you were certain he could smell your arousal. Your cheeks turned pink with embarrassment. But his pupils dilated at your scent, making his eyes look black, as the hand that was on the wall clenched so tightly, parts of the brick chipped off, clattering to the floor. His other hand moved up your throat to cup the side of your cheek, a scarred thumb brushing against your skin. 

You swallowed audibly, frozen in place. You could scent his own arousal, could feel it pressing against your stomach, as his hard body kept you as its prisoner. Your mouth parted in a gasp and his head dipped down, his nose brushing against yours. And then his lips hovered over yours and you held your breath. Your body screamed at you to do something, anything. But he had ordered you not to move, not to touch him.

Your heart nearly stopped as his lips feathered yours and you waited. Waited for him to make the final move, to press his lips against yours for real. To kiss you. Something that had only ever happened in your dreams. But instead, he let out a loud grunt of pain and pulled himself away from you so quickly, it felt like you had been slapped. 

You blinked up at him, disorientated. “A-Azriel?”

He let out a frustrated growl, running a hand through his hair, as his whole body seemed to tense. When he met your eyes, goosebumps covered your skin because of the darkness in his gaze. The hand at his side clenched in and out of a fist. Like he was restraining himself from something. 

You were shaking like a leaf, glad the wall could support you, otherwise you were sure you would’ve crumbled to the floor. You waited for him to speak, to say anything that might explain what the hell had just happened. But when he finally did, his words were like a spear to the heart.

“Do yourself a favor, princess, and stay the hell away from me.” The words came out in a snarl and his huge wings snapped out, casting a dark shadow over your form. Before you could even say anything, he launched himself into the air and disappeared into the dark night sky. 

The breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding in was expelled out of your lungs and you slid down the wall until you were on the floor, drawing your knees up to your chest. Your mind whirled as you tried to figure out what just happened. 

But hours later, when the sun began to crest over the horizon, you were still so lost. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

A few days passed by without you so much as catching a glimpse of Azriel. Apparently, your brother had sent him off on some mission, likely out of spite. Or perhaps even for your benefit. As much as you wanted to see him after that night on the balcony, his absence gave you time to think about what you wanted or needed to do. 

Ultimately, you decided the next time you came across him alone, you would force him to talk to you, to tell you what the hell that night was about. It was only fair. You deserved an explanation after all. He had treated you like shit, then came to you and nearly kissed you, before disappearing. And his words had been ringing in your head every single night.

Do yourself a favor, princess, and stay the hell away from me.

They made no sense to you. It had seemed like he wanted you that night, judging by the arousal you had scented, the feel of him against you. And you knew he could tell you wanted him too. So why would you be doing either of you any favors from staying away from him? It made no Godsdamn sense and you needed an answer to his cryptic words. So you would demand it of him the next time he came around. 

You stretched your legs out on the couch, yawning as you placed a bookmark to keep your place in the novel you were in the middle of reading, and snapped it closed. It had been a long day of taking care of Nyx while Rhys and Feyre had to attend to some courtly duties. The house had been noticeably vacant today, just the two wraith twins occasionally floating in to check on you and baby Nyx. 

Normally Elain was around to keep you company on days like this but even she had run off somewhere for the day. You had just started to get up, ready to retire to your bed, when the front door slammed open. You jumped at the noise, whirling towards the foyer. Rhys and Feyre weren’t due back until tomorrow morning, so who else could it—

Elain stumbled into view, followed by Azriel. Both hadn’t even noticed your presence as they kissed wildly, bumping against the walls as they moved inside. The scent of Elain’s arousal flooded the room and you choked on the scent causing them to break apart in surprise. 

Your stomach sank at their appearance. The top buttons of Azriel’s shirt were undone, exposing some of the tattoos on his chest. Elain’s hair was in disarray, her lips swollen, as if they had been up to this for a while now.  Well, that explained why Elain had been gone all day. 

You stared at them with wide eyes as hurt slammed its way into you. Azriel had returned from his mission. He had returned and had sought out Elain. Hadn’t even thought to come to you to maybe give you some explanation of that night. You were probably the last thing on his mind right now anyways, that much was clear. 

“Oh my Gods,” Elain exclaimed, placing a hand to her chest. “I’m so sorry, y/n. I knew Feyre and Rhys would be gone and assumed you’d be in bed by now.” 

Azriel said nothing, only stared at you with a cold, unfeeling look. You felt your breath shallow out, your nerves causing your hands to shake. You wanted to scream, wanted to vomit, to cry. But you did nothing. Just mustered up a small smile and muttered, “It’s okay.”

Elain went to say something else but Azriel grabbed her hand and leaned down to whisper in her ear, holding eye contact with you the entire time. “Come on, let’s go.”

He smirked as she blushed red and you could do nothing but just stare and stare at him. You didn’t move an inch as he pulled her away and up the stairs, Elain giggling the entire time. You didn’t move even after you heard her bedroom door slam close. 

You thought there was no way he could’ve hurt you more, but you had clearly underestimated him. How could he? How could he…act like that with you and then just carry on as if nothing happened? How could he just carry on with another girl after that charged night? You hand clenched the book you were holding as you struggled through your feelings. 

Your already broken heart somehow found even more ways to tear itself apart. But unlike months ago when you had caught them in the same predicament and cried all through the night and eventually fled from Velaris, no tears came this time. No tears at all. Instead white hot anger burned through you instead. 

You were tired of being captive to your own feelings. Tired of letting the stupid shadowsinger have so much power over you. You were so unbelievably tired of being constantly hurt by him. You couldn’t even use the excuse that he had no idea what he was doing to you when he had just made it so clear he did.

Your jaw tightened and you gave yourself over to the rage you felt. He had told you to stay away from him. So you would. But you sure as hell were about to make it impossibly hard for him to stay away from you. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The next two days, you did exactly that. You ignored Azriel entirely. Didn’t so much as look in his direction. At training each morning with the Valkyries, you made sure to have a sparring partner ready to go before he could even open his mouth and demand you train with him. You didn’t greet him, only hugged Cassian good-bye each day, and pretended you didn’t hear him when he would call out your name. 

Meanwhile, you had spent your time in heated negotiations with your brother. You were ready to carve a place out for yourself in this court and after many discussions with him, Feyre and Mor, you three had reached a compromise. A certain letter that came from the continent had helped you plead your case. 

And that is why when Rhys stood up at family dinner, clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention, you knew exactly what he was going to announce. You kept your hands folded in your lap, your shoulders held back, and your body angled away from the end of the table where the shadowsinger sat. 

“Another announcement in a week?” Cassian laughed. “Don’t tell me Feyre’s having twins!”

Everyone chuckled as Nesta slapped him on the back of his head. He only grinned at his mate, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. You smiled at their interaction despite the envy that crept its way into your head. Oh how you wished for that kind of love. Perhaps one day you would find your own mate and forget about the shadowsinger entirely. 

“Gods no,” Feyre chuckled from beside Rhys who conjured a piece of parchment in his hand. “We come with some news from the continent.” 

“I received some correspondence from Prince Cedric,” Rhys explained. “The King of Vallahan’s first born son and Heir to the Throne.” 

“Go on, read it to them,” Mor said with a giddiness that caused you to smile. 

Rhys read from the letter out loud:

To High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand,

I am writing to you because I have had the pleasure of spending the past month in the company of your lovely sister, y/n. I must admit, your sister has charmed my heart with her kindness, grace, wit and loyalty to your court. We know very little of Prythian’s courts here on the continent, but if your sister is a shining example of your citizens, I must admit, I am all the more curious about your court. As you might know, I am next in line for the Crown and my time may be coming soon.

In a world dictated by power, alliances between territories have allowed for stability and peace. When my time to wear the crown comes, I would like it to also come with the forging of two strong realms. With the utmost sincerity and goodwill, I believe a union between our territories through marriage would not only reward me with a beautiful bride, but prosperity and peace between our people. I assure you, High Lord, that I will propose with sincere commitment to your sister, to give her a life filled with love and respect as my future Queen. 

I understand that this is not a decision that will be made without proper communications, so I am prepared to meet with you at your earliest convenience to discuss this matter further. I hope you consider my request and I will remain with anticipation until you reach out.

Sincerely yours,

Prince Cedric of Vallahan

Heir to the Throne

A fork dropped on the table somewhere behind you and the room was silent for a moment before Cassian let out a loud whistle. “Holy shit, y/n!”

Mor cackled, reaching over the table to give you a high five. “That’s right, our girl bagged herself a Prince.” 

Your cheeks turned a bit pink at the attention. To be honest, you had no idea that Prince Cedric had been captured by you. It wasn’t like you engaged in any romantic courting or even so much as touched each other's hands. But your mere personality had won him over. Too bad he just wasn’t the male your heart had set its course on. 

“Not just a Prince, girl,” Amren chimed in. “A future King.” 

You could feel a heavy gaze settle on you from the other side of the table but refused to look that way. 

“And what about you, y/n?” Nesta asked. “Did the Prince win over your heart as well?” 

“I must admit, the letter came as quite a surprise to me,” you answered honestly.

“To me, as well,” Mor jumped in. “I mean, it’s not like they spent much time together outside of the formal dinners and parties we attended while there. Unless, of course, you snuck off with him while I wasn’t watching, you naughty wench.” 

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “I assure you, I was a proper lady during our time at the King’s Cross.” 

“You certainly weren’t a proper lady during our time in Nysa,” Mor mumbled under her breath with a smirk. You kicked her under the table with a glare. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at Azriel this time. He was already staring at you, his jaw set, his fist clenched around the stem of his wine glass. You could’ve sworn a bit of jealousy shined in his eyes. You quickly looked away, not wishing to show him you even cared about his reaction, though you did. 

“Well, as fun as this is,” Cassian said. “There’s no way you’d marry off your sister to go live in another territory. Right, Rhys?” 

Rhys looked inclined to agree but Feyre nudged him in the gut with her elbow. “If that is what she wishes, she will always have my blessing. It is her choice, of course. But a marriage is not the announcement I planned on making today. I merely read this letter to you all to show you how successful y/n has been as a representative of our court. And because of that, we have officially decided to not only give her the title of Emissary, but she is also going to take over Mor’s position in the Court of Nightmares since Mor has had her hands full with negotiations on the continent.” 

“It's about time you let your sister prove herself as a valuable member of this court,” Amren said, the closest thing you’d ever get as a congratulations. She did give you a small smirk, pride shining in her silver eyes. 

“She has always been a valuable member,” Cassian snided but smiled at you regardless. “If this is what you want, y/n, then congratulations! I’m glad I’ve taught you all the ways to kick ass, especially if you’re now going to be spending more time in Hewn City.” 

You laughed but gave him your thanks. Feyre proposed a toast for you and you couldn’t keep the smile off your face for the rest of the night as they planned for announcing the shift in leadership to Hewn City. You had already bought your dress for the occasion, ready to make the shadowsinger eat his heart out. You even felt a bit vindicated as a certain male decided to spend the rest of his own night brooding in his shadows. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Azriel tossed and turned in his bed, unable to sleep. Both his mind and his shadows seemed to be in a permanent state of chaos ever since dinner. He couldn’t get the image of you smiling as Rhys read the Prince’s letter out of his mind. He had never considered the possibility of you leaving this court, had never thought Rhys would ever allow that. 

He threw his sheets off, standing up and prowling towards the floor length mirror in the corner of his room. His eyes fell on the skin above his hip, on the small tattoo of Illyrian wings with a sword going straight through the middle of them. 

He wished he could take truth-teller and slice that bit of skin right off his body. But even with its absence, the burden of it would never disappear. He let out a curse, pure rage racing through him. How could he have known things would turn out this way? How could he have known how much pain that tiny tattoo would eventually bring him?

His fist shot out, punching straight through the mirror. He was so angry he didn’t even feel the pain of the tiny shards of glass piercing his scarred flesh. Gods, this was all so fucked up. So incredibly fucked up. 

His heart pounded as he thought about how you had felt pressed against him that night on your balcony. How your scent had driven him crazy. How stunning you had looked under the moonlight in that tiny nightgown. The Princess of Night was an accurate title for you and all your beauty. 

He fell on his knees, the broken shards of glass crunching under his weight, letting the blood from his hand drip down on the floor. No pain would ever compare to the one he felt now. The pain of craving you. Craving the touch of your skin, the taste of your tongue, the moans he could drag from that pretty little mouth. 

And Gods, the way you had looked at him. He had almost caved. Had almost decided to burn it all to the ground for one chance to taste you, feel you, claim you. But he couldn’t. So he went back to doing what he always had–keeping you at a distance. It hurt to do so, even more so whenever he saw how much it hurt you, but it was better this way. You needed to move on, needed to look for love elsewhere. 

Life had always been unfair to him but this, this was quite possibly the worst of it. For he knew he would always yearn for you, crave you, love you—but only ever from a distance. Because for him, you…you had been made untouchable. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

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[blackmoonoracle]

𝓑𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓶𝓸𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓵𝓮 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼.....

ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴀ ᴄ���ʀᴅ

What should you stop worrying about?

ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴏɴᴇ

The transformation of a project or relationship, you left something behind in search of something greater and you may be fearing this was your last chance. I think that you saw something very clearly and while others may not see it right now you're dodging a bullet. Hiveminds don't help, they usually harm. The fact you have the strength to go against the grain says everything about your character. You know what you witnessed, do not be afraid to stand your ground. I'm thinking of that one Kendrick song at the beginning "why god why god do I gotta suffer every stone thrown at you resting at my feet". It seems like people may be attacking you and you feel cornered, this could be that you removed yourself from a friend group and you feel vulnerable. They could have secrets about you that you're scared will be spread, but I promise you it's all good. I think what you don't see is this person only has a good reputation in that specific circle. LOL people fear them, but I feel like they're high-key becoming super irrelevant. Like no one outside of that circle listens to them anymore or wants much to do with them. You may have misjudged someone that warned you about them? The reality is the worst this person is going to do is watch you, you have too much dirt on them that's irrefutable. I feel like they said too much to you, trusted you too much, others are questioning them on why you removed themselves from the situation because they understand and trust in your character. You're actually not being negatively judged, people really adore you. Stop caring, this person is a complete loser. Even if you thought you guys were tight this person is FAAAKE. I'm feeling cancer, Libra, and Aquarius energy. This person could be a Capricorn, you might also be venusian? You'll be good babe, do you and watch the building burn behind you LOL.

ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ

You need to stop worrying and allow yourself to recover, you may have experienced something traumatic recently. Money is coming slowly but surely, you may need to be doing something to release pain from your mind and body. I'm thinking of screaming for some reason, like you need to scream or be angry. Things just may be rough right now, but it's temporary. I literally hard tough times are temporary, you may be about to start your period and that could be why you feel so antsy. Things are dying right now so that new things can enter into your life, things wont be as painful as you think. You're solid, stop worrying about some relationship in your life being destroyed or ruined. I feel like you and this person are really good at avoiding and resolving conflict but you're in denial. You're so scared you're unable to properly enjoy things, and it's honestly kind of sad. Good things can happen to you too babe, you're not fated to suffer. You're recovering, from a lot of pain, and a lot of abuse, and a lot of emotional wounding. Sometimes you just need to learn to relax and allow things to flow as they need to.

ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

Recovering some kind of money, I feel like a loss you experienced is only going to lead up to a massive massive gain! Your idea of financial wealth and abundance may come from a place of trauma and self doubt. It's possible that you haven't ever experienced true stability, and that you've felt like you're constantly in limbo moving around pieces and trying to make things work. Sometimes you have to allow the universe to be silent, there's a control issue that roots from your insecurities. You have to learn to allow things to unfold, if you don't let things unfold they simply won't. Especially when we're dealing with manifestations, we may not understand why or HOW our manifestations are unfolding because we exist in a trauma based reality still. It's okay to let things close out, sometimes things must die and we must accept that at some point everything must end. I heard "all good things must come to an end". It doesn't mean good things don't last, and I feel like you're not understanding that whatever this good thing was you are genuinely viewing through rose colored glasses. It's going to be okay! I swear :(

[r3dcherri3s]

If you plan to make a part 2, pleaaaaase don’t maybe reader forgive Nat so easily. Natasha needs to work for it. It should take her AT LEAST a couple weeks for her to get forgiveness! And reader should be just as cold to Natasha and she was.

you literally read my mind 😝🤞

Annoying? part 2

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem! reader

warnings: angst, arguing, blood loss, someone gets shot, happy ending??

word count: 5.3k

part 1

Two weeks had gone by since the confrontation in your room, and Natasha grew more miserable by the minute. She watched you from afar, your avoidance like a knife twisting in her gut.

You were determined to keep your distance from Natasha. Every time she tried to approach you, you found a way to slip away, avoiding any direct interaction. Natasha's attempts at small talk were met with cold silence or a quick nod before you walked off. Each ignored greeting and avoided gaze cut deeper into Natasha's heart, her regret growing with each passing moment.

"Good morning, Y/N," Natasha said one day, trying to sound casual as you passed her in the hallway.

You didn't even look at her, your expression unreadable as you mumbled a barely audible "hi" before quickly walking away. Natasha sighed, running a hand through her hair in frustration.

"Hey, Natasha," Steve called, jogging up to her. "Everything okay?"

She forced a smile. "Yeah, just... complicated."

——————

A few hours later, Steve called everyone into the meeting room to go over their recent mission. Natasha walked in, scanning the room until she spotted the empty seat next to you. Without hesitation, she made her way over and sat down beside you. You stiffened, feeling her presence acutely, and shifted uncomfortably in your chair.

"What is she doing? Is this some sick game?" you thought to yourself, your mind racing. "She wanted me to leave her alone, and now she won't leave me alone."

The more you thought about it, the more convinced you became that Natasha was messing with you, making fun of your emotions. The thought of her toying with you was too much to bear.

Unable to sit still any longer, you abruptly stood up, causing a few heads to turn in your direction. You moved to the other side of the room and sat down next to Wanda, who gave you a curious look but didn't say anything. Natasha's frown deepened, her heart sinking at the sight of you moving away from her.

As Steve started the meeting, Natasha's mind was elsewhere, her thoughts consumed by the gap between you. She stole glances at you, her heart aching with the need to make things right, but the walls you'd built seemed impenetrable.

Wanda leaned in and whispered, "Are you okay?"

You nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, the chair was broken and it felt uncomfortable to sit in."

Wanda looked skeptical, she knew you were lying but didn't press further. Throughout the meeting, Natasha tried to focus on Steve's words, but her gaze kept drifting to you. She couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness, knowing that she had driven you away and unsure of how to bridge the gap.

As the meeting concluded, you stood up quickly, eager to escape the room. Natasha watched you go, her resolve hardening. She knew she had to find a way to break through to you, to make you understand how much you meant to her.

You continued to ignore Natasha for the rest of the week. Natasha didn’t think it would take this long for you to forgive her. She thought she could just apologize and things would go back to normal, that you would be at her side by now talking about some random thing you found interesting. Natasha didn’t realize she missed all those things until they were gone.

The next week, still nothing. She barely saw you around the building anymore. Natasha was getting angry. Why were you being so stubborn? She apologized! Shouldn’t that be enough for you? She didn’t understand why it was taking you so long to forgive her. She had snapped at you way before that mission and you returned to normal the next day, so why wasn’t it happening now? She didn’t intend for you to leave her alone forever when she yelled at you. She thought things would be fine the next day. Oh, how terribly wrong she was.

——————

Sometime during the fourth week, Natasha finally saw you again in the kitchen, and the sight stopped her in her tracks. You were leaning against the counter, engrossed in a conversation with Wanda. Your face was lit up with joy, a genuine, radiant smile gracing your lips. You laughed, the sound ringing out and filling the room, and Natasha felt a pang in her chest. She stood there, transfixed, unable to tear her eyes away from you.

You looked so... so happy. Happier than she had seen you in what felt like an eternity. Natasha's gaze traced the way your eyes sparkled as you talked about something, your hands gesturing excitedly. Her heart twisted painfully as she realized she hadn’t seen you this alive and vibrant in so long.

An unfamiliar sensation churned in Natasha’s stomach, something she hadn't felt ever in her life. Jealousy. Why did you look so happy talking to Wanda?

The jealousy gnawed at her, turning into a dark, resentful ache. She had pushed you away, and now she was paying the price, watching from the sidelines.

Natasha's emotions swirled, a tempest of regret, anger, and sorrow. She furrowed her eyebrows, her jaw clenching tightly. She couldn’t bear it, the realization that she was the one who had driven you away. The pain was almost unbearable.

Unable to take it any longer, Natasha turned sharply on her heel and marched to the training room. She needed to clear her mind, to find some way to exorcise the turmoil that raged within her.

——————

In the kitchen, you continued your lively conversation with Wanda, your laughter filling the space. Unbeknownst to you, Natasha stood in the doorway for a moment, her expression unreadable as she watched you. Wanda noticed Natasha immediately but chose not to say anything, observing the tension in Natasha’s stance and the flash of hurt in her eyes before she turned abruptly and walked away, her movements rigid with anger and frustration.

Wanda furrowed her eyebrows, glancing from the retreating Black Widow to you. She motioned subtly towards Natasha's retreating form, and you followed her gaze, catching a glimpse of Natasha's back as she disappeared down the hallway. A frown creased your forehead, and you quickly looked away, your expression turning somber.

"Y/N, what's going on between you and Natasha?" Wanda asked gently, her voice filled with concern. "I've noticed she's been more of a grump than usual lately, and I haven't seen you around her much anymore."

You sighed deeply, the weight of the past weeks pressing heavily on your chest. "It's... it's complicated, Wanda."

Wanda's eyes softened as she leaned in, her curiosity piqued but her approach gentle. "Tell me about it. Maybe I can help."

You hesitated for a moment before the words came tumbling out, the dam of pent-up emotions finally breaking. "Natasha yelled at me. She called me a liability. She said I could’ve put us both in danger. It was during that mission. I just... I didn’t know how to react."

Wanda’s frown deepened, her eyes darkening with sympathy as she listened. "When did this happen?" she asked, her voice soft but firm, urging you to continue.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "It was after a mission from a few weeks ago. Things went sideways because of me, and she just... she snapped. Told me I was clingy. But it wasn't just about that mission. She's always been like that with me, but I guess I was too blind to see it."

Wanda listened intently, her expression serious. You could see the concern etched in her features, and it gave you the strength to continue. "I always thought she was just being her usual self. Tough, distant. I didn't think she found me clingy or annoying until that mission..”

Realizing how she truly felt about you... it made you want to throw up. How had you been so stupid? You were so blinded by your feelings for her that you automatically assumed she was fine with you following her everywhere like a lost puppy.

The words poured out of you, each one laced with regret. "So, I decided to give her what she wanted. Space. I've been avoiding her, trying to stay out of her way. But it hurts, Wanda. I like her so much."

Wanda’s eyes softened with understanding. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. That must have been incredibly hard to hear. But are you sure that’s what she really wants? People say things they don’t mean when they’re angry or scared."

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill. "I don’t know anymore. I thought I knew, but now... everything is so messed up. She apologized, but it didn’t feel sincere. And I can’t keep putting myself in a position where I’m just a burden to her."

Wanda reached out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. "You're not a burden, Y/N. Maybe Natasha is struggling with her own feelings, and she doesn't know how to handle them. But you deserve to be treated with respect and kindness, not like a liability."

You wiped at your eyes, nodding slowly. "I just don’t know what to do. I thought giving her space would make things better, but it’s only made everything worse. I miss her, Wanda. But I don’t want to force myself into her life if she doesn’t want me there."

Wanda gave you a reassuring squeeze. "Take it one day at a time. Maybe it's time to have an honest conversation with Natasha about how you feel. It’s clear that this is affecting both of you deeply."

You took a deep breath, considering Wanda's words. The thought of confronting Natasha terrified you, but you knew she was right. If there was any hope of resolving this, you had to face it head-on.

"Thanks, Wanda," you said, managing a small, grateful smile. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Wanda smiled back, her eyes full of warmth. "You'll figure this out, Y/N. And no matter what happens, I'll be here for you."

——————

Five days. It had been five days since that conversation with Wanda. The days dragged on, each one an echo of your turmoil. You were caught in a whirlwind of emotions, each more confusing than the last. You wanted to talk to Natasha, but what would you even say? How do you forgive someone for using your own insecurities against you?

You sat in the quiet of your room, the only light coming from the moon that seeped through the curtains. Shadows danced on the walls, a silent reminder of the chaos inside your mind. You hugged your knees to your chest, burying your face in them. The silence was oppressive, almost as if it was mocking your inability to make a decision.

"I'm so confused," you mumbled to yourself, the words barely audible in the stillness.

Wanda's words replayed in your mind, over and over. She had made you think, made you question everything. Was Natasha messing with your feelings? Or was she being genuine? The uncertainty gnawed at you.

There was really only one way to find out. You had to ask her yourself. But you were stubborn, mostly scared. The thought of confronting Natasha terrified you. What if she was just messing with your feelings? What if she laughed at you? The very idea sent a shiver down your spine.

Yet, there was a part of you, a small, hopeful part, that believed in her. What if she was being genuine? Could you forgive her? Maybe. But forgiveness wasn't easy. It required trust, and trust was something you were struggling to find.

You let out a shaky breath, the weight of your indecision pressing down on you. You stood up, pacing the room in an attempt to clear your mind. But the more you thought, the more tangled your thoughts became.

"Whatever," you mumbled, glancing at the clock. It was 2:00 AM. You needed rest; you had a mission tomorrow. You laid back down on your bed, eventually drifting off to sleep. The next morning came quicker than you liked. You shot up from your bed at the sound of knocking outside your door. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you got up and opened the door. Your eyes went wide, and your body froze.

"Natasha..?" you whispered. Why was she here?

"Uh, hi Y/N," Natasha mumbled. You could tell she felt awkward. Silence washed over you both before Natasha spoke again.

"Steve wanted to go over the mission one more time before we leave."

Oh. You had forgotten Natasha was going on the same mission as you, along with Tony and Steve.

"Y-yeah... uh, just let me get ready, and I'll head over." Your gaze never left Natasha's as you spoke. It felt difficult to look away. This was the most you both had talked in five weeks. You took in her appearance. She had dark bags under her eyes; she hadn’t been getting any sleep. You frowned, and Natasha cleared her throat awkwardly before quickly walking away from your room.

Your heart was beating fast. You missed talking to her. Even when she wasn’t really talking back to you, it felt nice being close to her again. Your feelings for her had never left. You held back every urge to run up to her or just to be next to her again.

About twenty minutes later, you were in the meeting room with Tony, Steve, and Natasha. Steve went over the mission again, explaining the dangers of the mission. As soon as those word left Steve’s mouth, Natasha glanced at you. She didn’t want you going on this mission. What if something happened to you? She wouldn’t forgive herself. You were still upset at her, and she’d be damned if something happened to you before she could tell you how she felt. She needed to explain herself and make things right with you.

"Alright, we’ll divide into two groups. Tony and I will go in from the roof, and Y/N and Natasha, you both will go in from the back."

You nodded nervously and glanced at Natasha, who was already staring at you. She flinched once you caught her gaze and immediately turned her attention elsewhere. Your heart pounded against your chest.

Once on the Quinjet, you found a seat and closed your eyes, preparing yourself for the mission. After a moment, you felt someone sitting next to you. You opened your eyes to find the redhead.

"Y/N... can we talk? Please..." Natasha whispered. You furrowed your eyebrows and sighed.

"Not now, Natasha. We need to focus on this mission. Whatever you have to tell me, say it later." You said plainly, but Natasha was having none of it.

"No! You have been avoiding me for weeks! We need to talk. Let me explain!" Natasha's voice was laced with desperation.

With that, you stood up and walked toward Tony, leaving Natasha sitting alone. Your head was spinning. Why did talking to her make you feel this way?

——————

Natasha couldn't shake the unease gnawing at her as you both approached the building's entrance from the back. She moved with precision, her senses on high alert, every muscle in her body coiled tightly. You followed closely behind, your heartbeat thudding in your ears, trying to match her calm but feeling the tension rising between you two.

Steve's voice crackled over the comms, a grim undertone in his usually steady tone.

"Be careful. Intel suggests this place is crawling with guards. If it looks too risky, pull out."

The warning only heightened the anxiety swirling within Natasha. She glanced back at you, her green eyes sharp with worry.

She didn't want you here. Not on this mission. Not when things were so unsettled between you two. She needed to protect you, keep you safe until she could make things right.

You caught the look and frowned. The silent exchange between you both was thick with unspoken words. Natasha's need to protect you felt suffocating, especially when you were more than capable of handling yourself.

As you neared the entrance, Natasha signaled for you to stay close behind her.

The two of you slipped inside, the shadows swallowing you whole. The air was heavy with tension, the silence only broken by the distant hum of machinery and the occasional footsteps of patrolling guards.

Natasha moved fluidly, her focus unwavering. She gestured for you to follow her lead, positioning herself in front of you.

But the way she kept looking back, making sure you were staying behind her, started to grate on your nerves. It was as if she didn't trust you to watch her back-or worse, as if she was preparing herself for the worst, all because of you.

After a few minutes, something inside you snapped. You took a step ahead of Natasha, tired of being treated like you were less capable. But before you could even process the thought, Natasha's hand shot out, gripping your arm and yanking you back behind her. She turned sharply, her eyes flashing with anger and fear.

"What the hell are you doing?" she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Stay behind me, Y/N. Do you understand?"

You ripped your arm out of her grasp, your own anger bubbling to the surface. "I'm not some helpless rookie, Natasha! I can handle myself. Stop treating me like I'm going to break."

Natasha's jaw tightened. "This isn't about your abilities, Y/N! I just-"

"No, Natasha. This is about you not trusting me. I'm just as trained as you are. I don't need you hovering over me like I'm about to fall apart!" You realized too late how loud your voice had become, echoing in the narrow corridor.

Natasha's eyes widened in panic. "Y/N, quiet-"

But it was too late. The sound of rapid footsteps reached your ears. Guards. The argument had alerted them. Natasha's gaze flicked to yours, a mixture of frustration and fear flashing across her face.

You both drew your weapons as the guards burst into the corridor. The first shots were fired, and the small hallway was filled with the deafening sound of gunfire. You moved in sync with Natasha, taking out the guards one by one, but the alarms blared loudly, a shrill sound that sent a jolt of dread through your system.

Natasha quickly switched her comms to Steve. "We've been compromised. Y/N and I are pulling out. We're heading back to the Quinjet."

"Copy that," Steve's voice came through, tinged with concern. "Get out of there, now."

You and Natasha turned, sprinting down the corridor, your heart pounding in your chest. The mission had gone sideways, and all you could focus on was getting out alive. But the air between you and Natasha was thick with tension, the unresolved argument gnawing at you both.

As you rounded a corner, neither of you noticed the guard sneaking up behind. The sound of a gunshot tore through the air, reverberating in the tight space. Natasha's heart stopped. She turned on instinct, firing at the guard and dropping him with a single shot.

But then she saw you, her worst nightmare playing out in front of her.

You staggered, a look of shock crossing your face as your hand flew to your side, where blood was beginning to soak through your suit. The realization hit Natasha like a truck, knocking the air out of her lungs.

"No...no, no, no..." she breathed, rushing to your side as you collapsed to the ground.

Blood was pouring from the wound, and your face was already losing color. Natasha knelt beside you, her hands trembling as she pressed them against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Y/N, stay with me," she whispered, her voice shaking with panic. "You're going to be okay, just hold on. Please, hold on."

You looked up at her, your breath coming in shallow gasps. "Natasha... don't want to die," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"You're not going to die, do you hear me?

You're going to be fine." But Natasha's voice cracked, betraying the fear she was desperately trying to keep at bay. The blood was seeping through her fingers, and she knew-she knew-that this was bad.

She fumbled for her comms, her voice frantic. "Steve! Steve, Y/N's been shot.

She's bleeding out-damn it, she's bleeding out! We need to get her out of here, now!"

"Natasha, stay calm. We're on our way," Steve's voice was urgent, but controlled.

"Just get her back to the Quinjet."

Natasha scooped you up in her arms, her heart pounding as she raced through the building, your limp body growing heavier with every step. She could feel your life slipping away, and the thought was tearing her apart.

"No...no, Y/N, stay with me. Don't you dare leave me," she whispered, her voice breaking. " need you to stay with me, okay? We're almost there. Please...please just stay with me."

But your eyes were closing, your breath growing more shallow with each passing second. Natasha's vision blurred with tears as she burst out of the building, spotting the Quinjet in the distance. Steve and Tony were already there, their faces a mix of determination and dread as they saw the state you were in.

Natasha stumbled as she reached them, her strength fading along with her hope.

"She's...she's not breathing," she choked out, her voice barely holding together.

Steve grabbed you from Natasha's arms, immediately trying to assess the situation as Tony prepared the medical equipment on board. Natasha fell to her knees, her hands still stained with your blood, her mind spiraling into a dark abyss of fear and regret.

This couldn't be happening. Not like this.

Not before she had the chance to make things right with you, to tell you the truth.

She had let her fear and her need to protect you get in the way, and now...now you were slipping away from her.

"Y/N...please...please don't leave me," she whispered, her voice breaking as she watched Steve and Tony work frantically to save you. The world around her was fading, the only thing she could focus on was the thought of losing you, the person she cared about more than anything in the world.

But as the minutes dragged on, Natasha felt the crushing weight of reality settling in. She had failed. And the thought of living in a world without you...was unbearable.

——————

The Quinjet landed at the compound with a jarring thud, and the team wasted no time. You were immediately rushed to the medbay, your body limp in Steve’s arms as he carried you inside, Natasha following closely behind. Her heart was racing, her hands trembling uncontrollably as she watched the medics swarm around you. They hooked you up to machines, applied pressure to your wound, and spoke in hushed tones that only added to the growing dread in Natasha’s chest.

When the doctor finally stepped back, a somber expression on her face, Natasha felt the world tilt beneath her feet.

“She’s barely stable,” the doctor said, her voice heavy with uncertainty. “The bullet did a lot of damage. We’ve managed to stop the bleeding, but…she’s in a deep coma. We’re not sure if she’s going to make it.”

Natasha’s heart plummeted. The words echoed in her mind, each one hitting her like a blow to the chest. She stared at your unconscious body, the rise and fall of your chest barely noticeable under the layers of bandages and medical equipment.

She couldn’t take it anymore. The weight of her guilt was suffocating, pressing down on her until she felt like she couldn’t breathe. This was her fault. All of it. If only she had realized her feelings for you sooner, if only she had handled things differently, maybe—just maybe—you wouldn’t be lying here, fighting for your life.

The doctor left the room, leaving Natasha alone with you. The silence was deafening, broken only by the steady beeping of the heart monitor. She sank into the chair beside your bed, her body trembling with the weight of her emotions. For a moment, she just sat there, staring at you, trying to will you to wake up. But you didn’t move. You didn’t even stir.

“Y/N…” Natasha whispered, her voice breaking as she gently took your hand in hers. Your skin was cold, a stark contrast to the warmth that had always radiated from you when you were awake and full of life. “I’m so sorry,” she began, her voice thick with tears. “I’m so, so sorry. I’ve been such a coward… I’ve been cruel to you, and you didn’t deserve any of it.”

She squeezed your hand, the tears finally spilling over as she spoke. “I never thought you were annoying or clingy. I loved it, actually. I loved it when you came up to me and talked about random things, even when I pretended not to care. I miss it… I miss you. And now…now look at you.”

Her voice cracked as the guilt threatened to consume her. “This is all my fault. I should have told you how I felt, I should have… I should have been better to you. But I was scared, Y/N. I was scared of how much I cared about you, of what that meant. And now… God, I might have lost you because of it.”

Natasha leaned forward, pressing her forehead against your hand as sobs wracked her body. “Please…please wake up. I need you to wake up. I can’t…I can’t lose you like this.”

But there was no response. No sign that you could hear her, that you were even aware of her presence. The only sound was the steady beeping of the heart monitor, a cruel reminder that you were still here, but barely hanging on.

After what felt like an eternity, Natasha finally pulled herself together. She placed a gentle kiss on your hand, her tears soaking into the fabric of your suit. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” she whispered one last time before forcing herself to leave the room. As she walked out, the door closing behind her with a soft click, she felt like she was leaving a part of herself behind.

The days that followed were a blur for Natasha. She hardly ate, hardly slept, her thoughts consumed by the image of you lying in that bed, unmoving, teetering on the edge between life and death. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw your face, heard your voice telling her that you didn’t want to die. It haunted her, tore at her insides until she could hardly bear it.

And then, one morning, something changed.

You woke up.

Your eyes fluttered open, your body screaming in pain as you slowly became aware of your surroundings. Panic gripped you as the memories of the mission came rushing back—the gunshot, the blood, the way your body had given out beneath you. You bolted upright in bed, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through your side as you threw the blanket off, your hands frantically searching for the wound.

It was there, bandaged and still aching, a painful reminder of how close you had come to death. Tears welled up in your eyes as the full weight of what had happened crashed down on you. You had almost died. The mission had failed, and it was all because of you. You had let your emotions get the best of you, and now…you had nearly paid the ultimate price.

The door to the medbay burst open, and your head snapped up to see Natasha standing there, her face pale, eyes wide with shock. The doctor followed close behind, quickly moving to your side to check your vitals, but your focus was solely on Natasha. She looked…different. Fragile, almost.

The doctor gave you a few instructions, telling you to rest and take it easy, but her words barely registered. Your mind was spinning, filled with thoughts of the mission, of how you had failed, of how Natasha must be looking at you now with disappointment.

When the doctor finally left, the room fell into a tense silence. Natasha stood there, staring at you, and you could see the turmoil in her eyes. A million thoughts raced through your mind—how you had messed up, how she was right to be angry with you, how you had proven yourself to be a liability.

You braced yourself for her harsh words, for the anger you were sure was coming. But instead, Natasha’s expression crumpled, and before you could react, she was throwing herself into your arms, careful not to hurt you but holding you tightly as if she were afraid you might disappear. Her body shook against yours, and you felt her tears wetting your shoulder as she buried her face against your neck.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, her voice muffled by your shirt. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I thought…I thought I’d lost you. I thought you were gone, and it was all my fault.”

You hesitated, your confusion growing as you gently placed your hands on her back, trying to soothe her. “Natasha…?”

“I’m so happy you’re alive,” she continued, her voice trembling. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d lost you.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, despite the pain still throbbing in your body. Natasha was crying—Natasha, the stoic, unshakable Black Widow—was crying over you. Maybe Wanda had been right all along…maybe Natasha did care about you more than she let on.

As if sensing your thoughts, Natasha pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks streaked with tears. She was a mess, but there was something raw and honest in her gaze that made your heart ache.

“Y/N,” she began, her voice trembling, “I…I need to tell you something. When you were in that coma…I was terrified. I didn’t know if you were going to make it, and I…I realized just how much you mean to me.”

She took a shaky breath, her hands gripping yours as if they were the only thing keeping her grounded. “I was so scared of my feelings for you that I pushed you away. I was cruel to you because I didn’t know how to handle it. But the truth is… I care about you. A lot. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”

Your breath caught in your throat as her words sank in. Natasha—Natasha Romanoff—had feelings for you. It seemed almost impossible, and yet…here she was, confessing everything, her heart laid bare.

“You mean…you actually…” You struggled to find the words, your mind still reeling from everything that had happened. “You have feelings for me?”

Natasha’s eyes softened, and she nodded, her grip on your hands tightening just slightly. “Yes, Y/N. I do. I’ve been an idiot for not telling you sooner, for not realizing it sooner. But now…I don’t want to waste any more time.”

A smile slowly spread across your face, your heart swelling with emotion despite the pain that still lingered. You reached up, cupping her face in your hands, your thumb gently brushing away a tear that had escaped. “Natasha…I…”

Before you could finish, Natasha leaned in, her lips capturing yours in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle, careful, as if she was afraid of hurting you, but it was filled with all the emotions she had kept hidden for so long. You kissed her back, your heart racing, a sense of warmth and relief washing over you.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. “Natasha… I want to be with you,” you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity. “But we need to take things slow. You still have to gain my trust back. It’s going to take time, but…I think we can make it work.”

Natasha’s eyes glistened with tears again, but this time, they were tears of relief and happiness.

soo what do y’all think 🤞 this is actually the longest fic I’ve ever written omg. I really enjoyed writing this😭🙏 SO I HOPE YALL LIKE THIS!!

tags for those who asked: @idkwhatever580 @esposadejoyhuerta @klorinda @taliiiaasteria

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐄𝖝𝖊𝖈𝖚𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖗 | Teaser

When second chances are wasted, there's only one thing left to do.

Tags/Warnings: Dystopian AU, Werewolf AU, Alpha!Jungkook, Omega!Reader, Angst, Some fluff, romance but he's a bit weird about it pls let him cook he's awkward okay, Violence, crime and.. bad stuff.

-> Masterlist

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: oh look another werewolf fic oops. BTW if you do not like any of the tags or the trailer doesnt vibe with you, don't read the story. I literally have tons of other content for you instead. Thanks.

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“Do you think that people can change?”

No. Jungkook does not believe that people have the ability to shed their dark desires once they've shown their ugly faces to the world. Once someone has lost control over themselves and their inner demons even just once, it’s over. A wolf's inner beast set free won’t be tamed again, by anyone. There is no coming back from that- and a crime committed has to be punished, especially when there’s not even any effort put into areas trying to redeem one’s self. second chances should always be valued highly if given-

Because everyone has to face judgement for their actions, and if those second chances are wasted, he is the man who will execute the fitting punishment.

Jungkook doesn't believe in second chances.

A man who’s laid his hand on his wife will never truly change his mind and put the shackles onto himself after the line has been crossed. A cheating spouse will not suddenly become loyal as a dog again just because they realize the hurt they’ve caused. A murderer can’t give back the life they’ve taken even if they desperately want to. A young wolf lost to a frenzy can’t gain back their sanity with the snap of a finger.

He is part of the new world’s law.

Violence is the punishment put on people who can’t seem to keep themselves in check even after second chances. Violence is the final answer to the worst of the worst, the people who will never change.

Violence is the thing that changes people- from being alive to no longer being a threat to anyone ever again.

To Jungkook, these people are like maggots, infesting the cities and homes of families who just want to exist and live. Jungkook is the pest control, he removes those insects, cleans out the infestations.

Saves potential victims.

“I didn’t do anything!” the man slurs a little, alcohol in his veins causing him to visibly struggle with his bodily functions, even if he wants to desperately be sober in this moment. You’re sitting in the corner still, watching, well aware not to interfere with a man sent by the people in charge of the wolf’s law to carry out the final judgement.

“Evasion. Armed robbery, twice. Domestic abuse, twice. Attempted kidnap of a child while intoxicated.” Jungkook lists, having memorized what this person is being accused of- or rather yet, has already been judged for in the past. “You’ve shown that you do not aim to change.” He says, not even looking at you once. Instead, he just walks closer, like a predator, staring down his prey. “And now, keeping an omega hostage? Not exactly the actions of a man innocent.”

“I-“ the man tries, but he doesn’t get far with his words. “-There’s- nothing happened- Tell him! Nothing happened, right-?” He asks you, who’s staring him down.

Jungkook looks at you as well now, awaiting your answer.

You’ve got a life in your hands.

Your lips part, but you can’t speak- when suddenly, the man moves again, lifts his hand as he steps towards you, ready to intimidate you into answering if needed- but Jungkook is faster, having seen enough. Even if nothing happened- yet- surely if he was to leave, you’d be another body found. “Where- where are you taking me?” the man begs to know, unable to really go against the hand that holds the back of his head by the hair, fingers tightly dug into the locks to have a secure hold on him as he drags him into a corner or the small, run down house.

In this moment, Jungkook looks like a different person to you. There’s no trace of the man who just wants to help others. The hands that force this stranger to his knees aren’t the same that helped you stand earlier that day, hold gentle and without any intention to hurt. Those eyes are dark as coal, like two black voids swallowing any reflection whole.

“I'll take you straight to hell, where you belong.” Jungkook simply answers the man, before he lets go-

And takes out his gun, to fire the first shot of many.

[exhaslo]

Ghostface!Miguel x Reader PT.2

Part 1

Warning: Minors DNI, Smut, unprotected sex, masturbation', phone sex creampie, dirty talk and probably a bunch more.

A soft groan escaped your lips as you started to come to. Your head was pounding as you fluttered your eyes open. Before you was an unfamiliar ceiling. Trying to recall what had happened before you collapsed, you gasped and immediately checked your body. Clothes were still on and there were no stab wounds. You were alive, but for how long?

From what you recalled, you were drugged. Ghostface appeared and killed the two men who tried to take you away. This had to be his place. Why would Ghostface take you here? Was it to kill you? Realizing that you were not tied down in anyway, you quietly tried to find an exit. You needed to leave!

The only exit was either the bedroom door, or the window. Checking the window first, you gasped. You were in the top floor of an extremely tall apartment complex. You flinched as your phone buzzed, revealing it to be the unknown number.

"I-I know who you are now," You stuttered.

"Who?"

"G-Ghostface."

"Correct."

"And...I'm in one of your rooms...Waiting for you to kill me, right?" Tears were threatening to spill.

"Wrong." Ghostface said with a chuckle, "Why would I kill someone I just saved? I want something else."

You shuddered, looking around the room and noticed a camera, "What do you want?"

"I want you to touch yourself."

"T-Touch-Why?!"

"I want a different kind of relief. Lay on the bed and start, before I go out and kill someone close to you."

You whimpered lowly as you did as he said. At least he wasn't going to kill you, but for him to watch you masterbate? Your face was turning a million shades of red. You laid on the bed and slowly took off your costume. You had to do this, or someone else was going to die.

You started with your breasts, giving them a good massage as you thought of Miguel touching you. You just had to pretend that you were at home with no camera recording this. Once the thought left your mind, you returned to your pleasure. You groped and pinched your nipples, moving your hips as you thought of Miguel grinding you.

"Miguel," You whispered under your breathe.

"..."

Your fingers slid down to your clit, rubbing it in circular motion. Soft and quiet whimpers escaped your lips as you kept rubbing. Your legs spreading as you whimpered at your approaching orgasm. Quickly, you moved your fingers from your clit to your dripping hole, pumping them inside.

"Miguel~"

"Fuck," Ghostface whispered over the phone, bringing you back to your senses, "Don't stop now. Cum for me."

You bit your lower lip, unable to stop. You had literally forgotten about Ghostface until he spoke. You were surprised that he wasn't mad about you calling out another man's name. Gasping, you flinched as you fasten your pace, cumming against your fingers.

Right as you took a moment to catch your breathe, Ghostface entered the room. You yelped, about to sit up, but was pushed back down. You cried out as he entered two fingers inside your drenched hole, pumping them in faster and harder than your fingers. Tears rolled down your face as his fingers stretched you out wide.

"A-Ah~ W-Wait-" You tried to beg. Ghostface removed his mask, revealing it to be Miguel,

"How can I wait after watching you cum to thoughts of me, amor? I can't stop now." He groaned lowly, taking your breast in his mouth.

"M-Miguel?! Y-You're Ghostface?!" You barked, trembling against him as you rode his hand, "W-Why didn't you say something sooner! I was terrified!"

"Oh? Hey, (Y/N), I'm the murderous Ghostface and I dream of fucking you every night to relieve my stress. How does that sound?" Miguel asked as he curled his fingers inside your tight, gummy walls.

"Ah~ M-Mig~" You cam against his hand, panting heavily from your second orgasm, "Y-You...make a....wait...You wanted to-"

"I'm going to fuck you right here and now. You're going to be a good girl and ride my dick as many times as I make you."

You bit your lower lip as you watched him whip out his large cock from his cloak. He spread your legs over his shoulders, rubbing his tip against your folds. You shuddered in anticipation, whimpering as he pressed himself inside, stretching you out even more.

"Mig, it...t-too big."

"I said be a good girl."

Miguel slapped your thigh, waking you shake. He brought his lips to your neck, sucking against it, making as many marks as possible. You whined from the gesture, your hips rising slightly. Miguel was entering you slowly. His dick was so deep inside you that you nearly felt like cumming again from the intrusion. You gasped, your vision getting blurry as his tip started to poke you inside.

"A perfect fit." Miguel said with a smirk.

This was something you could only dream about. Your pussy was throbbing against Miguel's dick, giving him a place inside you. Right as you were about to get used to his size, Miguel pulled out, only to slap himself inside you again. You moaned loudly as he hit your cervix, causing you to see stars.

"I'm going to fill you up, make sure you know who you belong too." Miguel grunted as he started to rut into your soaked pussy.

"Y-Yes! Yes, Miguel!" You cried out, becoming overwhelmed with pleasure.

You didn't even care about Miguel being Ghostface anymore. His dick was bullying your pussy so good that you were losing sense of reason. Moans and whimpers were the only thing coming out of your mouth as Miguel drew another orgasm out of you. He watched your face contort with pleasure, slowing putting his mask back on.

"You like my dick inside you right? Being fucked by the evil and blood thirsty Ghostface feel that good?" He chuckled darkly, watching your mouth make an 'o' as he hit right in your sweet spot, "Why don't I give instead of take for once? Here, drink up."

You gasped, arching your back as you felt him force his dick as deep inside you as possible. His hot semen flooding into your womb before he started to his charade of thrusts once more. You moaned his name, begging him to slow down.

"Hm? Can't understand you. So cock drunk from my dick. Look at your pussy, sucking me dry, begging for more. I'm not letting you go. You're going to be my trophy wife."

"Y-Yes...s'good...mhm~" You babbled, moving your hips in rhythm with his. Miguel licked his lips as he kept slapping his dick inside you, giving you another fill of his cum,

"Don't let a single drop escape. If you do, I'll have to punish you." Miguel hummed as he pulled out.

You whimpered, laying on his bed, exhausted. His cum seeping out of your pussy. You were fine with whatever punishment he was going to give you. Miguel said you were going to be his wife. He wouldn't kill you as long as you kept being his good girl.

"I'll be back. Still have a few people who need to learn a lesson," Miguel told you.

You hummed in response, slowly closing your eyes. You were trapped in Miguel's web. You could tell no one about his true self. You could tell no one that you were going to be the wife of the infamous Ghostface. All you could do, was wait like a good girl and be Miguel's dear stress reliever.

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐀𝐈𝐑, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 [𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍]

PAIRINGS – Violet Bridgerton x fem!Gardener!Reader

SUMMARY — Violet gets her garden tended to, both literally and figuratively.

WORD COUNT — 7.1K

WARNINGS — 18+ NSFW MDNI, just lots of longing and touch straved themes

NOTE — This fic I think may be one of my favourite things I've ever written. I don't want to say too much about it, but I hope it makes all you feel the same things it made me feel as I was writing it. A special thank you to @mystic-writings for beta'ing and cheering me on and @loveindiravarma for providing the video for the middle GIF

Violet never liked when she had to let go of staff, but sometimes it just had to be done. Anthony was tremendously busy (with his impending wedding to the elder Miss Sharma) and so in the end, the responsibility fell on Violet.

She had to say although the whole ordeal was rather unpleasant, she somehow seemed to be graced with an easy decision when it came to filling the position of gardener. 

Violet would admit she was a little surprised by how it all played out. First, she wasn’t expecting a woman to come and speak with her about the job, but every single quality she was looking for in an applicant was met. She didn’t waste her time in making a decision and decided to hire on the spot.

She found herself more willing to go out into the garden, to explore while work was being done, unafraid to get in the way or be curious because she never felt like she was imposing. She did know it was technically her family’s home, but there was something about watching someone while they worked that just seemed rather intrusive and she usually avoided it. 

“Lady Bridgerton,” your voice pulled her out of her thoughts and she looked up at you with a smile. “I just started pruning and was going to come and ask you a question about how you wanted the bushes. You seem to have saved me some leg work.”

“I’m much obliged, miss. How can I be of assistance?” she asked, coming closer to you and the bush of flowers you were working on. 

“I was thinking perhaps to pick a few peonies to put inside the house in vases and then trim down the size a bit so it isn’t overtaking the garden quite so much, what are your thoughts?” 

Violet pressed her lips together and gazed at the bush for a moment. The peonies did seem to be in such a bloom, reaching out on every side almost running completely wild. She supposed that was part of the reason she got a new gardener in the first place. 

“Trim it,” she nodded. “They do seem like they need to be…controlled.” 

You chuckled a little and clipped one of the flowers, handing it to her. 

“If I may, my Lady, I don’t think controlled is quite the right word,” you said. “Moreso…guided, manicured, taken care of.” 

Violet smiled at what you said, a nervous chuckle escaping her lips, “Yes, quite right,” she nodded. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, my Lady. Your company is always welcome.” 

She pressed her lips together and wished you a good day before continuing to walk through the gardens. 

As the day passed, Violet found herself carrying the peony you had given her to everything she did around the house, playing with the stem, feeling the petals between her fingers until in the evening she sat in her chambers, alone and dressed for bed the flower sitting on her vanity staring back at her. 

After staring at it for what seemed like hours she finally picked it up and brought it to her nose, inhaling its scent and perfume, closing her eyes and just letting her mind wander along with the intoxicating scent, feeling a warmth grow in her core, causing her breath to hitch and for her to abruptly open her eyes. 

She took in a couple of shakier breaths, placing the flower back down on the vanity and standing up, turning away from it, unable to justify her own thoughts in her head. 

She moved to the pitcher of water that sat next to a bowl and poured some of it inside, gently splashing her face with the water, before resting her hands on the table and leaning over the bowl, letting small droplets drip from her nose and chin back into the bowl. 

A pressure began to build up in her chest and all of a sudden she was taking deeper, more laboured breaths until she grabbed the towel and wiped her face clean with a certain roughness and frustration before letting her arms drop to her side while her back leaned against the table. 

She looked over again at the peony and licked her lips, her hand moving to her chest, rubbing back and forth to try and rid herself of some of this ache, or rather distract from it. 

It wasn’t much use, so instead she closed her eyes and took in a deep, shaky breath, discarding the towel on the table and moving towards her bed, slipping underneath the covers and begging for sleep to wash over her. 

—

“Mama, when are we going to join Anthony and Kate at Aubrey Hall?” Hyacinth asked one morning over breakfast.

“Soon, dearest,” she assured her youngest daughter. “Lady Danbury will be joining us there, I just have a few more things I have to arrange for before we can leave.” 

“I do not want to go to the country,” Gregory pouted. “We’ve been there three times already this year.” 

“The country air will do us all some good,” Violet told her children. “We will go spend time with your brother and his wife as a family and we will all enjoy it. Understood?” she gave Gregory one of her looks that wasn’t so much threatening as it was lovingly stern. 

“Yes mama,” Gregory nodded and looked back at his food with a sigh making his other siblings chuckle. 

Violet finished up her breakfast and excused herself from the table, going to take care of things with the staff who would be left at the house in their absence and going out for an appointment with the modiste, unable to do her own alterations at the same time as her daughters. 

When she returned she had one thing on her list to complete before finalizing all of the packing to be ready to leave tomorrow. 

She made her way to the garden and saw you diligently working away at pulling some weeds from the soil around the rose bushes and while she was busy admiring your work, you caught her gaze and welcomed her with a smile on your face. 

“Lady Bridgerton,” you stood up and bowed your head, removing your working gloves and tossing them to the side. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes actually there is,” she nodded. “As you know the family and I are going to join Anthony at Aubrey Hall tomorrow and I was wondering if you might join us to help tend to the gardens there.” 

You looked a little surprised at her proposition, but nodded your head. 

“I would love to, my Lady, but may I ask a question?”

“Of course,” she pressed you to go on. 

“I thought there was a gardener who took care of Aubrey Hall, it was my understanding that my responsibilities would not extend past Bridgerton House.” 

“Under normal circumstances they wouldn’t,” Violet agreed with your sentiment. “It is just that our other gardener has, like my son, recently gotten married and Anthony was in a generous mood and gave him time to spend with his new wife so the gardens there have not been tended to in some time. I feel as though the plants here could surely survive a while longer in your absence, especially since you have done so much work with them already.” 

“I see,” you smiled. “In that case I would be more than happy to join you at Aubrey Hall, my Lady.” 

“Splendid,” she let out a small relieved breath. “I have arranged for you to come in a carriage with my maid Mrs.Wilson. There are quarters for a gardener on the far end of the property that you will be most welcome to stay in during your time in the country. It hasn’t been used for quite some time as Mr. Henry lives in the village and walks to Aubrey Hall every day.” 

“Wonderful, I shall finish with these weeds then begin packing,” you motioned to the soil below you and Violet nodded her head with a smile before wishing you a good rest of your day and heading back inside to arrange some packing of her own (and make sure Gregory and Hyacinth in particular were doing the same…and come to think of it Eloise, Benedict, and Colin as well). 

She was content that evening to be stressing over her impending travels instead of allowing herself to drift into madness like she felt she had been doing so often these past few days. As she lay in bed, the blanket pulled up to her chin as she curled underneath the covers, she really did hope that the country air might provide her even with a moment's respite. 

—

“I never knew you to be interested in gardening, mama.”

Violet turned her head upwards at Eloise’s voice as she had caught sight of her staring out of the window at you while you took out some potted plants and re-planted them into the soil. 

“Oh, yes,” Violet nodded her head. “Gardening, it’s very…” her voice trailed off and she didn’t even attempt to finish her sentence, her eyes still closely watching you. 

Eloise gave her mother a look of confusion, trying to gather what was going on, but clearly not understanding the situation at all. 

“It’s very what?” she asked, pulling her mother out of her thoughts once more. 

“It’s an art,” Violet ended up saying, turning her head to face Eloise, a polite, albeit slightly strained, smile on her face. “To tend to a garden takes knowledge, care, and an eye for a certain…” 

“Je ne sais quoi?” Eloise offered and Violet nodded her head. 

“Exactly.” 

Eloise watched you with her mother for a moment before leaving her to her own devices so she could go read for a bit before playing pall mall with her siblings and new sister-in-law. 

Violet thought a little more to herself about what it took to take care of a garden. It was true that it required knowledge and care, but gardens also flourished with love and tenderness, with touch and air and sunlight. 

Just as she thought of the sun, it peeked out from behind the clouds, just for a moment shining in through the window and Violet allowed herself to bask in its warmth. Shutting her eyes and letting each golden ray envelop her and touch her skin and set it aglow. She took in a deep breath and let out a soft sigh, relishing that feeling of something against her body, some warmth. 

“Lady Bridgerton?” 

“Hmm,” Violet bore a soft smile on her face, her eyes still closed for a moment before she turned her head and opened them, seeing her friend standing before her. “Oh, Lady Danbury. You must excuse me I was just-” 

“Basking?” she asked with a raised brow, leaning on her cane. 

Violet chuckled a little sheepishly. 

“Yes,” she nodded. “Would you care to join me?” 

“I think I would,” she said as Violet moved over slightly so that she could join her on the small couch that faced the window. “Miss Eloise has told me that you’ve been observing the gardening that is happening.” 

“Yes,” Violet nodded again, she didn’t have many words to say as her eyes fell on you again, watching your every movement. 

“Or perhaps there is a gardener that has caught your eye?” 

“Yes-Wait Agatha!” Violet turned her head as soon as she’d realized how she’d answered, shocked her friend could even suggest such a thing. 

Lady Danbury’s face was not one of shock or even intrigue, she just let her hands simply rest on the head of her cane and continued to look out of the window. 

Violet was so flustered she could feel her cheeks growing more red by the second as she figured out what she was going to try and say to cover up her answer. 

Before she could think of something, Lady Danbury spoke again. 

“I suppose a gardener has many admirable qualities,” she began. “They are very meticulous, they know how to…tend to things.” 

Violet pressed her lips together, she didn’t dare look over at her, instead just focusing on her hands in her lap.

“You wouldn't tell anyone, would you?” Violet asked quietly. 

“What is there to tell,” Lady Danbury shrugged. “You are simply a Lady who enjoys her garden.” 

Violet smiled a little to herself and looked out of the window ahead into the field, placing a hand on her friend’s which still rested on the head of her cane. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

Lady Danbury nodded her head. 

“There is no harm in looking, Violet.” 

She continued to press her lips together, there may not have been a harm in looking, but what about when that fuelled some sort of desire she did not know how to control. 

Violet removed her hand from Lady Danbury’s and smoothed out her dress, standing up. 

“I should go. I think I can hear Hyacinth and Gregory arguing. Probably about something pointless.” 

Lady Danbury gave Violet a compassionate smile which she returned, but it left her face as soon as she turned away and headed towards the voice of her children. If she couldn’t seem to control her staring when you were around then perhaps she’d just have to make sure she wasn’t around you. 

—

When Violet was in the country and she found herself needing to clear her head she often sat on the bench next to her husband’s grave. She was usually better prepared, bringing flowers and maybe something special to leave there, but she didn’t have the wherewithal today to do anything other than sit.

Her children would all make their rounds eventually, especially the older ones, but often they liked to do it alone, taking the quiet moment as one of reflection, or perhaps they took the silence as an opportunity to talk with their father. 

Violet preferred to reminisce. 

To close her eyes and play through scenes in her head, a memory, a feeling until often she stopped herself before tears could stream down her cheeks. 

Today she felt her eyes flutter shut as the wind blew against her face, her breath was caught in her throat as she swore she could feel her late husband’s arms wrap around her. Ten years and she could still remember how his hands would mould to her sides, how his chin would rest against her shoulder from behind, the feeling of his breath like a gentle warm breeze against her cheek. 

She heard the crunch of twigs off to the side and she opened her eyes to see what had made the sound.

She saw you with your back turned to her and she frowned out of confusion for a moment before calling your name, encouraging you to turn around and face her. 

“I apologize, my Lady. I didn’t realize you were here,” you said quietly. “I just noticed there weren’t any flowers so I thought I might bring some by. The staff has told me you normally bring hyacinths.” 

Violet felt her lips pull into a sad soft smile as she nodded her head. 

“Yes…I was just a little preoccupied today,” she admitted. 

You tested the waters and came a little closer, and then a little closer until you could rest the flowers down by the large headstone. 

Violet watched as your hands moved to adjust a few things, not moving from your position until the flowers were perfect. 

When you stood up, you didn’t take the time to admire your work like you normally did and moved away to give Violet her privacy, and despite all that she had told herself a few days ago, she found herself speaking before her mind could catch up. 

“You could stay for a moment, if you’d like.” 

You paused and looked over at the Viscountess, she didn’t necessarily meet your gaze, her eyes still on the flowers you had brought. 

“I could stay if you’d like me to,” you said softly, not wanting to overstep her politeness. 

She nodded her head, her eyes still on the flowers and placed a hand on the empty spot next to her on the bench. 

You pursed your lips and clasped your hands behind your back as you walked towards the bench, lowering yourself down next to her and moving your hands to your lap. 

You didn’t say anything, simply watching Violet and waiting for her to make the move, to start a conversation if that’s what she wished, but perhaps she just wanted someone to sit in silence with her to offer a hand of comfort and before you realized what you were doing your hand had inched over towards hers that was still resting on the bench next to you. 

When Violet felt the warm touch of your hand against hers she had to keep her head turned for a moment, not expecting you to do such a thing. 

Confused by her reaction, you quickly retracted your hand in case you had overstepped, but as soon as the contact was lost, Violet turned her head back to you. 

“Is everything alright, my Lady?” you asked. 

She bit the inside of her cheek and nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak and instead looking straight ahead out into the field. She closed her eyes only for a moment, simply feeling the warmth radiate off your skin only for it to be blown away by the cool breeze. 

When she opened her eyes she noticed your hand in front of her, holding a handkerchief. She moved her own hand to her cheeks feeling the wet streaks against her skin. 

She took the handkerchief from you, with one hand, but then reached out with the other before you could pull away. You carefully brought your other hand and clasped hers between them. She could feel every callous along your palm, a rough exterior for such a gentle and caring touch. 

She sniffled and moved her free hand over her mouth, her fingers curled as if in contemplation. 

You stayed like that until you could hear the thunder rumble in the distance. You removed your hands from around hers, noticing how she almost shivered at the loss of warmth. 

“We should go before we get caught in the rain,” you said quietly. 

Violet nodded her head and watched as you wished her a good rest of her day before leaving and she sat there a while longer, looking down at her hands in her lap, the handkerchief still wet with tears, and she imagined that this wasn’t the last time this cloth, this piece of fabric would be witness to her sorrows.

—

Violet was never one to sneak around, but when the house was filled with her family and their staff on occasion she would find herself waiting for a moment where she could be away and for no one to know where she was. 

It was practically impossible to slip out unnoticed during the day, so she went through her usual evening routine with her maids, but sat at her vanity, waiting until the sun had just set and everyone was fast asleep to open the door of her room and peek down the hallway, stepping into it and making her way to the doors that led outside. 

The air nipped at her skin, making the hair on her arm stand on its end, despite the cover from her robe which she now wrapped tighter around her as she walked down the stairs and through the garden. She didn’t really think about what she was doing or where she was going, perhaps it was just simply away. 

Darkness fell upon the country and she appreciated the privacy it gave, but clearly it could only give so much.

It seemed as though she had walked all the way to the edge of the property where the gardener’s quarters were and there was still a shadow of a figure outside bent over what looked like potted plants. 

She watched curiously as she got closer and possibly hearing the squish of her feet against the wet soil, you looked up and saw her. It was safe to say you were a little confused at the sight before you and quickly dusted your hands off on a towel. 

“Lady Bridgerton is that you?” you called, squinting into the darkness, trying to get a better look. 

“Yes,” she called back. “What on earth are you doing gardening at night?” 

“I suppose I might ask the same of you and your promenade, my Lady,” you said. “These flowers bloom at night, I was just coming to take a look at them.” 

You beckoned her to come closer and take a look at what you were observing. As she came towards you, you noticed similarly to yourself she was dressed in a nightgown, only she had a robe pulled over top of her as well. 

It was interesting to see her in this light, or perhaps this darkness, her hair falling into loose curls on either side of her shoulders. There was no rouge on her cheeks, but the cold air seemed to do the trick regardless, welcoming a rosy colour on her skin. 

She bent down to examine the flowers you spoke of, gently touching the petals and smiling seeing how they reached up towards the moonlight. 

Before either of you could speak you were interrupted by the rumble of thunder and a trickle of rain which quickly turned into a downpour. 

You opened the door to the small cabin and ushered Violet inside, slipping in after her, lucky you were close by and did not get caught in the worst of it.

“I’m not sure it will be a good idea for you to go back, my Lady,” you looked outside. “It’s pouring, you’d catch a cold.”

You looked back over at her and she was wiping a few drops of rain from her face, but after seeing how hard the downpour was she came to the same conclusion. 

“I know it’s hardly as glamorous as what you have in Aubrey Hall, but you can take my bed,” you said. “I have a mat I can use to sleep on the floor.” 

“Are you quite sure?” Violet asked. “I know you did not plan on having a guest tonight, I do not mean to intrude.” 

“It’s not an intrusion, my Lady. Simply unconventional company,” you shrugged, pulling the mat out from where it was kept and laying a sheet overtop of it along with a blanket and a pillow. “Your family won’t worry about you out here?” 

“They don’t know I’m here,” she said. “I’ll be fine for one evening.” 

You nodded your head and sat down on the mat, watching as she followed your lead with the bed. 

The fire flickered a soft warm light into the room and you sighed, wrapping your hands around your legs. 

“Goodnight, my Lady.” 

“Goodnight,” she whispered and turned to lay back down on the bed and you allowed yourself to do the same. 

You tried to close your eyes and fall asleep, after a hard day of working outside usually you didn’t have much trouble. You stayed still with your eyes closed for what felt like hours before you really began to give up and open your eyes. 

When you did, you looked over at the bed and saw Violet seemingly in a similar predicament, tossing until she landed on her back, staring up at the ceiling, not noticing your gaze on her. 

It felt wrong to watch her, especially when she must have assumed you were fast asleep, but there was something that forced you to stare, to not turn your eyes away. 

You saw her hand reach out to touch her neck, like she was trying to remember a feeling. One hand rested just below her breast while the other hovered for a moment, hesitating to come down, but when it did, both hands wrapped themselves around her midsection as she turned back onto her side, facing the wall. 

You bit your lip and wondered how many nights she’d spent like this since her husband had passed away.

Alone. 

Aching. 

Lady Violet Bridgerton was a woman who the ton saw as constantly surrounded by others, but in the times you had seen her, you’d seen past the crowds of family and friends that encompassed her. You saw a woman who longed for something she didn’t feel she had the right to ask for. 

You turned onto your back and closed your eyes again, the sound of the rain crashing down on the house drowning out any further thoughts you might have, and as the smell of fresh soil, grass, and newly potted plants filled your nostrils, you closed your eyes and hoped that Violet would find whatever it was she was looking for. 

—

Violet stared up at the intricate design of her four poster bed frame. A kaleidoscope of shapes, diamonds and triangles carved into wood, dizzying in their patterns. 

She felt her hands move from where they rested against her chest, tracing along her skin before moving overtop of fabric, down her chest, towards her stomach where the fabric of her nightgown was already bunched up, having fallen from her knees down to her hips. 

She let her eyes flutter closed as she began to put pressure at the base of her stomach, gathering the courage to let her hands go lower. 

Just as her hand was about to slip past the point of fabric, to touch skin again, she felt someone gently grasp her hand. 

She opened both her eyes and her mouth to let out a gasp of surprise, but a finger came to her lips, quieting her.

“Shh, shh,” it was a gentle hush, her mouth unable to shut as she saw you lean over top of her, the shapes and patterns surrounding you from above sending her into a spiral. “Let me take care of that for you.” 

Violet could feel her bottom lip begin to tremble against your finger as she felt your other hand start its path from her ankle, moving up her shin, past her knee, and onto her thigh. 

She let out a light gasp as your fingers reached closer to her core, her own hand pressing against her stomach in some attempt to steady herself. 

She knew she had to do something while she still had her wits about her, so she lifted her other hand to wrap around the back of your neck, holding the side of your face, bringing you down so your forehead was pressed against hers, your noses touching as your fingers slipped inside her. 

She gasped with each movement, pulling you closer, her eyes closed, her nose scrunched, her mouth unable to shut, her breathing and quiet moans the only sound that filled the room. 

Violet couldn’t gather her senses, teetering towards the edge of something a long groan caught in the back of her throat.

Violet opened her eyes, taking in a gulp of air and quickly pushing herself up in her bed. 

She looked around her room, it was dark and empty. She looked up to her bedframe, the shapes causing her mind to spin as your face flashed before her. 

Her skin was sticky with sweat, the fabric of her nightgown clinging onto her as she covered her face with her hands for a moment, steadying her breathing before running her hands through her hair and pulling her knees to her chest, trying to ignore that pit of need in her stomach. 

She rested one arm across her knees, the elbow of her other arm using it as a rest while she ran her fingers through her hair, tugging at it, hoping the pain might pull her away from her thoughts. 

Moving on to pinch the bridge of her nose, she fell back onto the mattress, staring at the wall, too afraid to look up and be reminded of her dream, too afraid to close her eyes and let her subconscious gain control once more.

So she stayed like that, in bed, staring at the wall until the sun leaked into the room telling her she was finally safe, or so at least she thought. 

—

A few days had passed and Violet had barely left her room. She told her family she was feeling unwell and needed to rest, but in reality, she spent most of her time still dressed in a nightgown, sitting on the chaise lounge, looking out at the clouds that loomed overhead. 

When she opened the window to allow for some fresh air to enter the room, she could smell the rain in the air, the clouds making their way towards Aubrey Hall seemed to match her suspicions and she knew that evening she wouldn’t confine herself to her room any longer. 

Across the property, you had the Sunday off and used the time to enjoy the clear skies while they lasted, finding company in yourself, bouncing between a book and cooking a few things for yourself to eat while you mentally planned how the rest of your week would look like, assigning areas of the property based on priority and need. 

Gardening was hard work, there was no question about it. But the results were always worth it, every single time without fail. Looking at the finished product and being able to see beauty and order in something so wild and free. 

As the evening rolled in, and the grey sky was replaced by the deep navy that visited every night, you made your way back inside, boiling the pot of water for a cup of tea while you heard the rain begin to patter outside, drop by drop until it was continuous and loud against the roof of your cabin. 

You didn’t expect to do much else aside from sit and enjoy your drink, perhaps read a few more chapters of your book when you heard a knock at your door. 

Not knowing who was on the other side, you grabbed your robe and wrapped it around yourself before going to the door and opening it.

Your hand immediately flew to your mouth, “Lady Bridgerton…” your voice trailed off as you took in her appearance, in nothing but a nightgown, completely soaked, mud lining the bottom of it, her hair stringy and stuck to the sides of her face. You quickly opened the door wider and pulled her inside and out of the cold, closing the door behind you. “What happened?”

“Mistimed my evening promenade,” she said quietly. “I-I was closer to here than the hall…” 

You nodded your head and moved her over towards the stool in front of the fire, sitting her down and moving away to rummage through your things to find a towel, bringing it to her and wrapping it around her shoulders. 

She looked up at you, her lashes still dripping with water and you bent down next to her, tucking her hair behind her ears so it didn’t stick to her face, lifting the towel slightly to help wipe away some of the water that was still dripping down her face. 

You didn’t even think twice about the familiarity, unable to bring yourself to just leave her alone like that. And perhaps you didn’t think twice because she didn’t so much as flinch with your touch, if anything she leaned into your hand. 

“My Lady, you risk catching a cold in such weather,” you said softly. 

“I know,” she whispered. “I should be more careful.” 

“Does your family not know you have come outside?” you asked and she nodded her head. 

“I just needed a moment alone.” 

“According to your daughter, moments alone are all you’ve had these past few days,” you said. “Miss Eloise said you were unwell.” 

“I-I was,” Violet nodded. “What I meant is that I needed some fresh air after being in my chambers for so long.” 

You nodded your head and respected her answer, standing up from beside her and bringing her the cup of tea you had made for yourself in hopes that it would speed up the process of warming her up as the towel and fire helped to dry her off. 

When you saw her finally begin to get back to her normal temperature you realized there was no way she could stay in her current clothes, the bottom of her dress now caked with dry mud. 

You stood up again and went to the dresser, looking through a few things before finding what it was you wanted and bringing it to her in exchange for the empty cup. It was a nightgown, left in the cabin perhaps by a previous gardener’s wife, but it looked like it would fit Violet and it could do the trick for the night. 

She took it from your hands and slowly stood up, removing the towel from her shoulders before going into the small washroom to get changed. 

You hung the towel to dry by the fire while you waited and just as she exited the washroom with her dirtied nightgown in hand she saw you reaching for the mat you had slept on last time. 

“Why don’t you stay with me on the bed,” Violet said. “I could not impose on your kindness more than once.” 

You pressed your lips together and looked down at the mat in your hands. 

“I insist. It is big enough for both of us.” 

“Just barely, my Lady,” you looked at her just to make sure that she was absolutely certain. 

“Either we both sleep on the bed or I shall take the mat this time,” she said. “You’ve already done a lot for me tonight, I cannot possibly take your place of rest as well.” 

You chewed on the inside of your cheek and let go of the mat, sliding it back into its place between the bookcase and the wall. 

You motioned for her to take her spot on the bed, and she did so after folding her gown and placing it off to the side, sliding underneath the covers and moving to the side next to the wall. When she was settled you came in next to her, turning your back to hers, staring out the window at the rain pouring down on the property. 

The sound brought you back to that previous evening, under similar circumstances. 

You recalled the way she wrapped her arms around herself, how she tossed and turned and it made you think about tonight, how incredibly still she was lying, how she had melted into your touch. 

You felt your mouth begin to open and before you could stop yourself you asked, 

“My Lady, why were you outside tonight?” 

“I-I told you I wanted some fresh air,” she repeated her response from before. 

“What I mean to say…is why were you really outside?”

You could hear Violet swallow thickly. 

She fumbled over an excuse, her mind unable to give her a good enough lie to cover up. 

You turned so that you were on your back, now staring at the ceiling. 

“You must have known it was going to rain tonight,” you said quietly. “You saw the clouds and you still came out…” 

Your tone was not accusatory, but instead more of a query, like you were trying to figure out her logic, how this all worked out in her mind. 

Violet went silent at your comment, the only sound in the room was that of the rain coming down outside over the cabin. 

You are now turned fully, facing her back, the quiet intimacy of the moment giving you all the courage you needed to ask. 

“Why are you here? What is it you want, Lady Bridgerton?” 

When she did not respond to you, you whispered again, 

“Violet…What are you-” 

“Touch me…please.” 

Her voice was so quiet and strained, it was the most desperate plea you’d ever heard. 

Violet lay there, curled so tightly, the silence following her request so deafening, but anything was better than sitting like that for one more moment trying to figure out what to do with herself. She would rather sit in utter mortification than go another second with that fire burning in the pit of her stomach. 

And just as she thought nothing would come, she felt a brush against her neck, moving her hair back, over her shoulder, tracing a line that burned like hot metal on her skin. 

The hand moved back over her shoulder towards her chest, tracing a path that was so familiar, following every movement she had once done herself, from below her breast, across her ribcage until she felt a wall of warmth all across her back. 

Her breathing grew shakier with each prolonged touch, as an arm slipped under her waist, wrapping around her fully until she was held, until she could no longer feel that ache in her bones, that clenching in her heart. 

She focused on your hands, how they held her, how your body pressed against hers felt like sunlight. 

Your hand stayed where it was for a few moments, but before long, Violet felt it move from where it was draped over her waist and across her stomach, coming to her hip, your fingers gently grabbing the fabric and tugging upwards. 

One. 

Two.

Three. 

Four times. 

Four times was when the hem of the gown was finally between your fingers, when you could slide your hand between skin and fabric, making Violet shudder as you followed the curve of her body upwards, higher and higher until her breast was cupped in your hand and she turned her head towards you as much as she could, her breathing coming in heavier, needier. 

Your chin rested in the crook of her shoulder, your breath against her face felt like air. 

Your other hand, still wrapped around her, took advantage now that her nightgown was lifted so high, sliding lower, across the skin of her abdomen, under the fabric of her underwear, her breathing coming in anticipatory gasps until you finally reached where she was expecting, a moan escaping past her lips. 

Your touch felt like care, like water on the dry soil of a dying plant. 

You moved your hand in such a way that you could run your fingers along her before gently sliding them into her, you looked up at her, pushing yourself up, putting more pressure against her breast, her mouth open but nothing leaving but pants and sighs. 

You continued to move your fingers in and out, a slow rhythmic pace at first, watching with each movement how her chest heaved, how she moaned and whimpered when she wanted more. 

Your touch satisfied that hungry need in the pit of her stomach, but it also soothed the ache in her heart as you didn’t loom over her or sit next to her. 

You held her, her back pressed into your chest in a hold so familiar yet different it felt dizzying, especially when your thumb brushed against a sensitive spot as you moved your fingers prompting Violet to let out a loud gasp of surprise just as you moved your thumb back to continue its movement and pressure against her. 

Violet tried to find words, but none came out of her mouth, the only thing escaping was breathless want. 

Seeing her as she was, you could only think of the flowers you tended to, reared from mere bulbs into bright, colourful, plentiful bushes. How each year you would wait patiently until there was that one tipping point and the flower would open and from there it would bloom without bound.

Here Violet was, in that delicate stage, at that tipping point and you were ready to see the finished product. 

You pressed onwards, giving her more, listening as her moans and whimpers that she desperately tried to hold back came out needily, higher and higher until her eyes screwed shut, her nose scrunched, her mouth open as it let out one last sharp sigh before the waves of pleasure had finished washing over her and her face relaxed, her eyes still closed, lips still parted. 

You carefully removed your fingers, conscious of how sensitive she was, taking your hand out from underneath her, while the other gently let go of her breast, slipping out from underneath her nightgown to come and turn her face back upwards, towards you. 

Your hand was gentle in its caress, in its guidance, and Violet felt her eyes fluttering open as her head was turned. 

The fire crackled in the background, but its sound was drowned out by the rain, its light shining over Violet’s skin in a golden hue, every freckle illumined and sparking. The light that struck her eyes hit her irises in a certain way, giving warmth and life to their cool blue colour. 

You leaned down a little closer, admiring all these small things about the Lady that was lying in front of you. You leaned down until your forehead rested against hers and her eyes fluttered shut again, as did yours, her lips still parted, her breathing still heavy. 

You guided her chin up a little more, closing the gap with your own lips, pressing against hers so faintly. Everything about the kiss felt cautious whereas every other touch felt assured, that was until Violet lifted her head more, fully pressing her lips against yours, relying on your hand to hold her, to keep her steady until she could reach out with her own arms holding your neck, your waist, feeling the shape of you against her hand, her fingers. 

There may have been no harm in looking, but surely touching was much better. 

As your lips parted and you moved away only slightly to look at her once more, your hand brushing aside some hair that had come to cover her face. She moved her own hand to hold yours that was against her face, turning her head to kiss it. 

You moved to lower yourself next to her on the bed and she made the effort to turn and face you. From there it was easy for her to be wrapped up in your arms and to wrap her arms around someone other than herself. 

A few months ago Violet had hired a gardener, but little did she know that gardener would eventually tend to her.

[jenscx]

[03] tumblr girls — wonder

it was cliché; being in love with danielle marsh, the straightest girl on earth. you thought your feelings were hopeless, until you discover her tumblr blog.

just having experienced the best day of your life, you wake up to all sunshine and rainbows. literally nothing could deter your happy mood all day. the weekend had gone by in a blur, attributed to you only thinking about danielle. the mere fact that she listened to your playlist and thought it was great made you feel on cloud nine. a compliment! you received a compliment from danielle marsh! the most popular girl in school!

you sigh dreamily at the thought of her again. at this point, your sister, heejin grimaces at your love struck appearance. she waves her spoon at you, mouth stuffed with cereal, “why do you look like… that? and can you stop?”

even her comments couldn’t stop your train of glee.

“nope, i can’t stop,” you reply, literally unable to get rid of the smile on your face. even your cheekbones were starting to hurt.

heejin sighs, swallowing the mouthful of cereal before remarking, “did someone ask you on a date?”

you groan, “ugh, i wish but…”

honestly, there wasn’t a consequence in telling your sister, you were just afraid of the teasing you would receive.

“there’s this girl i have a crush on,” heejin instantly perks up, eyes gleaming with mirth, “shut up, she’s my partner for this project and she said my playlist was good.”

heejin visibly deflates.

“seriously? over something so small?”

you meekly reply, “it’s a lot coming from her! this is like, my first time talking to her and she complimented me!”

your sister nods, staring at you carefully.

“that’s true… but uh, is she,” heejin does a limp movement of the wrist, “y’know?”

“to be honest, i have no idea, but she gives off straight vibes. also i’ve never heard her be into girls, only guys.” despite this, your mood doesn’t change. as long as you were friends with danielle, that was enough. you wouldn’t need to date her specifically, just having her in your life was better than not knowing each other at all. she brought so much happiness and excitement into your dull life. minji and hanni were your best friends, but it always felt like they had each other. obviously not their fault, but it felt nice to have a friend outside of them.

“that’s, i guess, not devastating?” heejin offers unhelpfully. you nod, not minding her blunt words. danielle liking guys was a known fact. it only mattered if she likes girls too. maybe if she does, she wouldn’t even look at you as a potential partner. just a good friend.

that’s okay, you convince yourself. you can stay friends. it would make you happy too that danielle enjoyed your company. just not enough to date you.

“it’s okay though, i’m happy just being friends with her now. i like our friendship.”

heejin stands up from the table abruptly.

“i mean this with care and love,” she starts out, pity in her eyes but tone full of conviction, “you either stop being friends with her before you start to fully fall in love—”

your face falls, “no way.”

“or, you confess so you can move on.”

oh.

“i can’t do that, heejin,” you ramble, “our friendship’s in a really good place right now and if i confess it would mess everything up. what if she doesn’t want to be friends with a…” your voice trails off. heejin sighs, a hand reaching out to pat your shoulder sympathetically, “if what you’ve said about her is true, she wouldn’t mind staying friends.”

your mind tells you it’s true, but your heart says otherwise. having danielle in front of you, say that she doesn’t like you romantically, would crush your soul. at least admiring her from afar would let you imagine.

“you’re thinking too much about what ifs,” heejin explains, “you can’t just be wondering your whole life if that one girl you liked in high school was really into girls or not? you’re stuck thinking what if you had confessed? so what if in ten years she shows up with a girlfriend? would you be upset that you didn’t confess sooner?”

heejin’s right, but you can’t find it in yourself to bring up the courage to confess. it was too vulnerable. you didn’t want danielle to stare at you with disgust or anger that you liked her romantically. after all, it wasn’t as if you were friends. just project partners.

“i’ll… think about it.”

your sister nods, “your phone’s ringing by the way.”

as she walks away, you unlock your phone, the sight of danielle’s opened chat greets you.

danielle [7.36am]:

morning!!

u free tdy after sch?

jeon y/n [7.38am]:

i’ll have to check

but i think i’m free

danielle [7.38am]:

okay awesome!

let’s meet up

jeon y/n [7.39am]:

okay!

heejin’s words plague your mind again. you shake your head. now wasn’t the time to be thinking about such things. you had to go to school and survive hanni and minji first. you wonder what hanni had said to her best friend after the phone call. since you didn’t receive any angry texts about minji, it would be safe to assume they were fine for now.

maybe you should worry about your own love life before theirs though. a blank slate appears in your mind as you make your way to school.

you spot minji and hanni, bless them, waiting outside the gate, both looking annoyed and irritated. could they go a day without arguing? sighing, you walk towards them, bracing yourself for either one to lunge onto you and start complaining.

of course, as always, hanni does.

“y/n,” she whines, “minji’s being mean again.”

you raise an eyebrow at her tone.

“what did minji do?” did they not resolve anything over the weekend?

minji shrugs, “i didn’t do anything.”

this ticks hanni off, since she scoffs, “maybe you should reflect and think about your actions.”

“maybe you tell me what the hell i did wrong this time instead of acting like a brat.”

“i’ll act like a brat all right, c’mere you little shit—”

before hanni starts swinging, you drag both of them into the school, wincing at the numerous attempts of punches hanni throws.

“let’s get to class first, we’ll be late for mr lee’s lesson,” you hold your friends by the collar. minji nods while hanni swats your hand away. you sigh, massaging your temples. if your friends were going to act like this the whole day, it would bring you much suffering.

garnering some weird stares from people along the hallway, you finally make it to the classroom without hanni pouncing on minji. a sigh escapes you as you sit down, relieved of babysitting duties from them. their argument can still be heard but at least they won’t fight each other psychically here. probably not.

you’re seated, deep in thought, when someone comes up to you.

“hey,” danielle smiles bashfully. you stare at her, awestruck.

“hi.”

the girl laughs and murmurs shyly, “i wanted to thank you for both the coffee and the playlist, so…” you watch as she pulls out a lunchbox, an adorable my melody lunchbox.

“i made you gimbap,” she explains, placing the lunchbox on your desk and staring at you sheepishly, “my mum helped me out.”

you wonder if you can marry her right now.

“thank you,” you swallow, hoping your voice doesn’t come out strained, gratitude evident in your eyes as you smile, “really.”

“it’s no problem, i wanted to repay you…”

“i’ll eat it well,” you say earnestly. it’s just a strange thing to say but since danielle giggles, you think it’s worth it.

“i hope it’s to your liking. see you later, y/n.” you like how your name sounds rolling off danielle’s tongue, in her sweet honey voice.

you take the lunchbox in your hands carefully, gently placing it in your bag as danielle retreats back to her seat.

hanni and minji both eye you, their fight long forgotten as hanni whispers loudly, “what the hell was that?”

your hands tremble as you retrieve your pencil case from your bag, trying to act as nonchalant as possible, “she’s being nice.”

“of course she is, but she made food for you? and you made a playlist for her? is that not the most obvious declaration of love like, ever?” hanni stresses.

minji frowns, “i don’t think that’s a declaration of love but yeah, she had this weird look in her eyes.”

“huh?”

your friend hesitates, you don’t miss the quick glance towards hanni who’s eagerly anticipating the answer, “like, longing. you get what i mean?”

hanni nods vigorously, “agreed. she was staring hard.”

you laugh, pushing down the feelings of happiness and delight, “that’s just how she looks. she always has that look.”

“oh girl… whatever you wanna believe,” hanni smiles, but it looks more like a grimace. you twirl your pen around your fingers, wondering about how it would feel to actually be the subject of danielle’s love. if receiving gimbap from her already made you feel this way, how would it feel to be her constant muse? you sigh, not even noticing the subtle glances she sends your way from in front.

you don’t notice mr lee coming in either, a grin on his face as he announces, “i’ll give you guys some time to continue with the project and ask any questions.”

your face heats up at the thought of spending more time with danielle, who turns her head sharply to wink at you. your cheeks burn even more.

a few moments of silence pass before the class erupts into noise, most people shifting their seats to find their partner. you eagerly wait for danielle to come over, seeing as how her seat had been taken up by someone else. pulling a chair from an empty desk, you slide it towards your own, keeping a respectful distance between the two. however, danielle seems to have other plans as she shifts it closer, completely disregarding your need for space in the best way possible.

“we already finished half of it,” danielle says cheerfully, “it’s just the portion of experimenting now.”

your face blanches.

“experimenting?” you repeat. what the hell did danielle think of?

her face morphs into one of amusement, eyes twinkling with merriment, “y’know, finding out how humans actually feel attraction, and what better way than to experience it ourselves?”

“you’re joking,” you blurt out.

danielle responds by pouting, “i’m really not. have you heard of the study by that one psychologist, was it thirty six questions to fall in love?”

“psychologist doctor arthur aron, formulated in 1977, a study consisting of thirty six questions to ask to fall in love,” you recite instantly. danielle’s face lights up.

“so you do know! since it was intended to speed up the creation of intimacy between two strangers, wouldn’t it serve as a helpful experiment to carry out for our project on human attraction?”

you sigh, “and where are we going to find willing lab rats for this experiment?”

danielle’s gaze shifts over ever so slightly, her eyes crinkling into a smile as she whispers, “them.”

your head turns.

kim minji and pham hanni, with their separate partners, yet both seated near each other.

“you’re a genius.”

“gosh, haerin i said i’ll be fine,” danielle shrieks, trying to rid the girl following her, “you should go find hyein or something!”

her best friend, understandably, offended, retorts, “you forgot we have practice today. that’s what i’ve been wanting to tell you.”

the brunette’s quick footsteps come to a halt. she turns to haerin with widened eyes, her mouth agape. haerin only huffs and reaches out a hand to push her jaw back in place, “i wasn’t trying to crash your date with y/n, or whatever, not that i like the idea of it.”

“it’s not a date, we’re doing our project,” danielle defends, yet the redness residing in her cheeks gives away her true feelings. haerin stares at her blankly.

“sure, i still can’t believe you got injured during a game because she waved at you—”

danielle rushes to cover haerin’s mouth with her hand, exclaiming, “you talk too much!”

haerin points to herself with an incredulous look since who the hell has ever said she talks too much? it’s always that she talks too little. haerin wonders if her best friend is going crazy.

“so what are you going to do about y/n? are you going to make her wait?” haerin pulls on danielle’s bag strap. the girl visibly saddens, “i mean, cheer’s gonna be until four, would she be willing to wait till then? and i don’t wanna tell her over text or something, what if she thinks i’m ditching her…”

“i’ll tell her for you,” haerin finally says. danielle turns to her, surprise evident in her eyes. haerin adds on, “if you buy me that jellycat keychain, i’ll go find y/n and convince her to wait. we have the same lesson next period.”

danielle beams, throwing her arms over haerin and squeezing her tight as she mutters words of gratitude and thanks. haerin only brushes her off, the lingering thought of the jellycat keychain pursuing her mind endlessly. while danielle prances off to her next class, haerin makes her way to her own. she peeks in, already spotting you engrossed in reading a book. despite the chaos of students chattering around you, haerin finds it intriguing that you manage to stay focused throughout.

she walks to your desk, her hand reaching out to grasp the book. understandably, your head snaps upwards in shock, eyes widened as you fumble for your book. haerin reads the cover title, the handmaid’s tale, by margaret atwood.

“uhm,” you mutter unintelligibly, “can i have my book back?”

the girl only stares at you with round piercing eyes.

“we have cheer practice today.”

you frown.

“okay?”

“we end at four.”

“uh, good for you,” you reply, unsure of what the cat-eyed girl was trying to imply. her vague words didn’t help either.

“danielle is only available after,” haerin says, exasperated and shocked you were that dense. could you not pick up on her cues?

you finally make a face of recognition (she thinks you look stupid), “oh, so are you her messenger pigeon…?”

“she wants to ask you if you’re willing to wait for her.”

“okay, tell her i’ll wait, or i can stay to watch her practice,” you reply, reaching out to retrieve your book. haerin allows it and goes to her seat, which is further back. a perfect place to learn what makes danielle so entranced with you. what an interesting character. she observes you with sharp eyes, noting down every characteristic you had.

you seemed to like reading, which was honestly surprising considering most people nowadays don’t even pick up a singular book their whole life. you also seemed pretty quiet, which haerin approved of. she hated loud people, talkative people were fine, which is why she likes danielle, but she just can’t stand loud, obnoxious people. maybe you were the same as well. and perhaps your face wasn’t bad to look at.

huh.

haerin smiles to herself. even though you had basically caused the cheerleading team’s flyer to be injured (she still doesn’t forgive you, or danielle for that), maybe you would be good for her best friend.

you stare blankly at the pages filled with words, nothing entering your head. your mind was constantly rewinding the interaction with haerin. did danielle ask her to tell you personally? why didn’t she just text you? and why did you blurt out that haerin was a messenger pigeon? the narrowed glare you received was only a testament of how awful you answered. what if that soured danielle’s impression of you? would haerin even report such an incident to her best friend? questions raced through your mind, all unanswered and eager. unaware of the staring eyes, you only close the book with a sigh. at this rate, you wouldn’t be able to digest any information.

sucks that you have calculus now. you wish you could just become a full-time humanities student, that way you wouldn’t have to deal with any science or mathematics subjects. forcing yourself to focus, you widen your eyes and gaze harshly at the whiteboard as the teacher strolls in.

you immediately lose moral when you see the stack of worksheets in her arms.

“we’re having a pop quiz today, everyone please get ready.”

haerin watches as you groan audibly.

your cheeks are stuffed with the delicious gimbap danielle had made. the lunchbox rests carefully on your thighs as you watch the cheerleaders assemble on the field. eyes instantly flickering to find the curly waves of brown hair, you finally land on danielle who looks super excited and happy.

warmth simmers in your stomach as you watch danielle converse with haerin animatedly, her hands moving in grand gestures to express her feelings. your eyes trail onto haerin’s blank features, no doubt zoning out at whatever danielle was saying. or maybe that was her listening face. you honestly had no clue. sometimes your eyes wander to the rest of the team, but you really don’t have any connection to them. gong yubin, lee jiwoo, kim jiwoo… and two other faces you recognised, yet didn’t know the names of. the rest you don’t think are in your grade.

you don’t notice the lingering gaze of one cheerleader while deep in thought. it’s only when you go for a second gimbap, you make eye contact with danielle.

hi. she mouths.

hi. you mouth back, along with a small but awkward wave. danielle’s hand flies up to cover her smile. you can tell she’s giggling, and the thought of having experienced hearing such a blessed sound makes your heart constrict with longing to hear it once more.

eventually, the cheerleading coach comes and you have to break eye contact with danielle. honestly, the saddest thing you’ve ever done in your life. you turn your attention to the unfinished google doc displayed on the screen. the laptop is danielle’s and she had so kindly lent it to you. you had agreed to brush up on the research and finer details before exploring the experiment and danielle instructed you to finish it on her laptop.

you heave a sigh as you start typing about human attraction or whatever. the only human attraction you experienced was towards danielle, and you can’t really write a paper on how beautiful she looks, how she's the sweetest girl alive, how you only come to school to see her every day. well, it wouldn’t be considered an essay, just a love letter. your eyes unconsciously search for danielle in the sea of blue uniforms. her hair was now tied back in a high ponytail, a bright white bow attached behind. you watch as she stretches, red blooming on your cheeks as you follow the movements of her hand from her ankles, trailing up the long, pale expanse of her leg.

stop it, you remind yourself. you were here for a reason, not just to gawk at danielle. as she turns her head up, her hazel eyes meet yours, eyelashes fluttering while she continues staring. you swallow the lump in your throat. the tips of her lips itched upwards, as if she knew you were looking. in your haste to do anything but stare back, you whip your head towards the laptop, fingers quickly running all over the keyboard.

it’s only when your thumb hits a random key that the google document closes. you frown, attempting to open it back up. yet, a separate tab opens and you’re left shocked.

danielle marsh is a tumblr user.

you stare blankly at the blog, sunshinesza.

what the hell?

despite the very obvious moral choice here, you click on the blog itself. the profile picture is just a cute drawn rabbit and her header was a picture of a bouquet of flowers. pink tulips, to be exact. her name was still jihye on tumblr, but perhaps since there were a lot of people named jihye, it wasn’t exposing her too much. it felt so wrong to continue scrolling. yet, you couldn’t help yourself. this was an extremely private part of danielle and you were directly invading her privacy. most of her posts were just her ranting about school or cheerleading practice. some of them included photos of her cooking. the gimbap in your mouth only served as a reminder to her skills in the kitchen.

the cursor pauses at a post.

sorry guys, i have to ask, is it weird if i like a girl rn? my bff keeps making fun of me :( she’s just my partner in a project but i’ve liked her since middle school. idk if she’s into girls, she doesn’t really interact with guys either tho. it was my first time hanging out with her a few days ago. she’s so charming and cool that i can’t help but want to continue spending time with her. but what if she doesn’t want to hang out with me after the project’s done? i love and hate that she’s so hard-working and efficient since it’ll make our time shorter. sometimes she does things that make me feel deluded and i can’t really tell if she’s being fr… maybe i’m gg crazy.

you wonder if you’re going crazy.

masterlist | next

[tiamathh]

PAC Bites: Dreams

Who is sending you messages in your dreams and what do they mean??

Do not plagiarise, reword, steal, repost my work!

1 -> 3

Note: Hello! I'm Wi, previously on ukiyowi~ Welcome to my first PAC on this acc, I hope you guys like it <33 Take care and have a lovely day. Check out my Masterlist for more! <3 (there's not much rn lol). LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE V APPRECIATED!!

🌟 Masterlist

Pile 1

Hi Pile 1! Your dreams are being sent to you by your ancestors, they are trying to communicate with you and may be trying to show you glimpses of the future, maybe a little prophetic.

Your dreams are sending you messages that there is a lot of fear and anxiety that has embedded itself in your mind these days. You are being unable to stay focused, and your anxieties may be exaggerating the negative outcomes related to your work and school. The message you are getting is that you have been isolating yourself too much, and this isolation is also leading to a dissonance between what you want and what you need right now. There needs to be a change, but you want to keep continuing on the path that you are on even though you KNOW it is not right. Your dreams could have imagery related to falling or something breaking down, something like doctor strange almost? Everything is getting destroyed around you while you are stuck/trapped and unable to move, maybe even imagery of natural disasters, earthquakes particularly. It's saying that if you don't make a change, the universe will make it for you. You may be feeling helpless, but your dreams are trying to tell you that you could be victimising yourself and the powerlessness you feel could come from your environment and that you need to move, could be related to controlling partners or parents. I also heard "Weightless" like you need to let go of your past burdens and bury them so you can move forward like truly move forward, nothing superficial. Your dreams themselves could be very heavy like you wake up tired and as if you did not get proper sleep even when you do. The dreams are asking you to learn from your past hardships and be patient for your hard work to pay off, take small steps towards change but at least take those steps and don't stay immobile.

Keywords: Cancelled travel, head, influence, rope, bow, predator, memories, unwilling, your values, your community, dead snakes.

xoxo

Pile 2

Hi pile 2! You are receiving messages from your future partner, some intuitive messages about them, they are someone who is very energetic and charming, they can be someone with a big beautiful smile like a very warm smile and also like smile wrinkles because of how jolly they are constantly, someone confident and flirty, they are hot and they know it!

They are sending you messages that they are on their way and that you don't need to compromise or settle down, stay stubborn and fight for what you want because you deserve it. Your persistence is what is going to help you get to the top. Even though some of your dreams have been shattered and things may not be going your way, where you could feel like you are underachieving, you need to reduce the self-criticism and make changes and take the criticism in a constructive way so that it does not turn into self-hate. Your dream could also have imagery of cheating/lying and someone deceiving you, maybe literally pulling a cloth over your eyes. There is a message your future partner is sending you that there is someone around you may be an air sign/Gemini who could be using you for your resources, and they are very cunning like they will step on other people to get to the top, so be a little wary of them. You may have dreams of someone faceless too? Maybe feeling warm and comforted by their presence, this could be your future partner!! Lastly there is a message about authenticity and that you do not change how you are and who you are, stay honest and witty and strong, you are protected by the universe.

Keywords: spy, club, taurus, conventional, traditional, partnership, duality, complementary, mutual respect, blinded, blind trust, 777

xoxo

Pile 3

Hi Pile 3! You are the ones sending messages to yourself, it's the future version of you, because as we know time is not linear, but they come to you with good news and wanting to give you more strength.

They are sending you some messages about what your future is going to look like, you will be wealthy and stable and be able to reach the goals you have set for yourself, even if it will take time. A main message here is that everything will start going forward and pick up pace once you begin anew and form partnerships and friendships with the people around you, right now you are stagnant and that is because you are in the energy of solitude, but once you get out you will be able to enjoy life and have fun again and your career will see a lot of growth as well! You may have imagery of celebrations, and you could be having vibrant and colourful dreams as well, maybe money involved in there too. You need to depend on the people around you for now, and work hard because that's how you will see the results that you want, and you clearly will get them based on the messages coming through. See through what you start, do not let projects you start be left unfinished because it can put you in financial trouble or put financial strain on you, leading to you being held back from being able to use your resources fully. You have a lot of options right now, and you need to narrow them down, be a little grounded too.

Keywords: Legends, distracted, withdrawal, rumination, idealism, rose-coloured glasses, living in the past, experience the present.

All Rights Reserved tiamathh©® DO NOT PLAGIARISE, REWORD, STEAL!